Come for the politics, stay for the snark.
Watergirl has been sending demanding and impatient text messages about the absence of Mr. Frog, completely unaware that we respect a man’s privacy on the weekends. So since we gave him a weekend off, a very special portrait of Mr. Frog praying to his almighty:
Now an easy one:
And now a harder one:
Thus concludes my amphibian duties for the day.
I was in a mood all day. I had a headache, it rained all day, and everything pissed me off. On the upside, as I noted elsewhere, I did learn how to tell the difference between male and female frogs, and it is not, as I guessed, little green balls, but that male frogs croak. Same with toads. So he is, in fact, Mr. Frog, and not Miss or Mrs. Frog.
Here is Mr. Frog, and my mom was quite excited about this one for whatever reason:
Be good to one another.
This really is going to become a thing, isn’t it?
At any rate, we had violent thunderstorms all day which means that both I and Mr. Frog took long naps, and mom could not find him, so here is a picture from another day:
Can you find him?
Oh, I think I missed my soberversary again. I think I am at 8 or 9 years.
I am tired and I have two bushels of peaches to deal with tomorrow so this is all I got:
My parents have a koi pond that my dad is very fond of, and it is as meticulously maintained as one would expect one owned by an 80 year old OCD German who was potty trained at gunpoint would be. At any rate, we have a frog in residence, who my equally senile doting mother has cleverly named “Mr. Frog.” Every day now this summer, she has sent a picture of the pond and Mr. Frog, and we play a sort of Where’s Waldo with it to find Mr. Frog.
It occurred to me that you all are as big a set of losers share the same interests as my parents, and would like to play along, so I am going to start posting them here. Here is today’s installment, and don’t ruin for other by pointing out his location in the comments, you bastards.
