Frogs in Pot Call for Aid

We frogs call on our brothers and sisters in Jeffrey’s kitchen to take action to prevent catastrophic conditions from taking hold in our pot. The water was safe when we hopped in, and without warning, it is almost boiling.

We assume Jeffrey invited everyone from the marsh back to his kitchen: the newts, hares, mosquitoes, herons, gophers and so on. With an average IQ of 3, we find this logical. We can’t look though, on account of a billowing cloud of steam overhead.

Our tight-knit community of neighbors and predators has always responded during times of disease and deprivation. Sometimes to cull our weakest, yes, but you have shown up. We hope you will hear our message now, and deliver the ice cubes we frogs desperately need.

Whoever airlifted the previous bounty, please know we are grateful. Garlic, white wine and lemon juice do not seem nutrient-dense, but everyone’s skin is glowing, and we smell terrific. The bay leaves which haven’t sunk to the bottom make excellent lilypads.

One request? Send ladles. Hundreds of our tadpoles, some just a few days old, require safe passage out of the pot. Our stiff and crispy need immediate evacuation. If they do not receive medical attention, there is a grave danger they will turn… delicious.

Now is not the time to point froglegs: no one could have foreseen a climate shock as dramatic as boiling water, let alone prepared for it. Our amphibian scientists— our best and brightest with IQs of 4— warned us of the pot’s 100-degree “tipping point.”

“If the water hits one-hundred centigrade, we’ll croak!” they cried.

“One hundred centipedes?!” we repeated, and started a hungry stampede inside the pot. There hadn’t been this many tongues reaching for nothing since frog prom.

Now our scientists have discovered a second tipping point. According to physics, if we all push in the same direction at the same time, the pot itself could be tipped, letting the water— and us frogs— spill out. Not everyone was on board with this plan, but we reached a consensus:

“Ribbit. Ribbit.”

“Tip it. Tip it.”

“Ribbit… Tip it. Tip it, tip it, tip it, tip it!”

Despite the rally cry echoing around the tiled kitchen, our mighty pushes have done nothing but tire our little leggies out. And it’s getting hotter.

Bucks, bears and beavers, if you’re listening: this is an opportunity to demonstrate not only support for the amphibian community, but also literal strength. Ram the stove, tip our pot over, and save us!