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The coldened mongrel goose stepped inside the golden old archibald. As
he was passing through the gate-door, he obstructed a camera flash.
Colonel Gold reminded him of his duty to the crown: he would serve
quickly or quickly be served. The colonel’s new tower of terror had
been actuated to his specifications, and the mongrel goose could tell
by the look in his eye that this piece of craftsmanship delighted
Colonel Gold to no end. A piece of wind whipped at the mallard’s
tailfeathers, coldening his tucus ever more. His epaulets swayed in
the chilly evening air, his feather-covered sabre casing displayed the
results of many a glorious victory.

“A MONGREL YE ARE, AND A MONGREL YE SHALL STAY” bellowed Colonel Gold.
His back was to the goose, with his hands clasped together, riding
crop held in the right palm. “THERE IS BUT ONE METHOD FOR A MONGREL TO
ELEVATE HIS STATION IN THIS LIFE, AND THAT IS THROUGH THE CONSTRUCTION
OF ARCHIBALDS.” Blasted towers, the goose thought to himself. Blasted,
blasted towers. Blasted blasted blasted blasted blasted. “WHO DID
THAT?” screamed Colonel Gold. Someone had passed gas. The entire
regiment only consisted of the Colonel and four other geese… he
would certainly find out. “WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR DINNER, SOLDIER?” he
screamed at one, approximately one centimeter away from his beak.
“Pi.. pi.. pickles.. s-s-sir” the nerd duck stammered. “PI PI PICKLES?
WHAT IN THE NAME OF JAMBO RINGWALD IS A PI PI PICKLE?” The colonel
then stepped backwards 3 times in rapid succession, twisting his body
with each step. He unfastened the button on his belt pistol holder,
removed the pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at the head of the
unfortunate mallard. “PI PI PI PICKLES!!!” he screamed and then shot.

The gun was pointed downwards at a 45 degree angle due to the height
difference between shooter and shootee. It was evident to all that the
colonel knew his odors.