Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for October 12, 2018

Is this a form of buttcoin?

How many buttcoins does one taco cost?

Is this a continuing theme for the week? Yesterday sphincter rings, today buttcoins.

This is the little-known Crane Beak Strike technique called “Produce the Hidden Tree”.

I’m not wasted enough for American “tacos”.

I’ll have to wait ’til morning for my al pastor.

Knotty tree overseeing the birth of a signet sphincter ring … yeah, time for a taco … or maybe a burrito ….

Vestigial Tail Nub Tacos. The crispest shells! The finest meats! The freshest lettuce! And spices that will knot your branches! Just look for the Vestigial Tail Nub Taco truck in your neighborhood. Remember, you can NOT spell “taco”, unless it is a Vestigial Tail Nub Taco!

Is that hand inserting a coin/ring or retrieving it? Either way, I hope there was some thorough handwashing after.

Now that I think about it, the insertion/retrieval point is a little high. That’s more crack than orifice.

These hind quarters look all set up for some kind of procedure. Maybe on a polinidal cyst? I don’t know what the tree is all about, though. Not unusual for me.

That’s the steam iron slot. Go a bit lower for tacos. No refunds.

I like eating a Fish Taco.

Is that the taco cart on Alcaraz Street?

KNEE PADS AND SAUCE…

I hope someone has cleaned this taco dispenser recently.

Wow, this really takes me back. Many many years ago, I was in Bucharest and I had my fortune told in a lame little shop at the end of a cobbled dead end lane, by a wry old woman with an eye patch that had one of those googlie eyes stuck to it. This is the very card she pulled for me! I was very confused at the time and a little scared, so as I was leaving, she sang me this little song: To everything (turn, turn, turn) / There is a season (turn, turn, turn) / And a time to every purpose, under Froglandia / A time to be born, a time to die / A time to be lame, a time to jive / A time to laugh, a time to cry / A time to heal, a time for a drive by / A time for tacos, a time for tube steak / A time for just desserts, a time to let them eat cake. Of course, at the time, I was no less confused, but her lilting sonorous voice was soothing and gave a measure of wonder instead of dread to my gait as I wandered through the dank night musing on what lie ahead.

Tacos with extra cheese and no lettuce. A small amount of cheese by a pinch isn’t going to cut it..

Un-American, nay, even un-Froglandian, as it may seem of me, nevertheless I shamelessly admit to not being overly fond of tacos, nor underly, for that and this matter.

The taco stamp takes the tramp-stamp place by storm, aided and abetted by the Monstrous Griffin-hand, beneath the twisted limbs of the knotty forked tree.

Still, she lies still.

What does this all mean?

Nothing. Art. DaDa. Encoded sexual overtones (or undertones; what does it matter?). I may not know what it “means,” but it shor’ is purdy….

Insert coin here for 5 minute ride.

It’s always Time for Tacos.

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