Vintage Camper Showcase #12 (AKA "The Minnesota Duck.")

It's one of my favorite off-color jokes. A yarn so simple and silly, even a fourth grader - or a radio host - can understand and revel in it.
It's the story of The Minnesota Duck: Two guys - usually of Scandinavian descent - are finishing a day of duck hunting in the woods of North Dakota. Diligent in making sure they didn't exceed the No Dak limits, they are about to head back to the Lodge for a few stories, beers and probably white-colored food. That's when a North Dakota DNR agent stops them. He asks if they were shooting only North Dakota ducks.
"Well, how would we know?" The one hunter rails back.
That's when the DNR fella reaches into his mouth, licks his finger and yes, sticks it into the rear end of the Mallard. He then pulls it out, slides it under his nose and smells. Eyes closed, he nods and says, "No, that's a North Dakota duck."
He then repeats the same procedure on each dead fowl. Finally, he reels back and declares that one of the ducks is, indeed, a "Minnesota Duck."
(That means it would be out of season, because North Dakota and Minnesota can't agree on anything, except that manure "smells like money.")
"You boys will need to come with me." He declares.
Shocked, the two hunters can't believe it.
"First, you need to tell me your names and where your from," he said.
The first hunter dutifully answers, "Jens Jenson, from Fergus Falls."
The other hunter - yeah, you see it coming - is less than cooperative: He drops his pants, turns around and declares:
"I'm Larry Hanson. And you're so smart, you tell ME where I'm from!"

That one never gets old.
God Bless my old friend Wes Schierman, who first told me that joke when I was about 12-years old.



(Photos are from the C.Dickenson Collection, from the RV/MH Museum in Indiana. No water fowl were injured in the making of this joke or blog post.)