Doobie Duck's Disco Bus

Yeah, so I'm just sitting in the pub last night, listening to my mate's girlfriend talking about how she's thinking about quitting her job when I swear this guy on the next table says: "Doobie-doobie-doobie-doobie-quack-quack". Just like that. As if it were the kind of thing you can just say without anyone noticing. But I did notice, and I couldn't let it go without anyone on his table reacting. So I leant over and I tapped him on the shoulder and (politely, I think) said: "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Well, it transpires that "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" is local dialect for "Hello old sport, fancy some fisticuffs?" and that this guy is the last person on earth to have said "Doobie-doobie-doobie-doobie-quack-quack", or if he did it is due to an attack of tourettes or the result of some pretty nasty childhood abuse, and no matter how much I try to explain to him who Doobie-Duck was, and why I should be so eager to discuss said puppet with a fellow fan, he does not flinch from his most pressing desire i.e. to "cave my stinking skull in." (I quite liked his use of the word "stinking" I didn't realise people said that kind of thing outside of Cliff Richard musicals.)

But Doobie-Duck still forms a seminal part of my identity. I can still remember the amazing sensation I felt (which I now am able to identify as the early stages of an erotic excitement towards drag-queens) watching a crudely calved puppet of a bird dressed fully in sequins as if Diana Ross, performing 'Chain Reaction'. In the background there was the most spectacular display of pyrotechnics erupting and scattering sparks which threatened to burn through the backing singers' strings. I remember thinking, “I want to be that puppet.”