Serve and Protect, My Ass

Our dryer broke again, which meant that I had to call a guy to repair it.  The repair guy happened to be African American, which sent my racist dog into a 2-hour long frenzy.  The dryer guy laughed and said "serve and protect, huh?" to which I just uncomfortably giggled, completely embarrassed by my bigot of a dog.

He is a Tea Party republican, after all.

Later that night, while Mitch was outside lying in his dirt spot, an evil murdering tree frog broke into our house.  I saw it on the door frame and thought that it was a leaf or something, so I tried to rub it off with my toe.  And then when the frog jumped on my foot, into the kitchen, and began to crawl up my refrigerator with its long murderin' poison legs, I screamed like I'd just seen the Trinity killer in my bathroom.  I screamed and screamed some more as the frog decided to stalk me from between the refrigerator and freezer doors.  It even whispered "You're gonna die, lady" in a scary Southern accent.

What did the dog do?  Did he hear his mother, the woman who birthed him from her body, screaming hysterically and facing death and then run to her rescue?  Did he kill the frog?  Did he call the police?  Did he even bother to get up out of his dirt spot?

No.

Serve and protect, my ass.

Demon Frog

It is really, really hot outside. 

Like, really hot.

Like, I took the pup for a walk at 8:45 and it was still 95 degrees.

Like, my hydrangeas are wilting.

Like, I am wilting.

But you know that it's hot.

What you probably don't know, though, is that we here at M Cubed have been being stalked, harassed, and generally mistreated by an evil poisonous Georgia frog.

This frog. 

(see him, way up at the top?)

I think he may be a Georgian River Frog**.  Or he may just be a demon.

When I was outside yesterday, minding my own business and watering the hydrangeas, the frog suddenly inflated his entire body and began to belt out some hellish squawk yell thing. 

And I don't like frogs, anyway.  I mean, they're like the thing I fear most (unless you want to count albino children), and I'm pretty sure that they can sense my fear (both).

But I'm working on overcoming these anxieties.  How can I ever convince Mitch to be okay during a thunderstorm if I myself can't be okay around a teeny tiny [poisonous and homicidal] little frog?

So today I went back out to those hydranges, and this time I had a camera so that you could witness his big scary inflated body.  The camerawork is shoddy at best, and I have only a rudimentary knowledge of any movie-making software, but, please, enjoy the voiceover work.

Oh, and while I was sitting here in the living room tonight--again minding my own business--I heard his little frog war cry again.  There's a 78% chance that the next time I step outside there will be an army of frogs waiting for me, and they'll all jump down my throat and jump on me and then I'll choke to death on poisonous and hateful and mean frogs.  And then they'll all inflate again and make that noise again to celebrate their victory.

**Also, he's probably not really even this kind of frog.  But he is an evil frog.

A Near-Death Experience

This will probably be my final blog post, since I was viciously attacked this morning by my worst enemy: a jumpy frog. He jumped onto my hand while I was switching laundry this morning, and proceeded to inject his deadly jumpy frog poison into my bloodstream. Then he jumped into my mouth and used his little sucker fingers to open and close my mouth and force me to chew him, then ingesting the poison. I might have a few more hours to live.

I hate jumpy frogs. Hatred in my heart. They're evil, and they always attack me and look at me. They want me dead.

It's been good knowing you.

PS--I tried a few months ago to make Matt be the one in charge of switching laundry. It didn't take. I bet he's going to be pretty sad when I die from a laundry-related attack.