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