Tevun-Krus #100

62 - The Pitch - @Wuckster - MoviePunk

The Pitch

By Wuckster

They always said life was like a hurricane here in Duckburg. Indeed, in the ten blocks between the docks and his uncle's money bin, Donald Duck had to dodge out of the way of two race cars, several lasers, and no less than six aeroplanes. Luckily his time in the navy had honed his reflexes sharper than a razor's edge and he was able to avoid bodily harm. Plus, in truth he had been expecting it. This was more or less an average day in the 'burg.

The part that came as a surprise was when he reached the top of the hill and saw no sign of the money bin. Instead there appeared to be a large rip in the fabric of reality occupying the space where it had once stood. He couldn't see anything inside of it because it radiated an intensely bright golden light. Also there seemed to be traces of unfamiliar sounding music emanating from it. Something about blue suede shoes.

"Uncle Scrooge?" Donald called out. "Huey? Dewey? Louie?"

There was no response.

"What the heck is going on here?" He rubbed out his eyes and looked again, but the strange light was still there. The only thing he could think of was the Beagle Boys must have really pulled a big caper this time. Maybe they had teamed up with Magica De Spell and teleported the bin away somewhere.

Well, there was no choice. It seemed he was going to have to solve a mystery. And possibly rewrite history. It was up to him to save the day, and the only option appeared to be walking into the light. So he did.

*

August 16th, 1977

The king of rock and roll was sitting on the can, his white rhinestone bedazzled pants around his ankles. He was straining mightily to the point a vein was throbbing in his forehead. "I say, too many peanut butter and banana sandwiches, uh huh. My digestive system is all shook up."

Suddenly there was a crackling sound and the space in front of him seemed to tear open. A bright golden light flashed and a cartoon duck in a sailor suit stepped out. He squawked incomprehensibly for a minute and threw a mighty temper tantrum.

"Whoa there, little fella. My name's Elvis Presley. What can I do for you?" He attempted to execute one of his famous stage moves, but the rubber legs and pelvis thrusts were a little awkward in his seated position and he ended up whipping his aviator sunglasses off his head and they smacked into the wall. He picked them up sheepishly and pulled up his pants.

"Have you seen my nephews or my Uncle Scrooge?" Donald asked. "Or a giant money bin?"

"Nothing like that around here. Between Priscilla and Colonel Tom spending my money like it's going out of style, I doubt I have enough to fill up a piggy bank. But did you say some children were in trouble?"

"My nephews! They disappeared!"

"No, this won't do," Elvis said as he performed an involuntary hip thrust. "We're gonna have to rescue these youngsters."

The tear in space was still there behind Donald. The light glowed brighter than ever and more music spilled out. This time it came through loud and clear. A woman sang in a soulful voice "We don't need another hero."

"Well, too bad, lady," Elvis said. "Because a hero is exactly what you're about to get. In fact, you're gonna get two of them. C'mon pardner. Let's ride."

And with that, Elvis had left the building.

*

Aunty Entity, the ruler of Bartertown, had the presence of mind to only look mildly surprised when the world ripped open in front of her with a blast of light and a strange man in a sparkly white jumpsuit appeared along with a small duck who looked like some sort of living petroglyph, as near as she could describe him.