fimmtudagur, ágúst 31, 2006
brekekekex ko-ax ko-ax
A few nights ago, upon coming back to the house, the light from the entry reveals a motion on the gravel drive. She squats down on her haunches, her knees pointing away at angles. Then she sees: It is hundreds of frogs, each no more than three centimeters long, spring-loaded in their unlikely hindquarters, knees now flexed and jutting forward and now flung back straight behind. They are all hopping and jumping away from the house, away from the car.
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That's the thing about frogs: No ass to speak of.
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