A story about Buttface

As some of you know, at the beginning of May I found a frog in my yard. Well, not really my yard but the small area of greenery around the front. See the rudimentary drawing
of Khan castle:

One day I came home to see this small little frog hopping up the driveway.  So I sort of laughed it off and kept going, thinking perhaps someone had let their pet go.  Now mind you, this summer I've battled with a paper wasp nest, a motherfucking mouse in my kitchen, and the fat ass raccoon who sits on my door step at dusk and LAUGHS at me. So while the frog was interesting enough to add to the menagerie, I was beginning to feel like a defective Noah.  And fuck if you think I'll be building an ark; here's my credit card.  Go rent a paddle boat.

Anyways, the next morning as I went to drive my niece to school, the little frog was sitting on the edge of the walkway by the bushes to the right, and doing cute little froggy pushups with his obscenely muscular little arms.  It was obvious that he had a case of Napoleon Syndrome, and I figured I was either obstructing his way to the gym or else he was seriously poised to battle me in a street fight.  I rushed away quickly, seeing as I had no back-up and quite honestly I figured I needed to beef up my arsenal before I took on this little prick.

I also decided he needed a name as dignified as his tiny yet roided appearance suggested.  He quickly became known as Buttface.  No last name, no middle name.  He was officially the Cher or Madonna of the Amphibian world.  I decided at this point that we needed to be friends.  After all, with his beefy appearance he could definitely be trained to be a guard frog, or a doorman.  Maybe he could help me carry my groceries in.  Either way, I needed to play nice.

So I googled.  Admittedly, I originally planned to google 'What do frogs eat'.  A few quick answers were bugs, ants, flies.  Since I am definitely all for anhillating bugs with Raid, I didn't exactly have a surplus.  So I improvised.  I hurriedly texted my boyfriend this, "if you were a frog, what would you eat?"  I assumed he was used to my bizarre questions, however this text warranted a quick phone call.  A short transcript is below:

Him: So.. if I were a frog, what would I eat? Did you drink today?

Me: No.. but it's really important and imperative so I can make friends with this frog, I need a guard frog.

Him: Smoke?

Me: How can a frog eat smoke? Isn't that sort of unhealthy?

Him: No, did you? (insert random side conversation)

Me: Oh good, are you with your friends?

Him: Yes... shall I ask them?

Me: Obviously.

Him: (random conversation) Okay.. they said beer, birthday cake, and that rice you make that you should make me when I come home next.

Me: (hangs up in a hurry, will blame it on a bad connection)

So.. Birthday cake.  Beer. And rice?  Really? I suppose it does make sense though, that when trying to persuade a frog to become your guardian, you really should go above and beyond the normal route of house flies and ants and really do it up.  So I grabbed a small bowl and filled it with some crumbs from a danish I bought at Whole Foods (hey, it was the closest thing I had to birthday cake), a small saucer full of warm Fat Tire, and a piece of bologna.  Look, I was improvising. Don't judge me. I set it out in the flowers to the left of the house, and waited.  I couldn't contain my excitement as I went to bed that night, figuring that I would wake up the next morning with a fucking ARMY of roided out frogs, just waiting to do my bidding.  However, this is where the story gets truly bizarre.

The next morning I woke up to find the saucer empty, the bologna chewed up by some nefarious looking teeth and reguritated on the cement.  The bowl with the danish? Yeah, it was gone. Lovely. I had some hope that he took his treats to his headquarters, either to laugh with the other frogs at how stupid I was, or to size them up for proper battle armor.  However as the day went on it was apparent that Buttface had run away with his snacks.   I never saw him again.

Two days later, the fat ass raccoon was back to sitting on my front stoop, giggling at me.  Only this time he had the bowl with him, like a third world beggar.  Only this time he had a devil may care gleam in his eyes and really didn't listen to my idle threats about Buttface the frog.

I haven't seen Buttface since I indulged him in a little party buffet, and I'm still a little pissed about it.  What kind of frog wouldn't want a danish? Especially one from Whole Foods? Nature truly is an ungrateful friend.