Once there was a lovely little duck named Bernadette. She could be found splashing about in puddles, quacking merrily, until the day she ate a televangelist, having mistaken him for a morsel of corn. This violated her lease, so Bernadette now lives in a broken Xerox machine somewhere near the docks. Her days are spent debating the merits of various Rilke translations and collecting twine.

O, Bernadette, Bernadette.
Bernadette -- O!

All questions regarding the preceeding are to be directed here.