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Guy Toad

by Alexander Ender 4 years ago in science fiction
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A Fantastical Journey of a Typical Toad's Day

Pictured left to right: Guy Toad, Marlene Ostrich, Steve Frog

Once upon a time there was a little toad named Guy, named after the national treasure, Guy Fieri. Guy was a dashing young lad sporting a very sharp Hitler Youth, blonde haircut. One day, Guy said in an angelic scream, “I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!” as he was sucked into the void.

The THX noise filled his ears as Guy’s body imploded upon itself one thousand-fold. Then, as suddenly as a water birth, Guy found himself deep in the Dubstep Forest. All the trees were raving to the bass that came from within. Guy saw there in a clearing the most stupendous ostrich he had ever seen. Guy had never seen an ostrich before, so it was an easy spot to obtain. However, Guy firmly believed that if he encountered an entire flock of ostrich that his sweet petunia would remain very close to the top of the list of most stupendous ostrich.

He approached the damsel tenderly. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO GET SOME ICE CREAM?” he asked with a double wink, in a voice like Oliver Twist, on helium, with a cold. Darn frog in his throat. The frog climbed out of Guy’s throat.

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream, ice creeeam!” The frog's voice was incredible. He had sung all four harmonies from The Music Man’s ‘Ice Cream’ simultaneously!

“Mmm, what’s your name, sweet cheeks?” The ostrich giggled.

“Steve. You?” Said Steve in a confident baritone. He then performed an eyebrow wave at the ostrich that would make a sailor dizzy.

“Marlene, teehee! Come DUBSTEP with me, Stevieweevy.” She said ‘dubstep’ with gusto comparable to Hulk Hogan yelling “BROTHER.”

As Steve rode Marlene into the bassy sunset, a single tear fell from Guy’s cheek.

Within the tear was an entire civilization of Whahats living in their aquarian civilization called Whahatville. Whahatville was a technological wonder. When it was first conceived in the tear ducts of Guy’s eye, twas but a handful of tearfish hunters following the school. They discovered that they could collect and combine salts on the surface for building material. They use the salts to construct spherical cages in which they domesticated tearfish. Without having to dedicate their entire existence to following the school, since they had the school in their control, civilization quickly advanced. Their studies in science and math gave way to advancements in communication. With the entire tear working together, cities exploded in population. All the cities together became known as Whahatville. An age of enlightenment came upon Whahatville. They started asking questions, about themselves, their history, and what was beyond the surface. The WOTE (Whahatville Outer Tear Exploration) initiative was formed. They were about to pioneer a medium never before imagined: air.

The tear landed on Guy’s toe. He turned moodily away from the sunset. His sweet Marlene deserved someone much better than a frog. She deserved a majestic eagle. But Guy wanted her to settle for a dashing toad.

“I know what you seek,” a voice from deep within the woods in a wise bass so declared.

Guy walked toward the voice. There was the oldest and largest tree in the Dubstep Forrest, from whence came the sickest beat of all.

“PLEASE SHARE YOUR WISDOM, OH, GREAT BASSY ONE.” Guy desperately pleaded in an embarrassingly involuntary falsetto which was really a truetto.

“What you need is a motherfrickin jetpack!” A jetpack descended from the canopy suspended in vines accompanied by a techno trumpet theme.

Guy slithered his little arm into the straps and had himself a hiccup.

“Go after her, Guy. I love you.” The old tree kissed Guys forehead, handed him a peanut butter jar with Daddy’s Buttermilk Pancakes crammed inside, and spanked him goodbye.

They both laughed in comradery as Guy jetted away at twice the speed of a city pigeon.

He spotted the ostrich and her amphibian seducer wobbling between the trees to the music. He had them in his sights, now. He grabbed a fistful of Daddy’s Buttermilk Pancakes and lathered them in peanut butter REAL good. He hovered just out of earshot, pretty close with the dubstep radiating from the trees, clogging up the couple’s waxy ears. The toad drew a deep breath as he pulled his slender, dry arm behind his head. He let out a half a breath and stopped.


Daddy’s Buttermilk Pancakes with peanut butter encased Steve’s body in a sticky cocoon. The hyper allergenic sleeping bag writhed as the frog tried to escape. It was not just the unpleasantness of peanut butter sticking into his crevices, but Steve was allergic to peanuts!

His head burst from the end, hideously puffy, blotchy, and, if you squinted so that your vision was blurry, was remarkably similar to a Christmas tree with red bulbs.

Guy was ashamed of his impulsive decision to murder Steve and shifted gears a little. He birthed the frog from the mass of Daddy’s Buttermilk Pancakes. The trees began playing a dubstep rendition of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Guy started to perform CPR, but then realized that it wouldn’t do much good if Steve’s throat was closed. It was then that Guy noticed a purse slung over Steve’s should. Guy would have liked to call it a satchel or even a man purse but he was really pretty sure that it was just a purse. It was probably a gift from someone. That was so nice of Steve to wear it even though it was designed for a woman, simply because it was a gift. It brought a tear to Guy’s eye.

The toad plunged his hand into the purse and found the EpiPen. Guy followed the instructions for opening the overpriced device and plunged it into a muscular thigh. Guy yelled out and quickly removed it and stabbed it into Steve’s thigh. What a rush! They would both have to get tested later.

“Oh, you sweet… thing!” Marlene gratefully embraced Guy in a feathery hug. Guy closed his eyes and puckered up.

“Oh, no. No, I’m sorry. I only see you as a friend. And I’m with Steve now.” The ostrich blushed and let go of the forward toad.


The toad jetpacked out of sight.

Until next time, warty amphibian.

science fiction

About the author

Alexander Ender

College student writing both for the experience and prospect of a little extra money

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