Mr. Commode's Wild Ride

The Old Lady found a frog on the toilet seat in our bathroom. The bathroom off of our bedroom. On the second story of our house. A frog.

What the shit, indeed.

There are many theories as to just how the fuck this wily amphibian made its way onto our crapper...

• It secreted itself inside either my, or the Old Lady's, asshole whilst we weren't paying attention. Say, when I was bending over and reaching into the garden to pick a plump tomato, or when the Old Lady crouched down on the sidewalk to retrieve a quarter. Then, while we were getting ready for bed, it hopped out of one of its sphincter-y sanctuaries and onto its toilet-y perch.
• While we were walking the dog, our froggy fugitive climbed aboard the dog's back and traveled, rodeo-style, into the house, up the stairs and lassoed itself onto the shitter.
• It hopped into my mouth while I was sleeping, survived a nightmarish rollercoaster ride through my colon, was blasted into the toilet bowl during my morning constitutional, then dredged itself up out of the muck and collapsed on the seat.
• It got washed down a sewer drain, swam upstream, weaving in and out of rocketing turdpedoes, into our sump pump, where it then crawled, Andy Dufresne-style, up the plumbing pipes and onto the throne.
• It's always been there and we just never noticed it.

I'm leaning toward the second theory because I just like the image of a frog riding a dog. Maybe I should make a little saddle for the pup and strap it onto his back before his walks. I could fashion it out of a piece of twine and a Pringle. We could get a whole stable of rodeo frogs, nay, Todeo frogs. We could charge admission and I could make the spawnage dress up as clowns and hide behind big barrels as the dog rocketed around the yard, desperately trying to eat both the frog and the Pringle off of his back.

This might just be the retirement opportunity I've been waiting for. To the pond!!!