Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for May 29, 2022

I am an independent ship security officer, and as lugubrious as the day is long.

I knew he wasn’t a plucky sidekick by his cap alone. No sidekick would ever wear such a cap.

I have it on good word that Brass Orchid has a cap like that. He wears it on Fecal Plume Fridays.

Given the hat, comic relief.

@painedsmile

Fecal Plume Friday is brilliant… We need to name the other days of a Frog Applause week.

Sunday: Surveillance Pickle Sunday (ransomknotts)

Monday:

Tuesday:

Wednesday:

Thursday:

Friday: Fecal Plume Friday (credit to painedsmile)

Saturday:

Green Hornet where Kato stole the show. Top of the day to the well rounded bottom.

In this episode of the Boat Man and Row Boy graphic comic series, Row Boy contemplates his present position and his future in a moment of existential angst. Considered by many to be a key pivotal point in the series, this single page opened the door for a spin off sequel, in which Row Boy become Not Your Wingman, and pursues his own destiny as a super hero. Between the two, there is also a series in which Row Boy becomes part of a team in another location, the Steamed Cretins.

He’s nobody’s plucky sidekick but should a creature appear splashing out of the water, with long tresses and a beautiful torso, and a shimmering, flapping tail, he just may consider being one…

This is no lapping matter …!

Sidekick watches as The Hero rides to the runaway wagon too stop the horses.

The Hero Sandwich vs. The Reaper Fly Soup..

Waiter, there’s a single pea in my fly soup. So what, he’s the enforcer.

Witnesses corroborated that that’s what he said the moment he left Aquaman’s entourage.

He regretted drawing the short straw and having to serve as the ships nautical figurehead. Still, it was better than being the keel, and they only made him wear the dress on Fridays.

Rocker Ronnie Hawkins, of The Band, dies at 87, patron of Canadian rock.

Braving the Bureaucracy: Episode Two

The Bureaucrat Building is on the Muck-it-all Mile in Frogsbane. Yes. You’ve heard of it. It is THAT Muck-it-all Mile. That is the prime real estate on the lake, on the deep end, before it dwindles off into the swamp and mire separating Frogsbane from Froglandia. I stopped at the pier along my way, putting off the encounter with the multi-headed beast of bureaucracy as long as I could. Sitting on a boat that was overturned on the shore, I contemplated the choices that had led me to this place and put me on this path, this wretched road to the permits office. Not long ago, I had parted from my troop of falcon trainers, and abandoned the safety of the group permit. The journey had been simple then, a mere lark on a summer’s day. I had no history, no past, no future, only the moment. Back then, I could dance through the falling rain of knives with ease and grace. Now I was older, and slower. It was not going to be a slow waltz. It might be my last dance. Near where I sat, there was a monument, to the Sitting Man, a granite representation of the bureaucracy. On its base was a plaque of bronze. In that plaque were notches. Each notch indicated a victim of the bureaucracy. There were a lot of notches. It was more than a simple warning. It was a taunt. It was a dare. It was an insult to any who dared enter. “Come if you like, we are prepared, where you are not.”

Pluck and luck! That used to be the Way of Young Boys on the Right Path (see the Frank Tousey “dime novel” series).

Now, we just get these grumpy narcissists in odd caps.

Progress is a myth. A lame myth. And that’s not hit or myth….