He was a perfect, fluffy yellow, with a tiny pair of wire-rimmed glasses already perched on his bill.
Gerald blinked. He’d never been analyzed before. quackyprep
Beaker looked at his own wings. They were strong, healthy. But he’d never once tried to take off. He was a perfect, fluffy yellow, with a
Once upon a midnight dreary, in a swamp that was decidedly not sleepy, a single duck egg began to tremble. Beaker looked at his own wings
“Welcome to QuackyPrep. Please remove your headphones and open your minds. We have a lot of work to do.”
“What can you possibly teach me, puffball?” Gerald croaked.
Class began. Beaker had carved tiny numbers into the mud—equations for leap distance. He’d dissected a dragonfly wing to show lift ratios. For math, they counted mosquito larvae in groups of twelve. For history, they traced the Great Flood of ‘03 and its impact on cattail distribution. For ethics, they debated the morality of stealing a worm from a robin (a surprisingly heated debate that ended with Gerald promising to ask before inhaling).