Toadom: A Quirk by Ebenezer

         Nobody really knew where Phodsie went. True, he had always been a...nomadic toad, but had taken nothing really to the extreme. His poor Master had nearly exploded at the newfound absence of his toadling. Figuratively. Even if toads were known to explode if grown very irate and or the overeating of breakfast. Incidentally, there were cases known in Toadom where an excessive dinner prompted detonation as well.


         Well! Here I am, rambling about nothing and a half without informing you of the toads' culture. No doubt it has been rather befuddling, and so I shall explain to you without further hesitation;


         The Toad Kingdom, appropriately named Toadom, is a thriving community of--of toads, obviously. It can be found in an eccentric gaffer's backyard, but the toads ignore that fact and believe it is the loveliest place on earth; giving the dank ground, occasional puddles, and humid air that occupies the place, (not to mention the verdant reeds sheltering it and the population of succulent horse-flies that infest the place) it is the ideal location for a toad colony. There are about...one thousand in all, and only in extreme prevalence does one venture from the illusory stalks, to the dismay of the remaining toads, of course.


         We see now a typical day in Toadom; the toadsirs are striding assertively up and down the roadways (if diminutive scratches around the reeds might be called a road) while toadladies hang up damp laundry--why that look? There is indeed laundry! Oh, I say! OF COURSE they wear clothes! Why, if a toadling were to escape from the home undressed, the toadsirs would turn their heads in ignominy and the other toadlings would be furtively reminded by their toadmums;


"That is a BAD toadling. My toadlings would do nothing of the sort, would they?"


And the addressed would bob their heads no, their minds cringing at the idea of committing such an abomination.


         Back to the previous subject. (Laundry indeed!)The toadladies would VERY MUCH BE hanging up the laundry, and their toadlings would cling to them, thieving clothespins and the like. --Yes, the toadlings are obedient in that of garbing, but, like all other adolescents, they are very naughty in other matters.


         But in this 'typical' day, we take a closer prospect in that of Toadom. We look in on the dinner--not a heavy one, thank toadstools--of a silently grieving toadlum; (a family of toads)the family of Phodsie. The father is gravest of all, pasty fly smock knotted firmly at the rear of his neck, sheltering a fine scarlet waistcoat with a brassy pocketwatch protruding from the l'appelle. Actually, in finer toad language it would be called a 'Lupull,' but they are not speaking now.


         The cause of the misery, of course, was Phodsie's deliberate leaving. Not leave out of spite or boredome...well, the latter might have been evident in that young one's mind. Phodsie wanted adventure. And poor Phodsie must have gotten it, for he didn't come back!

         "Mr. B'Lillypad," the frail toadwife addressed the father with extreme vigilance. "Won't--won't Mr. B'Lillypad have sum'more pickled horseflies?"

         This was indeed a laudable query. Pickled horseflies were indeed a delicacy, rare to come by, and prepared with complexity.

         The toadsir responded with a curious sound--somewhere inbetween a growl, a yelp, and a 'harumph'. It sounded simply like, "Hrwmp!"

         The wife quailed at this, and retreated behind the shelter in the form of a chipped bowl of steaming Gr'carrots. (Gr'carrots are like that of standard carrots, pale green stems, a flakey orange hue, but after they are grown they are secured in a box and stowed in a earthy hole for days on end, hence the "Gr'," meaning, "Ground.")



-continued whenever i feel the urge to write-