Written in 2009 by DJB (age 32)
PART ONE:
Flanagan Ricardo O'Reilly-Gunderson had an identity problem.
"Flanagan!?!?! Where are you going?!?! Breakfast is on!!! Ribbit!!!"
Flanagan ignored his mother and hopped off of the lily pad and away from his breakfast and away from his comfort zone. He sought himself. He had questions and insecurities and warts. He was a frog. He didn't question the warts. If he did, they wouldn’t answer because warts don't talk - not these warts anyways. If they did talk, they wouldn't have the answers that Flanagan needed. I know that is presumptuous considering I have never talked to warts and I certainly couldn't put myself in a wart's shoes. I mean, I guess a wart COULD have an identity crisis - but would it be the kind of identity crisis whose experience could help across the lines of species? Warts and frogs go hand in hand, but not in heart to heart conversations about identity. I stand firm on that, but only in lieu of proceeding with the story.
Flanagan’s questions and insecurities were never answered at home. His mother was deaf. It is commonly known that frogs cannot speak sign language. It has something to do with their webbed feet and stubbornness. Frogs are notoriously stubborn. Toads are actually frogs that were so stubborn that they refused to acknowledge their lineage in the water. Toads are pigheaded and make for terrible life partners. Flanagan’s mom, who was born to frog parents who refused to name her, insisted that she could hear. This made for difficult communication in the O’Reilly-Gunderson lily-pad. Frogs don’t have lips so lip reading wasn’t an option. She once gave Flanagan the Heimlich Maneuver thinking that he was choking when he actually asked her to pass the aphids. Flanagan NEVER got what he wanted for Christmas even when he wrote out his list. His mom would defiantly throw the list away in anger demanding that Flanagan simply tell her what he wanted.
Flanagan had trouble believing in Santa Claus. Surely, the real Santa Claus could work around a seemingly impossible middle woman frog. Year after year, while building the Christmas chimney, Flanagan’s hopes would soar thinking THIS was the year. This year Santa would get it right. And year after year, there would be great disappointment. Disassembling the Christmas chimney became holiday therapy with moments of melodrama. One year, Flanagan boldly inquired the reason for building Christmas chimneys. It was bold because he knew his mother would likely not hear him and bold because he knew the answer. Lily pads do not have chimneys. How else would Santa Claus get in? As earlier mentioned, frogs are stubborn. Around the holiday season, other animals often gather around the pond and laugh while watching the frogs build.
“You oughtta build walls around that Chimney, frog!” yelled a heckling muskrat.
“Santa doesn’t NEED a chimney, amphibi-idiots!” chuckled an obese woodchuck.
“You are using the wrong type of mortar! Amateurs!” shouted a know it all toad who began showing pictures of his properly built land Christmas chimney. Oh, toads!
Flanagan relived frustrating memories, holiday and otherwise, as he swam toward the shore of his enlightened future. He thought about how he would have better luck communicating with a wart than with his ox-mindedly deaf mother. He thought this despite my earlier assertion. I wrote this despite my self inflicted contradiction.
Upon reaching the north side of the pond, a hunger fell over Flanagan. He hopped out on his breakfast. Fortunately, a swarm of gnats was buzzing about. Sizing up the swarm, Flanagan spotted the juiciest and, conveniently, slowest flying gnat and wound up his tongue. BAM! Got ‘em! Just before Flanagan began to swallow his mid morning snack, he heard a voice quote Kierkegaard.
“Don’t forget to love yourself!” called the voice.
It was the gnat. From inside Flanagan’s mouth, the gnat had quoted the Danish theologian and that particular quote resonated with the soul searching frog. Had Flanagan forgotten to love himself or had he ever known how to begin with?
“I accept reality and dare not question it…” sounded the voice again.
A Whitman quote? What a rare and sophisticated gnat! How courageous and bold to quote famous intellects and artists while a mere gulp from death!
“I haven’t had sex in eight months. To be honest, I now prefer to go bowling.”
“Um, is that a Lil’ Kim quote?” Flanagan asked in a surprised moment of obscure quote recognition. There was no answer. Only silence. It was then that Flanagan realized that in asking a question, he had killed the gnat, who, up until now, found the strength as an orator in the face of death and in the vicinity of uvula. It was a Lil’ Kim quote, remembered Flanagan. New questions surfaced in the cesspool of internal frog thought. (External frog thought remained without question and content being external.) Why did this gnat have such wisdom and courage? Why am I questioning my reality? What is sex and bowling? Will I ever get over the guilt I feel about killing a food-like sage by confirming I pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career?
PART TWO:
It was the tastiest gnat Flanagan had ever eaten. Tasty with insight! That delicious gnat was brilliant! Flanagan realized that he had indeed forgotten to love himself. While, he masturbated frequently – he did so only in moments of exceptional self loathing. He realized that he questioned reality far too often and he rarely accepted it. He also realized that he did, in fact, pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career. He once had a dream that his lily pad was the pasty that covered Lil’ Kim’s nipple on the MTV Video Musics Awards.
Flanagan knew that the best way to address these recent acknowledgements and inner observations was therapy. He dreaded therapy but not for the reasons that most dread therapy. In this part of town, there is only one therapist and he is a dick. Some argue he isn’t even an effective therapist but they don’t argue it with him. Oh no, they don’t. Dr. Mallard R. Userious is rarely questioned. He is also a duck. He is a dick duck. This dick duck’s word stands no matter how incorrect, nonsensical or off kilter it may seem. Toads hired Dr R. Userious. They constantly refuse to question his performance despite countless complaints. Of course he’s the right guy for the job if toads hired him. Oh toads!
The doctor’s office is in a pile of sticks on the banks of the Golden River. The doctor is never technically ‘in’. Dr R. Userious has a sign in his office of sticks that says “Is it getting better? Or do you feel the same?” It makes patients wonder if the doctor is a U2 fan or just really lazy. Regular patients of the doctor know that the trick to actually seeing him is that you have to find him. You see, the doctor hides near his office and refuses to help you until you find him. Once, a patient tripped over him as he was hiding in a mulberry bush and the doctor denied the patient service because he wasn’t found deliberately. This, as you might imagine, was one of the many grievances filed against the doctor. (although not one of the more severe) Once, the doctor flew south for the winter in the middle of an appointment and charged his patient for the whole winter claiming that the appointment didn’t officially end until he returned.
Flanagan knew that the way to the doctor’s good graces was twofold. No, you don’t show up folded twice. How do you fold yourself? I mean, really. Don’t think such ridiculous thoughts. There are two parts to winning him over. First, find the doctor fairly and squarely. Second, bring bread. Ducks love bread. Flanagan’s mother had visited the doctor many times. On a few occasions, she brought him along because she couldn’t find a babysitter that could promise not to eat him. These visits always proved very comical because she can’t hear anything and refuses to acknowledge it and the doctor is arrogant and irrational to begin with, let alone when one of his patients is handicapped. There would inevitably be an argument that made no sense and feathers would fly as the doctor would fly away in disgust. One day, though, they proceeded straight to the appointment from the bakery where they had picked up some pumpernickel loaf. The appointment went as planned until mid tirade Dr. R. Userious discovered the pumpernickel loaf.
“Pumpynickel?!? Pumpynickel?!? Explain to me why you didn’t tell me you had the pumpynickel. The best of all nickels is the pumpynickel!” bellowed the doctor before tearing into the loaf with his beak and eating every last crumb. His demeanor changed immediately from insane and unreasonable to affable and relaxed.
“Now, frogs, what brings you to the sticks? Are you swamped? Are you worry warts?
Are you hop-less romantics?” punned Dr. R. Userious who, despite the authors assertion, was no less insane than before eating the pumpernickel. Once the parade of unbearable frog puns ended, Flanagan was able to act as duck to deaf frog translator. From that day forward, he felt more comfortable seeking the doctor’s help. (Read as, more comfortable – not completely comfortable) The doctor, as previously mentioned is a dick duck.
Flanagan came prepared to walk in. He brought a duck call he had purchased from a goose. The goose used it to convince ducks that he was a duck. Fond of the story of the ugly duckling, the goose wanted to be known as the gorgeous duckling. Ducks and goose alike were not buying into this nickname. The duck call didn’t help. Flanagan, armed with a duck call, pumpernickel bread and possible the worst frog pun of all time approached the office of sticks. He pulled out the duck call as he neared and put it to his mouth. Dammit! No lips! What an ill advised and wasteful purchase! Some nearby toads laughed and were immediately eaten by a brown snake named Ulf who Flanagan had befriended some years ago in a reptile/amphibian diversity clinic. No toads were in attendance. Oh toads! Delicious toads! Having failed with the duck call and completely forgotten how important having lips is to blowing into things, Flanagan had to rely on his seeking ability to make this walk in appointment happen. He decided to lead with the pun.
“Doctor! I am having an identity crisis! I think some of my origins are in eastern Europe – which means I might be a tad Pole!”
An explosion of feathers came out of a hole in an oak tree.
“I found you doctor! I found you! It’s me Flanagan! Come on out! I have pumpernickel, er, pumpy nickel!”
No response. Flanagan crept slowly over to the tree. Oh no! A beak! A tail! Dr. R Userious had exploded. Literally.
Flanagan had drastically underestimated the danger of his pun. He had murdered the doctor with foul wordplay. How could this be happening? In attempts to iron out his identity; he had acquired an identity – murderer. The frog had literally killed his audience. He could take no solace in finding the doctor. One by one, he picked up the doctor’s pieces and put them into the hole in the oak tree, the whole time praying that this was indeed the doctor’s best hiding place yet. Now, he had to hop and hop like he had never hopped before. He decided to run because running is hopping like he has never hopped before. Every few webbed steps, he would jump and try to fly. How convenient it would be to fly right now! How embarrassing it is to try every few steps and fail not learning from the last attempt! Toads stood nearby laughing and laughing so hard they didn’t hear the lawnmower start up. Oh toads! Formerly toads!
