Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for July 31, 2022

Help. My tapir pyre is on fire. Or is it fyre?

She does look genuinely thankful.

You must realize, when your tapir is on pyre, smoke gets in your eyes.

What was her relationship to the tapir? Was this, perhaps, a form of sati ?

Dance like nobody is watching, like you’ve got ants in your pants and your tapir is on fire.

If Jim Morrison was alive this would kill him.

…the kids at Fee Fi Fo Fum enjoyed their annual summer BBQ…

…perhaps, a bit too much…

…they called their grill, The Tapir Pyre…

…but it was really just some pulled pork and weiners…

…the little sister that ate too may weiners…

…was crowned…

…and announced Queen Gobbledygook…

…the FFFFer that ate the most pulled pork became King Porky…

…the Queen won the right to the droit du seigneur…

…to chose which Fee brothers hotdog to eat last…

…the money went to charity…

…of course…

…and where, pre-tell, did she encounter a Tapir pyre?

Was it down on the farm? Was it at the zoo? Was it at a school? Was it, (((((((GASP)))))) on Safari?

Who is this mystery man, she feels she has to “thank him” for saving her life??

This and other wonderful adventurous tales, to keep you on the edge of your seat, can be found at the Froglandia Bathmat Factory….in the newly decorated library. We’ve added a lunch counter, and a coffee bar. Come! Spend a leisurely day with us! You will not regret it!

White meat or Tomato in Toronto, pale face meat.

Kiss and a hug as she hung a little sugar on him.

I believe it was a set-up on his part to finagle his way into her heart.

Mmmm … tapir … It’s what’s for dinner …!

(skirt, medium rare)

Lyre, it was a bad case of frogarrhea.

We’ll just call him Nick O’Time.

Burning tapirs is punishable by death in most universes.

Nothing like a pyre of large odd-toed ungulates to kindle a flame in your heart.

So now I was left with this, a career of evil terminated by an unintentional bit of heroics. The Bride of Frankenstein. That was it. But shouldn’t it have been the bride of Frankenstein’s monster? I was beset by questions, and a deep loathing for Godreau, uncertain if it was the result of objective reasoning, or programmed by the XLNC messenger, whose name I had never learned, in spite of working for her for three and one half years. Or was that even true? I asked about it. “No,” she said, “I just popped down to the cafeteria for a salad. It was about half an hour, really.” So there’s that. I suppose I expected some gratitude, or at least to keep my per diem, which was wholly fictional. No such luck. She did give me a hug before she left, and wished me luck. The dream went on for a while. I suppose that they were verifying the information I had gathered and safeguarded. I don’t know why it remains so clear. I’ve learned that dreams aren’t like that. It must be the methods employed, that interjected a thread of lucidity and awareness normally absent in the dream state. I had a lot of time to think about it all, as they cleaned up the mess I had left behind when I was liquified and reformed. Eventually, I was released, exonerated entirely, my past buried and forgotten. But I worry, sometimes, if this Lucifer Branch technique will become the standard for reformation in the future, to make the old self a condiment to the new as a form of rehabilitation. That keeps me up at night.

Sure, he had saved her from the tapir pyre, but what now? Should he reveal his true intentions? Deep down, he knew he loved BBQ Tapir far more than her nubile beauty, and he couldn’t bear to see all that Lycra and hairspray ruin a good tapir smoking. That was his true motivation for heroism. Does he spurn her advances and save his Iust for the tapir? He had waited for this moment all year long, and suddenly the moment had shifted. Was it wise to cleave one’s passion in two?

Turtleneck Soup and hickie mark.

Journal of Comjc Strip Coincidences: Candorville, Pearls Before Swine—variations on “Who’s on First?”

So… does that make ’er a tapir escaper?

So, the lesson here is: stay clear of tapir pyres? I can honestly say that I have never been close to one. I think a neighbor had a tapir weenie roast* once, but I wasn’t invited. That neighbor, and his tapir-eating clan, finally moved away. Good riddance.

*I hope he used oleander branches for his weenie roast. Does anyone else know why oleander is a bad choice?

I like that she is dressed in pink. But that’s just me.

Hey, nothing wrong with some roast pork, as long as it isn’t from Long Pig!