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A duck walks into his local bar after work. He sits at the bar, takes his hat off, orders a drink, and starts reading his newspaper. The bartender's never seen anything like this before, so naturally he strikes up a conversation.

"Say, fella. I've never met a talking duck before."
"I get that a lot", he replies without looking up from his newspaper.
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you get the money to buy your drinks?"
"Work."

The bartender took the hint that the duck didn't want to talk, but he couldn't help himself.
"What do you do?"
"I'm a drywaller", said the duck as he lowered his glass from his bill, his eyes still never leaving his paper.
"That's a strange profession for a duck," replied the bartender. "You get a lot of work?"
The duck said, "I do alright. I'm always looking for the next job though." as he turned the page.

The bartender decided that was enough, and that he had work to do. The duck became something of a regular at that bar, always sitting in the same spot, almost never looking up from his newspaper.

One day, a new patron walked in. He was wearing a bright yellow suit with blue stripes. His mustache was styled into an old-fashioned handlebar style, with the tips tapered to a perfect point. Once again, the bartender is curious.

"Hey, fella. And what do you do?", he asked.
"Oh, I work with the circus! We just rolled into town and we'll be setting up shortly."
"Well, I know someone who's always looking for work! And I think he'd be a great fit. He's a talking duck."

The bartender and the new patron exchanged numbers, and he promised him that when he next saw the duck, he would refer him to the circus. The next day, the duck comes back to his usual spot. After he orders his drink the bartender starts conversation.

"You said you're looking for work right? Well good news, the circus is in town."
"The circus?", replied the duck, still reading his newspaper. "You mean that big canvas tent in the middle of town?"
"That's the one!" said the bartender.
"The one where they keep the animals in those steel cages?", he asked, with the turn of a page.
"Yep!"
"And they travel from town to town in horse-drawn carriages, sleeping under the stars?"
"Yeah," replied the bartender. "You know. The circus."
The duck paused briefly, and looked straight up from his newspaper, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
"What the fuck do they need a drywaller for?"