An Open Letter to Cuban Tree Frogs

Dear Cuban Tree Frogs:

First of all, you’re an invasive fucking species. You have no business being in the United States. You hitched a ride on cargo ships from the Caribbean, and now you’ve infested the entire Florida peninsula and even infiltrated parts of Georgia, Texas and South Carolina.

You secrete toxic mucus on your heads, which is not only gross but can trigger allergic reactions. And you pose a threat to biodiversity by eating native frogs, lizards and even snakes. Because you’re big-ass tree frogs—way bigger than the native species.

But you know what, Cuban Tree Frogs? All of this I could forgive. I’m a live-and-let-live liberal. I support the rights of undocumented, human Americans-by-choice—advocating the type of liberal amnesty policies that earned the senior US Senator from Arizona the nickname “Juan McCain” before he had to morph into Sheriff Joe Arpaio to get reelected. And my infinite tolerance extends to the animal kingdom as well. Or, I should say, it used to.

This brings me to the purpose of my letter, Tree Frogs. Thanks to your unrelenting personal attacks and ceaseless campaign of humiliation, I am now staunchly opposed to your presence within our borders.

Let’s review the record, shall we? I don’t know how you made your way to my toilet bowl that fateful morning five years ago. Perhaps you swam up through the pipes. Maybe you hitched a ride on the back of my bathrobe while I was fetching the morning paper.

What I do know is that you leapt up out of my toilet and attached yourself to my ass in the most vilely surprising way imaginable. I know you caused me to charge out of my bathroom bellowing incoherently, which was quite alarming to my family, Tree Frogs.

I know that you forever traumatized me during that incident, making it impossible for me to not turn on the lights and thoroughly inspect the toilet before alighting ever again. If you had assets, Tree Frogs, I’d get a good lawyer and sue your little olive-green asses off. But of course, you have no assets, you free-loading amphibian scum.

I’m sure the toilet incident was quite amusing when your representative recounted it to his or her friends in the rain gutter, just as it amused my family once they realized I wasn’t on fire but was instead the victim of a froggy prank. But your next attack exposed me to more public humiliation. I refer, of course, to the incident at the mailbox.

I have no idea what possessed one of your number to leap out of the mailbox when I opened it to retrieve my mail. I don’t know why he or she attached him or herself to my boob. But don’t think I haven’t noticed the extraordinarily personal nature of your assaults. Have you no decency at all? Apparently not.

Unfortunately, the humiliation associated with that attack wasn’t confined to the local frog population and my family. This attack was witnessed by my neighbors and a lawn crew, all of whom laughed themselves sick at the sight of me rolling around in the gutter hysterically screeching, “Get-it-OFF!- Get-it-OFF!- Get-it-OFF!”

The culprit hopped away unharmed. But do you think I’ll ever live that down? No, Tree Frogs, I will not. This is a small town, you slimy little bastards.

And finally, this morning. Goddamnit, Tree Frogs, why the bathroom again?

Of course, you’ll not catch me unawares on the toilet ever again. So this time, your agent slipped into my shower stall to launch his or her attack, causing me to stumble out of the stall, blinded by shampoo, and rip down the shower curtain while barking my shin most painfully on the laundry hamper.

This was the last straw, Cuban Tree Frogs. I’ve tried to live out the creed on my bumper stick and “coexist.” But for peaceful coexistence to succeed, there has to mutual respect. You bastards are playing me for a chump—that has become painfully clear.

So here’s the deal, Cuban Tree Frogs: The next one of you sumbitches who fucks with me won’t be gently corralled and escorted out into the yard. You’ll get a one-way ticket to the Gulf of Mexico. And I suggest you start swimming south. Go back to fucking Cuba and enjoy the free health care and high literacy rates.

If you get eaten by a barracuda on the way, that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve had it, Cuban Tree Frogs. This is your final warning.

Sincerely,

Betty Cracker

Posted by Betty Cracker on 08/29/10 at 09:31 AM • Permalink

It’s like Piranha 3D but with Cuban Tree Frogs. Awesome.

You are a great storyteller, Betty (and I apologize for laughing at your pain, sort of).

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