A duck hunter is out one day having no luck. He
hunts the whole morning and can't get a single kill.
On the way home he comes up to a farm house, and flying
over the barnyard is a big flock of fat mallards.
Seeing his last chance for success, he takes aim at what
looks like the biggest duck in the flock and gives it
both barrels. The duck falls from the sky and
lands in the middle of the barnyard. As the hunter
nears the barnyard and the dead duck, he sees he's got
himself a beauty. But when he is a mere 20 paces
from the duck, a farmer steps out of the barn, picks up
the duck and heads for the house. "Hey!" says the
hunter. "Come back with my duck!"
"Your duck?" says the farmer. "It was lying dead
in my barnyard; its MY duck."
"No! No! You don't understand!" shouts the
hunter. "I shot it, and it just happened to fall
here. It's mine!"
"Okay, city fella. We'll settle this the country
way," says the farmer.
"Country way? What's that?" says the hunter.
"We take turns hitting each other as hard as we can,"
says the farmer. "Last man standing wins the
duck... That is, unless you're yella."
"Of course I'm not yellow," says the hunter.
"Fine. Country way it is," says the farmer.
"Since we're on my property, I'll go first."
With that, the farmer takes a half step back, steadies
himself, and kicks the hunter square in the groin as
hard as he can.
The hunter gasps, screams like an animal, falls on the
ground, curls up in a knot, turns three shades of
purple, and nearly dies.
After a full half hour and with considerable difficulty,
the hunter straightens up, gasps again, and in a high
strained voice says, "Now... my... turn!"
The farmer replies, "Nah, I give up. Here's your
duck."