BULLGOOSE: Titanic frogs do not belong in your bed

The year was, the year was … I don’t remember, but Leonardo DiCaprio was the biggest boy in kindergarten and Kate Winslet was driving the Tooth Fairy broke.

In other words, it was way, way, long before that movie was made, or even dreamed about …

“What breed was it?”


“The frog in Simone’s toilet.”

“Breed? I don’t know. Big, green, evil breed, staring up at me behind the toilet brush.”

“Lucky it didn’t grab you by the throat, or … elsewhere!”

“Be serious, Wes. I didn’t like it.”

“Yep, the squeal was a dead giveaway. And rightly so. Those big, green buggers are the most venomous and lethal of all frogs. Proven woman killers, Dunnylurkis greenii. Green Tree Frog.”

“Go ahead. Mock me. But I bet you’d squeal too, if it hopped on your privates.”

“Loud and long, Alice. Loud and long.”

“What exactly do frogs eat in the toilet? That’s what I’d really like to know.”

“Mozzies, moths … women, BRAAAAK!!”

“Don’t do that!”

“Just a joke, a jest, a jape.”

“Not funny.”

“No (sniggers).”

“I hate frogs. If I die of a heart attack, look for a frog. There will be one.”

“OK, I will.”

“Now put the foot down. That storm’s getting closer and I’ve got washing on the line.”

“I doubt it. Not for long.”


“See those clouds going in three directions? That storm is a bad bugger. I think your washing is headed for Kuala Lumpur.”

“Well, get moving. Get moving. Get home. I’m out of bras!”

“We might be out of a house.”

They were. Pretty much. Roof gone. Walls gone. Clothesline never found. Everything soaking wet.

“What are we going to do, Wes?”

“Nothing tonight. Let’s just go to bed and face up to it in the morning. (Sings) “When the demon is at your door, in the morning it won’t be there no more. Any major dude will tell you hoo, you hoo, you hoo…”

“Bed? It’s sopping wet.”

“It’s softer than the floor.”

“It’ll be cold.”

“That’s why you’ve got me.”

“You are in no way a substitute for a toasty electric blanket.”

“Every day I live with that shame.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m hungry. What’s for tea?”

“Shut up.”

(Croons) “I left my braaaaaaa

In Kuala Lumpur

High on a hill

It calls to me…”


“Don’t cry.”


Wes was on a ship.

It was the Titanic.

He was standing right at the front.

The bow.

The very, very front.

Above the prow.

With no shirt on.

Leaning forward.

I don’t know why.

It was very cold.

You can imagine.

Wes spotted something.

It was pretty close.

It was an iceberg.

Of course it was, Titanic not commonly being associated with walruses, penguins, Somali pirates or rogue shipping containers.

“Hey! There’s an iceberg out there!

“Look! Hey! There’s an iceberg out there!

“Look! Hey! We’re gonna hit!



Titanic hit the iceberg. Wes was right at the front, bare chest out. So, he hit the iceberg first. Right in the centre of his chest.

Wes woke up.

There was something on his chest. His bare chest.

It was a frog. A green tree frog.

Alice hated frogs. Wes knew that. No roof, no walls, no bra.

A frog tonight would tip her over the edge and trigger an infarction. For sure.

Wes could not have that.

With one swift, smooth, stealthy swipe, Wes grabbed the frog and flung it far away.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Bad dream.”

“It was a frog, wasn’t it?”

A lesson to us all.


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