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Death to Frogs

by Mady Eberstein

The case of the Frog leaves me not just displeased

But entrapped in a feral and murderous seige

See, at even my youthful (yes, YOUTHFUL) young age

My mind’s been consumed with a frogphobic rage

Through no fault of my own, I do have to say

For the frogs have only their damn selves to blame

And I swear to my first-born son, dog, or daughter

To avoid EVERY swampy body of water.

That’s right. I said it.

Every. Single. Stinking. One.

‘Til the last frog is long dead. Over. Done.

But my hatred of frogs runs deeper than fear

Deeper than shedding a few frightful tears

And deeper than hating their pudgy wet faces

Their thoughtless black eyes in far-away places

With no lashes to speak of. Oh no! God forbid!

And don’t dare acknowledge their alien ribbits.

But, no. That’s not it. They’re worse than all that.

And it’s thanks to their famous, indelible tact

Or lack of, I should say, for in fact, they do nothing

Just sit on their lillies and shit out more offspring

What do you stand for? What are your values?

What is your biological purview?

You morally destitute, violent nation

You collective, cursed abomination

Learn how to read! As if that’s so hard

Learn something useful or cultured or smart

Have something of value to offer mankind!

Something more than your sinful, dispensable minds

More than a fat, round, lazy, mucosal body

More than a tongue best made for karate

More than a dead-eyed, unintelligible gaze

That proves, above all, you’ve no right to praise

So to all you youngsters, I urge you to stop.

Don’t indulge in the frog-themed world of Depop!

Don’t give in to their twisted, amphibious whims

And join my incessant and bellowing hymn

As I shout from the rooftops, Down with you fools!

I will hear no more of you slip-slimey ghouls!

Death to your marshes, your swamps, and your bogs!

And, of course, most of all, I pronounce

Death to Frogs

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