How do you know what's floating in the water? By not going to Florida.

It was 1998. My parents and I were driving down Park Ave. in Worcester, Massachusetts, on our way to the college where I'd spend my next four years. Worcester is run-down post-industrial city, a place filled with poverty and littered with empty brick buildings. And there, off the side of Park Ave., was a small park -- a little cough of grass among the gray haze. In the middle of the park was a lake, and in that lake was dozens of beautiful ducks, floating aimlessly in the closest thing they may ever find to a natural environment.

From the car window, I looked at them and shook my head with dismay. "Look at those ducks. That's really a bit much, isn't it?"

"What is, the ducks?" my mom replied.

"Yeah. How many fake ducks do you need in a lake? One or two, fine. But they've got a whole flock. That's really overkill."

"Jason, those aren't fake ducks."

"They're not?"

No, they weren't. They were real ducks. Real, live, eating and pooping ducks. I had never seen so many. It was culture shock.

I just recently took a some pictures to explain why I could have been so misguided. Please, take this as a lesson. If you meet someone from Florida, have mercy on them. Drag them to a nearby park and explain to them that nature really does exist. Unlike the ducks and flamingos and noses in Florida, life really isn't plastic.

See, this is the kind of duck we have in Florida:

Ugly, aggressive, everywhere. These ducks wander the streets, chasing people for food and defecating on every possible surface. As a child in Florida, you may feel bad for these ducks. They have been beaten severely with the ugly stick. They are nature's punchline... or, no, I take that back. The platypus is nature's punchline. These ducks are just nature's mistake. So, at one point or another, the Floridian child will steal some bread from its parents, and go feed this ugly duck. Like magic, dozens of other ducks will appear from nowhere. They are all hungry. They are all angry. They are all ugly.

You try to feed them, but their appetite is insatiable. Immediately, they start crapping on your driveway. Then, they start coming towards you. They surround you. If you don't have any more bread, well, they'll just eat you instead. You run away crying. They don't go away. They'll come back for a week. And yes, every time they come, they will poop. White, gross, stinky poop.

Now, look at the middle of that lake. There, floating quite delightfully, is the kind of duck we in Florida only hear about:

Beautiful, serene, a real aesthetic addition to the environment. To us, these ducks are just a rumor. They are the jackalope, the red-nosed reindeer. If they exist, it is only in storybooks and whispers, these mythical creatures coming to grace our lakes and ponds while we sleep. Look how lovely it is up close:

But, hark! All these photos were taken in Florida. How is that possible? How can that be? Has nature been defied? Did Mother Nature shack up with Father Unnatural?

No. Let's zoom out:

There it is: the ugly truth. That duck is mounted atop some pipe, whose purpose defies logic. Wind, rain or snow (ha ha), that duck goes nowhere. It is stoic, perpetually pretty, unwaveringly unreal. This is the awful truth in Florida. The ugly ducks have ugly hearts, and the pretty ducks are hollow.

I've lived in New England for six years now, and have since been able to determine if a duck is real or fake. I am no longer fooled by Florida's trickery, but I swear to you that I once was. The ducks had gotten to me. I was a product of my environment. The Floridian heat had gone to my head. I had sweat out any sense of logic, and bathed in the Ocean of Misery. But now I am dry. I know what birds are made of -- feathers or no feathers, eyes or beads, from an egg or a company called Ducks 'R' Us. (Ok, so i made that last bit up.)

And now i am free. Duck you, Florida. Duck you.

*Since this feature was posted, I have been alerted that the fake ducks are actually fake Canadian geese. I'm sure you cared.*