One goose Mongoose 

The duck billed the platypus three dollars and forty-seven cents.

“Cents? cents? Don’t make no sense,” said the irate duck billed platypus, waiving the bill in the air.

“You say it ain’t fair?” said the duck.
“I say it ain’t square!” said the platypus.

It was quite a confrontation hanging in the air.

Now, the duck billed platypus, he was no fool. He had done and gone to finishing school. He knew what was what, and the meaning of is, he was not new to this turnip truck biz.

“If you don’t like it,” said the duck to his prey, “why don’t you just up and fly away?”

“Mayhaps I will,” said the platypus. “Mayhaps I will.”
Because the duck billed platypus had finally had his fill. Of the duck and his quack, of the thumb and it’s tack, and he was not prepared to say when he would be back.

“Now see here,” said the duck, but the platypus didn’t hear quack. He had flown to New Zealand, Jack.

The Duck double billed the platypus over a plate of flapjacks. It was a society flap. The stoolpigeons saw to that.

A man came into a bar. It was dark inside because the proprietor had failed to pay the bill. Coincidentally, the proprietor was a duck. The bar was called “the duck billed platypus“ which was often a point of confusion. But what’s in a name, anyway?” the proprietor quacked. Just a moniker. Quoth the Raven, “nevermore!”

“No one asked you,“ said the duck.
Then the raven lobbed a projectile toward the duck. Who failed to duck. And was thusly taken out in an untimely manner.
The projectile was a cuckoo clock which had stopped.

Even though it had stopped it made quite an impact upon the duck, effecting the disposition of the bill.
Even a stopped clock is right twice a day regardless of the impact upon the bill.
Hospitality isn’t all it’s quacked up to be.
Remember to duck when the time comes because time flies.

Wherever one can find a goose one can find two ducks.

“Just got out of the chuckle hutch,” said the duck. “What did I miss?”
“10 whistles are made of 10,” said the duckbilled platypus, still angry about the sum. No quantitative easing. For sneezing.
Quacks, said the duck.
Quacks, said the duckbilled platypus.
“Don’t make me laugh,” said the duck. “It’s too soon.”

After we seize the means of production we’ll set all those duck statuettes free. No more to be lined up in neat little rows, no more ducks placed in order wading on duck row. All the duck statuettes fly away home, wherever those good eggs may nest. On the corner of wild and sycamore street, or a mantle if that’s what the duck thinks best.

And so I asked the mathematician how to slice a pie. And she said she wasn’t into division. Then our pies did multiply. At this point we were up to our ears in pie. And we were in arrears on pie. And that’s a sweet conundrum no matter how you slice it. We ducked out on the bill.