This story is a little out of the ordinary for me. For one thing, there are no Mooses in it, and my human minions came up with it themselves. They went out to dinner on Sunday night, and (as sometimes happens) their food took a good while to arrive at their table, so they had to find a  way to pass the time. This story is the result of a little game that they play. It usually starts like this:

The minion steals the husband minion’s pen and notebook. He always has a pen and notebook on him. To be fair, so does she, but he puts his on the table and jots things down as they talk, while she generally only brings hers out on her own.

Anyway, the Minion stole the notebook and wrote the first sentence that popped into her head:

It happened at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning, but if you did not see it, did not smell it, did not feel it, you will never believe it.

Then she returns his property and sits looking expectant until he adds a bit more, thinking of a twitter post he saw before they left by @slug_soup, so they became the heroes of the story:

Everyone believes that frogs smell like swamp mud and slow water. That is only true if the frog in question has not been eating super hot, jalapeno fly tacos, with extra hot sauce. Such a frog smells instead of dire and deadly flatulence.

Then she took her turn again, turning his . into a , :

, and we all have reason to be thankful for it.

That late night (or early morning) would have been the end of life as we know it without those frogs’ daring dining and intestinal fortitude. There would be no more cake, no chocolate, no pizza, tea, or biscuits if upset tummies had not taken those four frogs out into the night for a long walk out in the open where the accumulation of gases could not slay them all (at least, not quickly).

Now, at that point their food finally arrived, so they put the notebook away and set to in a more usual way, but the idea stuck in her mind, so she had to finish the thought before she could get back to writing my stories, and I am permitting her to share it here, if for no other reason than to let @slug_soup see what they have done. It is far too much to try to twit about.

Dinner Conversation

(Or How @slug_soup Saved the World)

It happened at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning, but if you did not see it, did not smell it, did not feel it, you will never believe it. Everyone believes that frogs smell like swamp mud and slow water. That is only true if the frog in question has not been eating super hot, jalapeno fly tacos, with extra hot sauce. Such a frog smells instead of dire and deadly flatulence, and we all have reason to be thankful for it.

That late night (or early morning) would have been the end of life as we know it without those frogs’ daring dining and intestinal fortitude. There would be no more cake, no chocolate, no pizza, tea, or biscuits if upset tummies had not taken those four frogs out into the night for a long walk out in the open where the accumulation of gases could not slay them all (at least, not quickly).

The frogs’ late night perambulation took them all over town.  It took them down by the docks and up past the shops while the rest of the population lay snug in their beds. From their pillows, no one else saw the slugs, the acid slugs crawling out from a most dire and nasty hatching to crawl through every crack and crevice, into houses, store rooms, warehouses, and shipping containers. They spread out slick and swiftly through the shadows heading for every tea tin or flower bin. They went for the sugar and the coffee, and every dram of milk in town, and what they could not consume, their slime would sour.

Luckily, those four frogs liked slugs. They knew just how to treat them. They would take the slugs home to Ed-dy, and then they would eat them. As the four frogs walked, the trumped with foul intent and fierce accuracy, and those acid slugs fell. The four frogs gathered up slugs into acid proof bags to take home to Ed-dy. She would make them into her lovely slug soup, if perhaps a trifle spicer and more fragrant than the usual variety.

In the morning, the town found some strange stains, and the lingering smell finally convinced the town council to revamp the sewer system, but no one ever knew how quickly or how far those acid slugs would have spread if the great trumpus had not slain every one, not even our little green friends, who saved us all.

(Featured image of Tico from @slug_soup’s twitter feed, used with permission)

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