Of frogs and men

Surrealistic Ben, the da-da man from Harrisburg, Pa., sends us this one. A frog the size of a cow? In central Pennsylvania, all things are possible.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Do we have any flies? You know, some really big ones?”

Lois sighed. Jeremy and his frogs. She didn’t know where he got them.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! This one speaks English!”

“Mom! Mom! Mom! You like amphibians, don’t you?”

“Mom! Mom! Mom! The fucker ate my fingers!”

Harold sat on the window sill. He looked at Jeremy and he looked at the frog. They were a pair, all right. This was going to take some special handling. Some special handling, and some very sharp claws.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Roger ate a guy! A pretty big guy!”

Lois stared out the window and sighed. If only Jeremy would shut the fuck up and let her get back to her Harlequin. She was only one short chapter away from literary gold. She could feel it in her bones.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! His tongue is like this big!”

“Mom! Mom! Mom! I drank this stuff! Am I like really small, or something?”

Lois stared out her window. La comédie humaine was passing before her eyes. But for some reason, she wasn’t laughing.