Duck King
He was……basically the fashion equivalent of epilepsy. An eye searing aberration of neon colours that dragged the gaze kicking and screaming to his person. I will attempt to describe it in detail, though some features were somewhat blurred by the chromatic intensity bombarding my optic nerves. First of all he, yes he, was wearing tights and a miniskirt. Cept the tights were two different colours. One leg was neon green, the other was neon pink. The neon pink leg had a neon green shoe, and the neon green leg had a neon pink shoe. You know, you have to make sure to coordinate your outfits.
He had furnished these Crayola chicken legs with a baby blue miniskirt and what appeared to be the upper half of his mom’s bath robe. Over top of that he was wearing a black vest and, just for accents, neon pink and green gloves. But it did not end there. Oh no. He had firmly grasped his passport and crossed the border into the land of freak, but he had not yet applied for permanent residency. That’s where the matching neon pink and green eye shadow came in. Never mind the lipstick and the glitter. Of course he had numerous facial piercings as well. Than, just to top the whole look off, he was wearing a black fedora.
It might have been slightly less absurd if he looked like he had any sort of shame or was at least somewhat aware that he was a throbbing blight on the landscape. However, he appeared to believe himself incredibly cool. How he came to this conclusion eludes me. That outfit would make you an social outcast in Teletubbyland.


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