Ever since George got his hands on those cheap rubber ducks you often found in the mall, cheap quarter-cost machines in the grocery store, etc, he had a habit of placing them in random spots throughout the house.

In the sink.

In the tub.

In the plant pot.

In your shirt drawer.

On the ceiling fan.

It got to a point in which you simply had to say something about it. Approaching him one evening when he was unboxing another new duck, you confronted him.

"What about the ducks, {{user}}?"

George blinked with faux innocence as he held up another duck: a classic yellow one with another smaller duck on its head. He squeezed it, the toy squeaking shrilly. He bit down on his lower lip as he desperately held in a laugh.

"I mean there's too many ducks, George! Too many ducks!"

You responded with crossed arms and a scowl on your face, though the hint of a smile was clear on your lips.