There is a story to tell here, and it literally just happened, so I may need to collect my thoughts even as I write. You may prematurely guess the amphibian…ic(?) nature of this tale from the title, and you may not be far off. If I were a more positive person, I would write about unexpected turns of events where things you consider to be a burden on your life and your room, turn out to be useful. But being me, I can only concentrate on the disgusting aspects of the fact that I left Amy Poehler a fan mail a while ago, to which I got a reply that I was reading when a frog entered my room; and when I kissed it, instead of turning into a prince, it started trying to get to third base (I let practically anyone get to second base, so the boob grazing was no big deal). Also, err… the frog really liked Links? (it’s a law firm, for the lucky people who don’t know)
I finished one of my articles for History of Punishment, which in my book is a cause for celebration. So, in celebration, I was spending some quality time with myself (not in a self-pleasuring way. My Aunt Flo – short for Florentyna – called me a few days ago and reminded me about what happens with my vagina when God watches it. She didn’t tell me why God watches it) with some coke, some chips and a lot of 30 Rock and Parks And Recreation.
I was falling rapidly in love with Adam Scott, and even getting to the point where despite being in love with him, I could imagine ripping his clothes off his skinny little body and… THIS CONTENT MAY BE CONSIDERED TOO DIRTY FOR SOME READERS. LINKS TO THE DETAILS WILL BE PROVIDED AT THE END… and as we lay there, him smoking his post coital cigarette, and me drinking my heated Nutella from an industrial grade straw, he looks towards me and says, “You need a little meat on those bones, baby, so drink up.”
So that was happening. This was when I saw that cretin… ous(?) creature. It was huge (not really) and it was trying to assault me! (It was on my bed, which is as close as I’ll ever … oh Adam Scott…) It was a frog. Or a toad. It didn’t have orange tinges so I’m hoping it was a frog. It was small, now that I think about it with my normal heart rate and my larynx able to form proper consonant sounds. It was actually, quite small. It could have been covered up by the cap of a coke bottle. But that didn’t deter me. I was sure that despite its young age and small size, it would turn into Adam Scott once I made out with it, so we went at it, me and the underage frog-toad.
No, actually I crawled out of my bed, making a low pitch dog whine type of sound from my throat (which is what I did for about the next five seconds) before I looked for the nearest container with which to trap the kraken. Now technically, the nearest containers were right at the foot of my bed – my Beatles mug (Actually from London! Brought for me by M!), my beer mug (for juice and oats), my blue mug which I actually use for beer, and my set of smaller mugs/cups which I use for decoration (they’re cute) and also as shot glasses cause they’re roughly the same size. But even in crisis, I am proud to say my OCD was intact. My mind screamed, “Not those! You use those! No! Look the other way!”
As a proud follower of my mind, I looked the other way, and there, on my desk, was the Links mug. This mug had caused me a lot of trouble. It does not belong to me. It belongs to a friend of mine who was too lazy and precious to carry it in his hand when I had a bag. It was in my room the day that I cleaned the room, the fan, the books, the fan, my clothes, the dustbin and the utensils so it had been cleaned. I had wanted it out of my room because there is space in my room for my stuff, stuff that I borrow, but no space for stuff that I have in my room for a while for no good reason. But it has been here for a while. I had since used it to catch flies, a blue colored bee, and as a stand for my tiny mirror when I need to put on eye make-up. But despite its unwanted presence on my desk, (which, for the record, is not the place for mugs unless I am at the desk at the time when its on the desk. Or unless I’m posing at the desk for the invisible camera crew that follows me around sometimes) today, it saved my life and honor.
I grabbed it, and crawled my way back to the bed, all the while squeaking, “This is not ok, not ok, not ok. Not cool. This is bad. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”, and located the devil spawn. Then in a feat of bravery and common sense, I trapped the frog under the mug. For about two minutes after that, I was on my knees, supported by my desk, doing some very deep breathing. When I came to, I realized I had done that for two minutes, which meant that for the sake of my peace, I had to check that the little green bastard was still under there. I slowly raised the mug to see that he wasn’t. A second later, I realized that he was and had only attached himself to the inner walls of the mug.
Having confirmed that the sluggish asshole was still in there, I did what Patrick Maitland taught me, and slid a thick card under the mug, picked it up, and released it into the wild. The wild that was far, far away from my door.
And so it was that the stupid mug which I didn’t want in my room saved my other mugs from having to be used for something disgusting. Really gives you some perspective, this whole incident. When life hands you mugs that have no place in your room, make frog/toad traps.
And before you ladies start picturing me as your perfect, well-breasted, lesbian Amazonian warrior in shining armor, do consider that this incredible act of bravery was conducted with the wheezy “No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! Gross, gross, gross, Fuck!” rant I mentioned earlier, and also by crawling that was very, very similar to this –
Despite these clear irregularities from the general stereotypes of Amazonian warriors, if anybody out there is interested in the services I can provide, along with the previously mentioned camera crew, I would be willing to consider it, for a nominal fee obviously. Send your mails to Billy Amazon, Shameerpet Law College. The address is on the website.
P.S. – to the owner of the mug – I will of course be washing the mug three times over, at the least.
ME: Well, this was ok. It still wasn’t what you were planning on writing. That story thing.
me: Dude. Just… you know that sucked.
ME: So? People should see that you suck. This blog was about honesty, right?
me: Yeah. But I have written some good stuff in the past. Its not like I’m bad at writing stories, I just happen to not have written anything good. You just want me to put up everything I ever write, including that shameful feminist post and the work-in-progress stories I write.
me: That’s stupid. If its not good, I wont put it up. I retain the right to be my own editor.
ME: Go Fuck Yourself.
P.P.S. – Here’s some more fun(ny)
Someone told me this is totally me. I like my reputation –