Yeah, so what?
I would say that eighteen dollars for a clay frog with a flippant expression is a bit steep, which is probably why this warty wanker stayed on the shelf after everybody had left the premises.
He was downstairs, leaning against a candle, surveying the unfinished basement, looking relaxed but ready to jump into the mix should the situation call for it. While we were there he didn’t move, although he did ask Dirty Dave for a cigarette. When Dave told the frog he didn’t have any, the amphibian got cute and started hopping around, unleashing his tongue. We had to bag the salty fellow, and because nobody wanted him as a donation, he ended up in the dump. Who’s the tough guy now, frog?
Which dump? I want to go rescue him. You guys just have no class.