Meet Chuckles Canard at Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check® North Hollywood: The Clown Duck, Positive Duck, and Funniest STAR Smog Check Near Me in the Valley
- Joe
- 17 hours ago
- 13 min read
Clown Duck Rolls Into Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check® North Hollywood: How a Montréal Circus Star in Hermès (Not a Clown Suit) Snuck Out of the 84th FIP World Congress, Crash Landed in Excalibur’s Pot, and Started a Sitcom Argument With His Cousin Positive Duck About Whether Laughter or Positivity Is the Key to Life
Thursday morning at the shop started with a honk that did not belong to a car.
Not a Burbank Boulevard beep. Not a “move it, I’m late for a STAR Smog Check test” blast from the lane. A tiny, polite, two note honk from somewhere near the plants. The kind of honk that apologizes first and introduces itself second.
I’m Joe. I open Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check® Star Station at 10909 Burbank Blvd, North Hollywood, CA 91601, and I keep a pretty strict inventory of the sounds this bay is allowed to make. Printer. Analyzer. Occasional leaf applause. Positive Duck clearing her throat before she tells a Civic it’s ducking awesome. That is the list. A circus honk with a Montréal accent is not on the list.
I followed the noise past Janet Craigson’s pot, where Positive Duck was already on duty in the cowboy hat and shades, sign at half-mast like she had just seen a relative she was not emotionally budgeted for. Wendy Compacta, Ari Palm, Freddie Figg, Fog-Fiddlin’ Frank, Tailpipe-Tango Tina, Puff-Purifier Pam, Smog-Whacker Wally, and Aris were all leaning the same direction, a studio audience that had been handed the plot twist before the theme song. Smoggy McQuack was peeking out from behind Freddie like a tiny yellow journalist who smelled a scoop.
The honk came from Excalibur.
Our sword leafed Sansevieria does not honk. Excalibur stands in that orange pot like a security guard who declined the small talk portion of the job. If he ever made a sound it would come with a court date. So when I rounded the last leaf and saw what was standing in his soil, the coffee in my hand applied for a different career.
There he was. Tiny yellow body. Exploded red clown wig. Little green hat perched on top like it had opinions. White shirt. Green bottoms. Pink bowtie. A bouquet of balloons in one wing. A purple flower in the other. Mouth wide open in that classic “I just told a joke in two languages and both of them landed” expression. He looked settled. He looked proud. He looked like he had already named the pot after himself.
Next to him, the shop’s official laughing face plant stake was losing its mind. Behind him, Excalibur ,The Mandalorian of Stoic Strength, stood perfectly still, which is how Excalibur says both “welcome” and “I will end you.”
And from Janet’s pot, Positive Duck slowly lowered her “You’re Ducking Awesome!” sign, tilted the cowboy hat back, and pushed the shades down her beak just far enough to say, without saying it:
“…Cousin?”
Joe’s Official Interrogation (Because This Is Still a Place of Business)
I pointed at the wig. Then the balloons. Then the flower. Then Excalibur, who did not blink, because plants don’t, but the energy was blinking.
“Okay. No. Hold on. Everybody freeze.”
The bay froze. Even the 101 outside seemed to take a breath.
“Before anybody starts a family reunion in my snake plant,” I said, “I need answers. I’ve had a rat mechanic, a pen strike, a wandering rubber duck, and a pharmacy dropout in a cowboy hat. I can handle weird. I cannot handle surprises that come with investor problems.”
The new duck straightened his tiny pink bowtie.
“Easy there, buddy. Name’s Chuckles Canard. Montréal. The 514. Circus side of the family. Pleasure to meet you, Joe. Sorry about the pot. Your plant here looked like the only fella tall enough to take a joke.”
The accent hit me like a poutine truck on an empty stomach. Canadian. Warm. Extra vowels. The kind of voice that apologizes for existing and then makes you laugh anyway.
I squinted.
“Chuckles. I need you to answer these slowly. One: are you a financial clown? Like, the kind who hid from his investors in a bag and then ‘accidentally’ ended up in California?”
Chuckles blinked. “A financial clown? Buddy. Do I look like I know what a Series B is? I can juggle three balloons and a daisy. I cannot juggle a cap table.”
“Two,” I said. “Are you a flip flopper hiding from the people who funded you?”
“Flip flops are for the beach, eh? I wear boots when I work and these” he fluffed the white shirt and green bottoms “are not a clown suit. Let’s get that on the record before the internet gets cute. This is Hermès. Limited Canadian capsule. Jardin de Montréal circus collection. Silk blend, very exclusive, very ‘I got dressed in a boutique not a trunk.’ If you call this a clown suit again I will say sorry so many times you’ll think I billed you for it.”
Freddie Figg rustled so hard I thought he was going to demand a receipt.
“Three,” I continued, because once you start a checklist you finish the checklist. “Are you a villain from one of the Batman movies? Because the wig is doing a lot of work and I do not have the square footage for the Joker, the Penguin, or whoever the duck version of the Riddler is. If Batman is about to kick my bay door in, I need a heads up. We have a Pass or Don’t Pay® policy. We do not have a Pass or Don’t Punch™ policy.”
Chuckles put a wing over his heart like I’d accused him of stealing a Habs jersey.
“Villain? Me? Come on, Joe. I’m a circus clown. Real circus. Kids. Adults. Balloon animals that look like balloon animals and not tax write offs. I make people laugh until they forget they were nervous. I am not hiding from Batman. If anything, Batman could use a matinee. The man has never once said sorry and it shows.”
Excalibur’s tallest leaf dipped one millimeter. That is Excalibur for “fine, he can stay through lunch.”
Positive Duck hopped the rim of Janet’s pot, shades still on, cowboy hat still doing its job.
“He’s telling the truth, Joe. That’s my cousin. Unfortunately.”
The Origin Story (As Told by a Duck Who Keeps Saying “Eh?”)
Apparently the family tree is weirder than my warranty paperwork.
Positive Duck, as loyal readers already know, was a fourth year pharmacy student who walked away from APPE rotations under the infamous Dr. Leon “Lambchop” Lamberson, put on a cowboy hat, and found her calling as the bay’s vibe officer. Chuckles is from the other branch. The Montréal branch. The “why is there glitter in the gravy” branch.
For years Chuckles was a working circus clown in Québec. Kids’ birthdays. Summer festivals. The occasional hockey intermission that got out of hand in the best way. His whole philosophy was simple: if a room is heavy, you don’t lecture it. You honk at it until it lightens up.
Then the 84th FIP World Congress of Pharmacy and Pharmaceutical Sciences landed in Montréal from August 30 to September 2, 2026. Theme: One Health, One Pharmacy, Bridging science, practice, and education. USP Events were on site. Thousands of pharmacists, scientists, educators, and people who can pronounce “pharmacokinetics” without blinking.
Somebody at one of the booths and Chuckles will not name names, which is the most Canadian crime I’ve ever heard decided the congress needed a live mascot for a “laughter is medicine” activation. Chuckles became the main attraction. Tiny duck. Big wig. Purple daisy. He posed with delegates. He sat on stacks of monographs. He nodded solemnly at posters about medication adherence. He told a joke about a tablet and a tablet and only one of them was funny.
By day three he was being treated like the next big thing in pharma.
“They kept saying I was a prototype,” Chuckles told me, still standing in Excalibur’s soil like it was a dressing room. “Compliance companion. Emotional support formulary. ‘The future of patient engagement,’ they said. Buddy. I am a duck in Hermès from Canada. I am not a medical device.”
So he did what any reasonable Montréal circus duck would do when a booth started printing his face next to words like “pipeline” and “Series seed.”
He snuck into the tote bag of a fourth year pharmacy student.
Not just any student. A tired, coffee powered, poster tube carrying fourth year who had spent the congress bouncing between USP events, scientific sessions, and the kind of receptions where everybody says “let’s connect on LinkedIn” like it’s a spell. Chuckles wriggled under a program book, pulled the daisy in after himself, and whispered, “Sorry, eh. Just need a lift.”
The student flew home. The tote bag hit California. The bag got set down. And Chuckles, who had been hunting one piece of family gossip the entire congress that his cowboy hatted cousin had quit pharmacy school and become the vibe officer at a drive-thru smog check™ shop in North Hollywood, waddled toward the only address that sounded made up enough to be true.
Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check®
He arrived this morning. He saw Excalibur. He climbed in. He waited. He practiced his apology in both official languages.
The Reunion (Rated Sitcom)
Positive Duck hopped down to the rim of Excalibur’s pot. Cowboy hat. Shades. Sign tucked under one wing. The whole Official Vibe Officer starter pack.
Chuckles opened his arms. The balloons bonked her hat.
“Cuz! Look at you. Texas on the head, California in the soil. You’re a whole mood board.”
“You hid in a student’s bag,” she said.
“I commute now.”
“You were pretending to be the next big thing in pharma.”
“They pretended first. I just committed to the bit.”
Janet Craigson, The Leia of Dependability, rustled her glossy leaves in that calm “I have seen wars and I have seen cousins” way of hers. Wendy Compacta, Yoda of Air Purification, muttered something that sounded like “told you the Force has a sense of humor.” Ari Palm, Han Solo of Tropical Vibes, did the plant version of leaning on a doorway. Freddie Figg was already planning the group photo. Fog-Fiddlin’ Frank offered to score the argument on invisible violin. Tailpipe-Tango Tina whispered, “If they fight, they should dance.” Puff-Purifier Pam puffed the red wig so it got even redder. Smog-Whacker Wally stationed himself between the two ducks like a bouncer who secretly wanted popcorn. Aris took notes. Excalibur continued being a sword.
Smoggy McQuack, from three pots away, squeaked once. Translation: “There are three of us now. I want a union.”
I sat on the stool. This was better than cable.
The Great Debate: Laughter vs. Positivity (Key to Life Edition)
It started the way all important family arguments start. Somebody said “actually.”
Positive Duck tapped her sign. “I’m just saying. Positivity is the key to life. You can laugh at a sinking ship. That doesn’t mean you should decorate the iceberg.”
Chuckles snorted so hard one balloon bumped Excalibur. “Sorry. Positivity is lovely, cuz. Truly. You’re ducking awesome, I get it, I’ve seen the merch. But positivity without laughter is just a motivational poster taped to a sad fridge. Laughter is the key. You crack the room open. Then the good stuff can walk in.”
“Laughter fades,” she said. “A vibe stays.”
“A vibe without a punchline is a meeting, eh?”
“You hid in a tote bag.”
“You quit pharmacy school to stand in a plant.”
“I found my calling.”
“I found a bag. We all have origin stories.”
I should have stayed out of it. I did not stay out of it.
“Can I ask a referee question?” I said. “Because I run a smog shop, not a philosophy department. People roll in here tense. Check engine light. Registration deadline. That specific California fear that the car is about to become a very expensive paperweight. Positive Duck tells them they’re ducking awesome. Are you telling me that’s not enough? That I also need a duck in a red wig yelling jokes at a Honda?”
Chuckles turned to me with the sincerity of a man about to explain hockey icing to a tourist.
“Joe. Pal. Positivity tells a person they can do it. Laughter reminds them they’re already a person while they’re doing it. You ever watch a grown adult grip the steering wheel like the OBD port is going to grade their childhood? That’s not a motivation problem. That’s a tightness problem. You loosen the tightness with a laugh. Then my cousin here hits them with the ‘you’re ducking awesome.’ One-two. Beautiful. Like a double-double. Hot and sweet. You don’t pick. You order both.”
Positive Duck was quiet for one full second, which for her is a fiscal quarter.
“He’s not completely wrong,” she admitted. “I hate that for me.”
“I’m a little bit wrong all the time,” Chuckles said. “It’s part of the act. Keeps me humble. Also I still say sorry if I honk too loud.”
Wendy Compacta rustled the plant version of a TED Talk. Janet gave the tiniest leaf- nod, which in Janet speak is a standing ovation. Tailpipe-Tango Tina declared the argument a draw and tried to teach both ducks a two step. Chuckles two stepped. Positive Duck refused on the grounds that cowboy hats do not two step, they line dance. Freddie Figg took sides with whoever was facing the better light. Fog-Fiddlin’ Frank played both themes at once. Puff-Purifier Pam blew the purple daisy so it bonked Chuckles in the beak. Smog-Whacker Wally said if they kept arguing he’d whack the smog and the bit. Aris whispered, “I think the key to life is watering on a schedule.” Excalibur said nothing and therefore won.
I looked at the laughing face stake. The laughing face stake looked at me. We reached a professional understanding.
Life With the Leafy Legends (Now With 200% More Duck)
Here is the current seating chart, subject to Smoggy McQuack’s wandering and Freddie Figg’s need to be in every frame.
Janet Craigson still rooms with Positive Duck. Quiet. Steady. Glossy. The Silent Smog Slayer who approved a cowboy duck and is now side eyeing a circus duck like a den mother with a guest list.
Excalibur, against every stoic instinct in his sword like leaves, is hosting Chuckles. The Mandalorian of Stoic Strength now has a roommate who says “sorry” to the soil. I watered them this morning and I swear Excalibur whispered, “This is temporary.” Chuckles whispered back, “Everything is temporary except a good bit, eh?”
Wendy Compacta has already appointed herself debate moderator.
Ari Palm is treating Chuckles like a touring act that might know a guy who knows a beach.
Freddie Figg has requested a cousin spin off and also a tiny cowboy hat for the balloons.
Fog-Fiddlin’ Frank is writing a duet called “Pass or Don’t Pay, but First Laugh or Don’t Frown.” I told him the trademark office is closed on bits. He did not care.
Tailpipe-Tango Tina is choreographing a routine in which positivity line dances and laughter honks on the backbeat.
Puff-Purifier Pam keeps puffing the red wig into new shapes. So far we have “surprised porcupine,” “Montréal sunrise,” and “I did not approve this haircut.”
Smog-Whacker Wally has added “anti villain screening” to his security duties. If Batman shows up, Wally will handle it. If a financial clown shows up, Wally will handle it. If a customer just needs a 10 minute STAR Smog test and a reason to smile, Wally will glare the smog into next week and let the ducks do the rest.
Aris, The Luke Skywalker of New Hope, is taking this as proof that the galaxy is bigger than he thought and also that cousins are a lot.
And Smoggy McQuack? Smoggy is circling the pots like a tiny yellow journalist. He has questions. He has no mouth for questions. He will ask them anyway.
Why This Matters (Besides Being Completely Ridiculous)
Look. Smog checks are rarely anyone’s favorite errand. People roll in tense, worried about failing, worried about the cost, worried about the whole bureaucratic cloud hanging over a perfectly good Thursday. At Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check™ we already do everything we can to make it painless: stay in your car, about 10 minutes, STAR certified, no appointments, and the one policy I actually trademarked into the stratosphere.
Pass or Don’t Pay®
Didn’t Pass? Don’t Pay!®
You only pay the $60 out the door if the car passes. No games. No upsells. No “you need a new catalytic converter and also my cousin’s blessing.” Which is funny, because this week I actually do have a cousin situation, and neither cousin is allowed to bless your exhaust.
But now? Now you’ve got the original vibe officer in Janet’s pot, sign held high, shades reflecting the Valley sun, quietly broadcasting that you’re ducking awesome. And two leaves over, in Excalibur’s orange pot, you’ve got her Montréal cousin in a red wig and actual Hermès from Canada, not a clown suit, he will remind you until the cows come home and then apologize to the cows, holding a purple daisy and a bunch of balloons like laughter filed the paperwork to live here too.
I watched it happen this morning. A guy from Studio City pulled in tight around the eyes. Positive Duck hit him with the sign. Chuckles hit him with a tiny honk and a “you’re doing great, eh?” The guy laughed so suddenly he had to put the car back in park for a second. Then he passed. Then he asked if the ducks were on payroll. I told him the truth.
The ducks are not on payroll. The ducks are on purpose.
That’s not just a smog check.
That’s a family reunion with better air quality.
The Official Ruling From the Bay
After the debate, after the interrogation, after Excalibur agreed to one more night “and we will revisit this like adults,” I asked both ducks the same question.
“So what is the key to life?”
Positive Duck adjusted her shades. “Positivity. Show up. Believe the person in the driver’s seat can handle the day. Then tell them, out loud, that they’re ducking awesome.”
Chuckles bumped his daisy against her sign. “Laughter. Show up. Crack the day open so the belief has somewhere to sit. Then tell them they’re doing great, eh, and mean it.”
I thought about it. I thought about traffic on the 101. I thought about check engine lights and registration weeks and every face that has rolled into this bay hoping the news would be kind. I thought about a cowboy duck who walked away from pharmacy school and a circus duck who walked out of a world congress in a student’s tote bag because he missed his cousin.
“You’re both hired,” I said. “Unofficially. No benefits. Soil privileges only. And Chuckles if Batman, a venture capitalist, or anybody from the congress tote bag department shows up, you hide behind Excalibur and let me do the talking.”
Chuckles saluted with the purple daisy. “Sorry in advance. And thank you. You’re a beauty, Joe.”
Positive Duck lifted the sign one more time, mostly at him, a little at me, a lot at you.
You’re Ducking Awesome.
Go do your thing.
And if the day feels heavy… honk first. Believe second. Pass when you can.
So if you’re due for a smog check, or you’re just having one of those mornings where the universe feels like it packed itself into the wrong tote bag, come roll through the bay. Stay in the car. Keep the A/C on. Watch Janet do her silent purification magic. Watch Excalibur pretend he is not amused. Let Positive Duck remind you that you are ducking awesome. Let Chuckles Canard, circus clown, Montréal export, Hermès not a clown suit diplomat, accidental almost pharma mascot, remind you that laughter still works even after a very long flight.
Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check®
Star Station • 10909 Burbank Blvd, North Hollywood, CA 91601
(818) 760-0703 • joessmogcheck.com
Open Monday to Friday 9 to 6, Saturday 9 to 2.
Walk-ins only. Drive-thru only. Vibes included. Honks extra, still free.
Come meet the newest (and loudest) member of the crew.
Excalibur’s already claimed him.
Positive Duck is still deciding if that’s a good thing.
The rest of us are just happy to be along for the ride.
Joe’s Drive Thru Smog Check® • North Hollywood
Thursday, September 3, 2026 • A true story. Mostly.
Pass or Don’t Pay® • Didn’t Pass? Don’t Pay!® • Drive Thru Smog Check®
Joe
