No matter how much I try, I cannot duck Quinn Shannon's jokes.

"How you feeling?" he asks before immediately answering his own question. "Just ducky?"

"Remember! There's no smoking, unless you're smoking quack, which is highly addictive."

He's fast and furious, perhaps a bit offensive, and not being able to think of a clever comeback, I feel like a lame duck.

But that's the name of the game when you take a ride on Just Ducky Tours' Duckmobile. I've taken such tours before on Cape Cod and in Boston, so I know the bill of fare: an hour of corny jokes, nested in a cursory history of the town by land and water.

Comfortably settled in an outdoor seat (they offer the best viewing spots), I've already nabbed one of the oversized umbrellas so conveniently stowed on board because the gray clouds promise Mother Nature is going to "fowl" the fun.

I'm surprised that on such an unwelcoming day the mobile is full -- mostly tourists, a few natives, some recent transplants, lots of kids. Just about everyone laughs at Quinn's jokes. "No excuses!" he warns. "Everyone has to quack when I say so. If not, we have a name for you: lame duck."

How dare he use my line ... and ruin my lead! I decide right then and there that if he asks for a tip, I'll tell him to put it on my bill. That should send him on a wild goose chase.

Sitting nearby is a young woman who, from the look on her face and quiver in her voice, isn't quite sure if she should have spent the $19 for the tour. She spies my notebook and takes a gander, asking me if I think she is safe.

I decide Nervous Nellie must not have her feathers ruffled. I tell her that she's perfectly safe, that General Motors Co. made the six-wheel-drive amphibious trucks during World War II for use over land and water, and they have stood the test of time. I also mention that because the Duckmobile on which we are riding is bright blue, what better color to be so easily seen from the air should Search and Rescue be called?

She thanks me and quickly moves inside.

Off we go!

Five minutes into the tour, the rains begin. I sit alone, umbrella in hand, a duck out of water. I love every minute of it. Every once and a while Quinn tosses out a meaningful morsel; when he drops celeb names, my soggy eyes and ears open wider.

I knew the Omni William Penn was the city's oldest operating hotel and the first hotel to offer a working bathroom in every room, and I don't care that Bob and Dolores Hope courted there and have a ballroom named after them. But the fact that Lawrence Welk's "bubble machine" was invented at the William Penn and the original is on display gives me reason to break open the Veuve Clicquot.

The tour continues. Talk and tidbits about Grant Street, Oxford Centre, the Cultural District, Trinity Church, the Allegheny County Courthouse. At the Smithfield Street Bridge, it's time to take the plunge. As we skim the Monongahela, I notice Nervous Nellie has her hood over her head ... she's either ready for sleep or resuscitation.

Halfway through the trip, Quinn asks if anyone wants to "drive" the Duckmobile. I wiggle my way into the driver's seat and take the helm just as the waves begin to swell. Turning the wheel a bit too quickly to the right doesn't help. We're going only about 5 mph, but it's enough to turn me into, well, a sitting duck: Capt. Doug Honsperger looks me straight in the eye. "Who the hell taught you to drive?" he asks. "Helen Keller?"

Nervous Nellie laughs the loudest.

I decided "conducktor" won't make my resume.

As I waddle my way back to my seat, Doug hands me a souvenir, a small round sticker that boasts, "I drove the Ducky boat."

Receiving the gift puts me in a prestigious paddle: PSO Pops conductor Marvin Hamlisch may have an Oscar, a Tony, a Grammy and an Emmy, but he also has one of these coveted stickers. (He drove the Duckmobile on his 60th birthday three years ago.)

I pass Nervous Nellie and smile. I get the last quack, peeling the backing off my singular sensation and sticking it to my wet lapel.