A priest and a rabbi walked into a bar. Richard Peabody, who was accompanying the aforementioned clergymen, ducked and avoided the bar entirely.
“Ouch,” said the priest, rubbing his forehead.
“Oy vey,” said the rabbi.
“Hey, let’s go in here,” said the fourth member of the group, a talking duck. It extended its wing toward the door of a nearby bar, an actual tavern and not a long, metal cylinder.
Peabody shrugged, “Sure, why not? We can discuss my problem there as well as anywhere else.”
The odd quartet entered the establishment to find the place empty except for a mustachioed bartender who was wiping down the mahogany bar with a rag.
“Give us four Manhattans,” ordered the rabbi.
“Sure,” said the smiling bartender, “but I’m going to have to see some ID for the duck.”
“Oh, never mind me,” quacked the duck. “I don’t want any alcohol. I’ll just have some water…a great big bowl of water. Also, I’m buying, so just put the drinks on my bill.”
“I don’t think they’ll fit,” laughed the bartender.
The rabbi shook his head, “Everyone’s a comedian.”
“Can we just go sit down and see if we can figure out what’s going on?” asked Peabody. He was a mousy little man with soft features and squinty eyes tucked behind thick glasses.
“Of course, my son,” announced the priest. “There’s a booth in back. We can have a private conversation there, and I’m certain this fine gentleman will bring our drinks to us.”
The bartender nodded, “Make yourselves at home.”
Once the group was settled into their booth, the priest looked at Peabody and asked, “Why the long face?”
“The thing is, this isn’t my home. Everything is different. I don’t know where I am.”
“Why don’t you consider this home?” asked the rabbi.
“Well, for one thing, there’s a talking duck,” said Peabody, a little bit too loudly. “This isn’t my life. This isn’t my world. Everything around here is just plain weird. The last thing I remember is reading an old joke book until I fell asleep last night, and then I woke up in this crazy reality. Things looked sort of normal, but then I met the duck, and then I noticed the streets are paved orange, and that there are metal bars hanging over the sidewalk everywhere.”
The priest looked Peabody in the eyes. “Are you quite certain these things are unusual? I mean, some of my best friends are talking ducks, and I can hardly go a day without walking into two or three bars.”
“Yes,” stated the rabbi, “this world is how I have always known it to be.”
“I am definitely not from here,” insisted Peabody. “In my world, there are no talking waterfowl. Not only that, I can’t find my house anywhere. Heck, I can’t even find the street where I live. I can’t find anybody I know. I’m not supposed to be alone; I’m supposed to be with my loving wife.”
“Loving?” said the duck.
“Who asked you?” shouted Peabody. He took a deep breath and turned to the rabbi and priest. “When I ran into you two, I figured that you might have answers.”
“He never bothered to ask me,” interjected the duck.
“Perhaps you are in the afterlife,” suggested the priest. “Maybe this is your purgatory.”
Before Peabody could respond, the bartender came to the booth, awkwardly carrying three drinks and a large tub of water.
“I didn’t think any of my bowls would be big enough,” he explained. “I hope this works.” He set the drinks, which looked nothing like any Manhattan Peabody had ever seen, on the table. These drinks were some sort of yellow concoction and served in coconuts with plastic umbrellas. When the bartender placed the tub in front of the duck, water sloshed over the side, spilling onto Peabody’s pants.
“You know, I think I can explain what’s going on,” said the bartender. “I’ve seen this happen enough times through the years.”
Peabody looked up from wiping off his pants with a napkin. “Please, do.”
The duck jumped into the vat of water, spilling more of it, which, of course, went directly to Peabody’s pants.
“You see, you have been pulled into the land of dreams. When you fell asleep last night, once you started dreaming, a powerful wizard named LeChambeau snatched you and your dream. He brings people here to consume their imaginations. That’s what gives him his power.”
“You expect me to believe that nonsense?” said Peabody.
“Yeah,” added the talking duck, “nonsense.”
“Oh, it’s true,” insisted the bartender.
“If you’re telling the truth, what happened to my body in the real world? I couldn’t just disappear. If that was really happening to people, I’d have heard about it.”
“I don’t know,” answered the bartender.
“Maybe your other body dies,” suggested the rabbi.
The priest took a sip of his Manhattan before speaking. “Yes, people die in their sleep all the time. Would you like me to give you Last Rites?”
“I am not dead,” insisted Peabody.
“You do look a little pale,” said the duck.
Peabody ignored the gregarious poultry and turned his attention back to the bartender. “How do you even know any of this? You’re just a bartender.”
“I have seen LeChambeau many times. He usually appears shortly after someone like you comes in here and captures them.”
“Then why hasn’t he come for me?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, LeChambeau feeds off his captives’ imaginations. Perhaps you don’t have a strong enough imagination to attract him.”
“What do you mean?” asked Peabody. “Are you saying that I don’t have a good enough dream?”
“Well,” quacked the duck, “you are in a world completely ruled by imagination and the best you can come up with is some really old and lame joke premises.”
The bell above the tavern’s door chimed. Everyone turned their attention toward the entrance.
“Oh,” said the bartender. “I have another customer.”
Before Peabody’s eyes, the bartender underwent a metamorphosis. He quickly transformed from a middle-aged man to a voluptuous young brunette wearing a tight leather skirt and low-cut red blouse.
“And apparently,” she announced seductively, “he has a very good imagination.” She turned and began walking toward the new customer, her hips swaying from side to side.
“What can I do for you?” she asked the young man who had just come through the door.
Before the new arrival could answer, a puff of smoke appeared behind him. The smoke quickly dissipated, revealing another visitor: a goateed man dressed in flowing black robes. With a quick flick of his wrist, a glass bottle appeared in his hand. He flicked his wrist a second time, and the young man who had just entered the tavern disappeared, only to reappear inside the bottle.
The lovely barmaid morphed back into her previous form, the original bartender. “Greetings, LeChambeau,” he said with a deep bow.
“Since I’m here,” said LeChambeau, “I might as well collect the unimaginative fool who came in here earlier.”
The bartender pointed, “That’s him in the booth.”
LeChambeau took a step toward Peabody. At least that’s what he intended to do. What the powerful mage did not plan on doing was stepping directly on a duck. Losing his balance, LeChambeau fell forward, dropping the vial. The glass container shattered into a million pieces when it hit the floor. The young man inside instantly returned to normal size and began attacking the fallen wizard with a leather whip that had magically appeared in his hand.
The bartender, once again, changed form. He turned back into the same woman he had been earlier, except now she stood well over six feet in height and had arms that would make a bodybuilder jealous. She jumped onto LeChambeau and began punching him in the face.
“Well, aren’t you going to help?” shouted the duck as it began biting LeChambeau’s ears.
Peabody jumped to his feet and joined the fray, whacking the evil magician across the face with a whoopee cushion that had materialized out of thin air.
The rabbi and priest also joined the fight.
After a short time. LeChambeau was subdued. He sat on the floor; his arms trapped behind his back by a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs that the young man had produced, and his mouth gagged with a lace stocking. His arms and legs were bound with other pieces of lingerie. He looked up at his five assailants, who stood over him holding a variety of unique weapons.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said the young man. “We will have the priest and rabbi release you, but only after you send me and this guy back to our real lives.” He pointed at Peabody as he spoke.
LeChambeau nodded, resignation in his eyes.
“Oh, and another thing,” said the young man, “I get to take my companion with me.” The bartender, still a woman but back to normal size and strength, sauntered over and grabbed the man’s arm.
Again, LeChambeau nodded.
“Okay,” continued the young man, “I’m going to free one of your hands, and you will send us home. If you try anything funny, we’ll beat you again.”
The duck flew onto LeChambeau’s shoulder and grabbed the mage’s earlobe with its bill, ready to bite down if necessary.
Carefully, LeChambeau nodded a third time.
The young man reached for the handcuffs.
***
Richard Peabody walked into the kitchen, shaking his head.
“You will not believe the dream I had last night,” he began.
His wife, who was standing in front of the stove making breakfast, looked at him. “Let me guess, it was about a talking duck.”
Flabbergasted, Peabody stared at his wife. “How did you know that?”
“I told her,” said the duck, waddling in from the living room.
Peabody’s attention shifted from his wife to the duck. “It was all real?”
“Yes, all of it,” answered the duck.
Looking back at his wife, Peabody asked, “And you’re not freaked about this? You’re okay with a talking duck?”
Mrs. Peabody gave a slight shrug, “Well, we could use the eggs.”
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