Musings on music, sports, life in general from Quincy, Illinois.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Today Shey Fey made a grisly discovery when putting the tarp back on the hot tub — a squished toad.
The toad, which I have named Oscar, never had a chance. It was likely smushed when we flipped the lid over to get in on Friday night or Saturday morning. It was rainy and the tarp was wet, a perfect place for Oscar to hang out.
Until he got squished.
You can sort of see the imprint in the photo above. If it doesn't look like a squished toad (Squished Toad is a great name for a band, by the way), tough. It is.
Just don't call PETA on us.
Farewell, Oscar The Squished Toad. We didn't know you until you were compacted to death. Now you are ribbitting with the rest of your toad brothers and sisters in that great tadpole in the sky.
And all we have is a mark on our hot tub lid to remember you by.