Crazy Is as Crazy Does {Ludwig Von Drake)

[Quackerjack]

When Quackerjack finally woke up, he had, first of all, a king-sized headache. It took a lot of blinking and moaning before he remembered what'd happened. "That was a rotten trick! Wait'll I get that--that--" Trouble was, he didn't know who had brained him.

No matter, he'd just pick out some likely victim and pretend he was the culprit, and that would satisfy. The advantages of being insane.

And secondly, well, secondly was the kicker. "Where am I? Where's my costume? Where's Mr. Banana Brain?" Quacky found himself alone in a padded cell, wearing government-issued pajamas and a straight-jacket.

Hours of futile shouting, screaming and threatening ensued, but it wasn't until he started holding his breath and turning blue that the duck got results.

To stop him from hurting himself and disturbing the other patients, the orderlies finally put his own costume back on him, albeit with a straight-jacket overtop, and devoid of every block, marble and jack secreted in every pocket, making the lunatic finally feel like Quackerjack once more.

Now, he could plot.

[Ludwig Von Drake]

It wouldn't have been too long - maybe a day or so - before Quackerjack was actually allowed to leave his cell; and, of course, he had likely managed to 'persuade' the staff into letting him wear his jester costume. His leave was only temporary however, as he wasn't being let go quite yet. A certain famous psychologist, who has recently been delving into criminal psychiatry, had gotten word of the insane jester's recent incarceration, and jumped at the chance to be able to interview Quackerjack, one of the most infamous of St. Canard's rogue's gallery. And so, at the psychiatrist's request, Quackerjack - accompanied by guards and hospital personnel, of course - made a short trip down the halls to a vacant office that the psychiatrist would have occupied for this occasion.

As Quackerjack entered the cozy-looking office, with warm brown walls, a carpeted floor and pricey-looking wooden furniture, he would immediately be greeted by the aforementioned psychiatrist, who, rather than being seated at a desk, was out and about on the floor. "Ah, there you are!" greeted a short, elderly duck dressed in a dark green suit jacket, with a sprightly voice that had an immediately noticeable accent of some European descent. A wide grin spread across his bill as he approached Quackerjack. "Ho ho, my, it's quite a privilege to finally meet such an infamous crook as yourself! You've developed quite a repertoire of crimes, haven't you?" What he said sounded like a compliment to the duck, and, although Von Drake certainly couldn't say he endorsed crime, he knew that Quackerjack was quite proud of his, er, accomplishments - so, hopefully complimenting him on them would help ease him up a bit.

"Please, please, make yourself comfortable!" he urged, gesturing to a comfortable-looking couch upon which he intended for his patient to lie down. The couch, in addition to the rest of the office, was as stereotypically-psychiatrist's-office as an office could get. The guards remained in the room, standing near the door and prepared to take action if Quackerjack decided to get any ideas. Thankfully, of course, precautions were made by removing any and all of the toy-like weapons and gadgets that were hidden among his person upon his initial capture.

[Quackerjack]

Quackerjack said nothing when the orderlies escorted him from his padded cell to the office. He had a pretty good idea of what would happen next, and one look around the leather-and-mahogany room confirmed it.

Yep, it was the old psychiatrist bit again, some boring old coot asking a lot of dumb questions about ink blots. It was enough to drive a guy nuts!

And there was the quack himself, an old geezer Quacky had never seen before. His little speech about what a great criminal the jester was kind of took him by surprise. Was this some kind of trick?

Not knowing how to respond, Quackerjack simply answered, "You talk funny." At least there was something entertaining about this place.

The mad duck sat obediently on the couch, glancing at the two big mean guards stationed by the door. "Comfortable? In this?" he replied, indicating the straight jacket.

"You know, Doctor, it really wasn't my fault, all those crimes. I was forced into it, threatened with instant death if I didn't comply. It was all that criminal mastermind, Mr. Banana Brain. I'm just an unfortunate pawn."

[Ludwig Von Drake]

"Ha-ha! Oh, everybody says dat," Von Drake simply laughed in response to Quackerjack's quip, finding it more amusing than anything, apparently. The good doctor slipped a hand into one of the pockets on his suit jacket, pulling out a pocket-sized notepad with a pen attached to it - Ludwig was rarely, if ever, without these two utensils. The grin on his bill betraying his eagerness to begin the session, he approached the couch Quackerjack sat upon, but didn't bother sitting in the chair that was placed nearby - he simply stood on the floor, notepad in hand.

"Now 'den, Quackerjack... goodness, saying dat name makes me hungry for some cracker jacks..." Ludwig cleared his throat before getting back on track. "Right 'den, let's talk!" Quackerjack quickly went on to try and explain the reasoning behind all of his crimes. Despite how utterly preposterous the jester's excuse sounded, Von Drake didn't show even a smidgen of surprise or confusion - he kept that same cheerful grin on his bill as he listened. He knew just who or what he was dealing with, and wasn't thrown off at all by such a nonsense answer.

"Mr. Banana Brain, eh? He certainly sounds like... well, ha ha, a real banana brain, doesn't he?" Ludwig chuckled at the joke that only he could ever find humorous, before scribbling something down on his notepad and continuing. "I have to say 'dis is the first I've ever heard of 'dis fellow. 'Tink you could describe him a little for me?"

[Quackerjack]

"Oh, sure." Quackerjack stretched out on the couch; he'd done this bit a few times before.

"He's about eight inches tall, with a head like a banana and really bad teeth. But that's not important. He is pure evil!" The duck jester cast a sideways glance at Von Drake. "Have you got him in a cell? Under lock and key? He's really, really dangerous. You know where he is, don't you?"

Was the old goat buying any of this?

[Ludwig Von Drake]

Ludwig jotted down a few more notes as Quackerjack described the so-called "criminal mastermind"... almost as if it was of the utmost importance what this Mr. Banana Brain looked like in Quackerjack's head. Of course, Von Drake didn't buy it at all - he was a bit on the senile side, but he wasn't stupid.

"Ohhh, don't worry about dat kooky fellow," Ludwig answered with a reassuring voice, making an exaggeratedly nonchalant gesture with his free hand. He grinned at Quackerjack with good humor, appearing to take all of this as a joke. "'Dey've got him locked up over in de penitentiary, doing some hard time. He won't be causing any more trouble!"

Ludwig adjusted the spectacles laid across his bill and focused his bright blue eyes on the straightjacket-clad duck. "But enough about him! Whaddoyou say we talk a little bit about you now?" he suggested, pointing his pen at Quackerjack. "Tell me, Mr. Quackerjack... what do you remember about your childhood?" Ludwig leaned in just a bit closer with interest, notepad and pen at the ready.

[Quackerjack]

Quackerjack made a mental note of the doctor's answer. He'd have to spring Mr. B soon; but first, of course, he had to escape himself.

Casting a furtive glance at the two orderlies standing guard, the jester allowed himself a brief smirk, for they were blissfully oblivious to his plan, which was already in motion. Just a few minutes more and...

Von Drake's next question broke through the haze that passed for Quackerjack's mind. "My...childhood?"

That wasn't hard to recall. "It was wonderful," he gushed at the recollection. "I had so many toys! Bolo-bats and puzzles and wind-up cars--and Floppy. He was the best toy of all! I was so happy."

A contented sigh accompanied the memory, though it was soon followed by a sniffle. "Then there was the fire, and Floppy was burned up. Do you have a Kleenex?"

"That's when I decided to devote my life to filling the world with toys. So all the little children could be as happy as I was."

"And I was good at it, too. My toy company was the finest in the world. Oh, maybe I didn't make as much money as some of them, but I had the best toys. 'Cause I cared more about quality than profit. A Quackerjack toy meant something."

"Then, one day, it all fell apart." The duck's face darkened as the narrative continued. "Sales dropped off. Stores cancelled their orders. Merchandise rotted in the warehouses. And why, you ask? Why? Why? I'll tell you why."

There was a maniacal fire in Quacky's eyes now as he spoke. "Everybody wanted video games. Not jacks. Not marbles. Not floppy stuffed bunnies. Video games!"

[Ludwig Von Drake]

All throughout Quackerjack's story, the professor remained mostly silent, only frantically scribbling down notes and nodding his head every now and then. When the clownish criminal requested a tissue, however, Ludwig was happy to oblige. "Oh, of course, help yourself!" he cheerfully piped up, snatching a tissue from a nearby box of them and handing it to Quackerjack to allow him to blow.

Ludwig grinned widely as Quackerjack continued, clearly charmed by his mission to bring happiness to children everywhere - for the moment, he might have even forgotten the duck was a felon. "Oh, well, isn't dat wonderful? You can never have too many toys, I say - why, I'm just a big kid myself!" He chortled heartily at himself, seemingly becoming a bit distracted from the matter at hand as he picked up a model plane sitting on a nearby shelf to fiddle around with it, even thrusting it around with his hand to make it "soar". "I've had dis little beauty since I was just a wee lad, and-"

Quackerjack then continued his story, with a sudden change in mood, and Ludwig quickly realized how off track he had let himself go. With flustered movements, he quickly sat the plane back on the shelf and snatched his notepad back up to continue his note-taking. He blinked a few times and looked back up at Quackerjack, however, upon his mention of video games.

"Well, now, what's wrong wit' dat?" he questioned, adjusting his spectacles. "After all, video games are toys too, aren't dey? Very different toys, yes, but... dey're a real testament to how far technology has come, if you ask me! Besides," he chuckled, "De'yre so much fun!" Again, the absent-minded professor let his mind wander as he picked up yet another object seated nearby - a sleek, very modern-looking portable gaming system - and, amazingly, began to drop what he was doing and play on it. "Oh, de hours an' hours I've spent on Super Marco Bros... if I could just get past dat kooky King Trouser!" Ludwig's small triangular tongue stuck out of his bill as he began to become heavily engrossed in the game, various electronic-sounding sound effects emanating from the game system.

[Quackerjack]

Sniffling, Quackerjack would've gladly taken the offered Kleenex if he hadn't been wearing a straight-jacket.

But no matter--he was actually beginning to like the kindly psychiatrist, especially when Von Drake began to play with a model plane. Very healthy for an adult to play with toys.

Too bad the old duck didn't know when to quit. When he pulled out a video game, extolling its virtues, the blipping sounds cut like a knife through Quacky's brain, such as it was.

"Video games?" he whispered, then repeated more loudly, "Video games?" With a shriek of rage culled from years of frustration and hate, the duck jester leaped to his feet.

The orderlies had removed the toys from his pockets, but they'd missed one tiny sword, just big enough for a tin soldier, which was sewn into the sleeve of Quackerjack's costume. It was deceptively sharp, and cut through the straight-jacket like scissors cuts paper.

Any vestige of humanity Quacky may have shown was submerged once again under his lunatic personality. Grabbing Von Drake by the coat and holding the sword at the professor's Adam's apple, the Clown Prince of Crime chortled to the orderlies guarding the door, "New game, fellas. And now we play by my rules. I want Mr. Banana Brain released and all my toys back--"

"--or Gramps here will want a new neck!"