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The Canyon of Death

Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 4:36 am
by m_a_kelly
There was a tunnel in a cave on a sheer cliff in the valley of The People. They explored it sometimes, foraging for food. Most did not return.

The end of the tunnel opened upon a smooth, yellow canyon. The People called the canyon: "Death" because a giant was rumored to live there.

One day, a forager ventured into the canyon: alone, and frightened. All he felt before the end was a rush of air from above.

The giant removed its shoe and scraped the dead thing into the swirling lake nearby.

“Damn frogs in the bathtub again!” it said.

Re: The Canyon of Death

Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 10:07 am
by Phenopath
m_a_kelly, don't tell me that you are a frog squisher!

Re: The Canyon of Death

Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 12:17 pm
by m_a_kelly
Phenopath wrote:m_a_kelly, don't tell me that you are a frog squisher!
Not at all. I love frogs. It's true that my home has the tunnel and they visit me all year long. But, the only giant they need fear in the bathroom is the four-footed, calico one. Since I am her slave, I have little control over the situation. I shoo any frog I see away if she comes sneaking in while I'm getting ready for work. :mrgreen:

Re: The Canyon of Death

Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 1:16 pm
by strawman
I used to live next to a canal in Miami, with a swimming pool in the backyard outside my bedroom window. At certain times of the year, the pool would fill with thousands of horny frogs. The males would "display" with their loudest, deepest croak, then do the dirty in the pool, leaving gallons of fertilized frog eggs floating on the surface of the pool to bake under the Miami sun, stinking to high heaven. The sleep deprivation literally drove me insane, (which is probably one reason why I am here today.)
I used to get the long pool-cleaning net, scoop up a 2 pound croaker at 3 am, and launch him with all my might over the hedge, deriving such great satisfaction from the sight of his spreadeagled silhouette against the full moon, culminating in a thunderous splat when he landed on the neighbor's barrel-tiled roof, that I would bellow out my own loud victory roar.
I think it must have been the neighbors who called the ASPCA.
Last time I visited Miami, I stopped over at the old place.
The mailbox out front read "M. Grenouille"
Just what Miami needs, I thought. More Canadians.

Re: The Canyon of Death

Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 1:24 pm
by Phenopath
strawman wrote:I used to live next to a canal in Miami, with a swimming pool in the backyard outside my bedroom window. At certain times of the year, the pool would fill with thousands of horny frogs. The males would "display" with their loudest, deepest croak, then do the dirty in the pool, leaving gallons of fertilized frog eggs floating on the surface of the pool to bake under the Miami sun, stinking to high heaven. The sleep deprivation literally drove me insane, (which is probably one reason why I am here today.)
You read it here, the strawman origin story.

Re: The Canyon of Death

Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 11:53 pm
by m_a_kelly
strawman wrote:I used to live next to a canal in Miami, with a swimming pool in the backyard outside my bedroom window. At certain times of the year, the pool would fill with thousands of horny frogs. The males would "display" with their loudest, deepest croak, then do the dirty in the pool, leaving gallons of fertilized frog eggs floating on the surface of the pool to bake under the Miami sun, stinking to high heaven. The sleep deprivation literally drove me insane, (which is probably one reason why I am here today.)
I used to get the long pool-cleaning net, scoop up a 2 pound croaker at 3 am, and launch him with all my might over the hedge, deriving such great satisfaction from the sight of his spreadeagled silhouette against the full moon, culminating in a thunderous splat when he landed on the neighbor's barrel-tiled roof, that I would bellow out my own loud victory roar.
I think it must have been the neighbors who called the ASPCA.
Last time I visited Miami, I stopped over at the old place.
The mailbox out front read "M. Grenouille"
Just what Miami needs, I thought. More Canadians.
I currently live in Largo. Not next to a canal, but there is a pond nearby. The frogs all congregate in a tree by my bedroom window and after our daily mid-afternoon monsoon, it sounds like there are about 50,000 of them out there, serenading each other. But hey, I live across the street from a bar that boasts of bad local bands and karaoke, so frog ritualistic mating music is hardly the worst thing I've ever heard.