I egret to report that my entire family was ruthlessly killed and raped by a gaggle of Black-Bellied Whistling-Ducks. At one time I, too, thought my goose was cooked, but as I was about to sing my swan song, I was rescued by a sniper with a Remington over-and-under. I have therefore dedicated my life to ridding the earth of these fowl creatures. To this end I moved to U-Crane, the birthplace of Chicken Kiev, and engaged in trade with Muscovy and Peking.
I now find myself forced to teal with another stork reality: that of my own passerine. I have been told I have not long to live; my only consommetion is that my demise will be quack. I am looking for an heron to whom I could migrate my fortune.
In order that I not appear too gullible, I request your name, address, and bank account information.
"Give us all some Jelly"