In a tiny country on the other side of the world reigned a tall skinny king and his short fat queen. King Ferdie and Queen Bella were no ordinary rulers. The people that lived in their tiny country simply called them Kingie and Queenie. Kingie and Queenie chose to live in a big house rather than a huge castle because both hated cleaning and both begrudged having to pay someone to do the cleaning for them.
One day Kingie walked through the garden enjoying the beautiful flowers and the warm sunshine when suddenly he heard a terrible squeal. "Watch it....watch it, you big blubbering baboon, " a voice raved from under his feet. Kingie jumped aside with a look of horror on his face as on the ground lay the biggest, fattest, ugliest frog he'd ever seen. A big wart wobbled on the edge of its' head and the frog clearly had trouble keeping his head straight because of the weight of the wart.
"What in the blistering name are you?" stammered Kingie, carefully eye-balling the ugly frog. "If you can't tell what I am you are an even bigger baboon than I thought," the frog snorted. "But you can talk," said Kingie as he scratched his bald, shiny patch on the back of his head. "You can call me Mr Frog, and in future watch where you put those big flipping feet of yours," said the frog and jumped away.
"Wait! Mr Frog, tell me where you live and how come you are in my garden... please wait," Kingie spluttered out as fast as he could before the frog jumped in the pond. A big bubble came up from the bottom of the pond, rippling the surface. Kingie stared in the pond hoping to see the frog but the water was too muddy so he gave up and mumbled, "Stupid frog, you must be my worst day-time nightmare."
Suddenly a splash announced the arrival of the frog once again and with an angry voice the frog said, "I'll be your worst nightmare yet, first you tread on me, crushing my price-winning wart, then you come to my pond and insult me. Besides what right do you have, coming to live in my masters house? You, tall skinny, ugly, bald-headed baboon, you haven't seen the last of me or my family yet." With that Mr Frog disappeared into the murky depths of the pond once again.
By now Kingie was steaming and turning bright red with fury. His house, his master, his pond, his ugly stinking wart, who does he think he is, Kingie thought, stamping his feet madly, kicking stones and dirt into the water. A high pitch shriek through the air made Kingie turn around. On the porch of the rambling old house stood Queenie, arms full of shopping. Kingie hurried to help her.
"Never guess what happened," mumbled Kingie as he stuffed another cream cake in his mouth. A big blob of cream slowly slid down his chin and onto his lap. Queenie looked at him in disgust. "What!" she torted snatching the last two cream cakes from under Kingie's nose. "You can be such a slob," Queenie said with a stern voice. "Just look at yourself." Kingie gave her a dismal look and decided to tell her the story of the frog in the hope it would cheer her up.
"Pooh....pooh and pooh. There is no such thing as a talking frog. You're making this up." Queenie shuffled off to the lounge room and plonked herself in the huge armchair which creaked pathetically under the enormous bulky woman. Kingie tried to convince her during the evening but she wouldn't have a bar of it. What they didn't know however, was that Mr Frog had been listening to them from the open window. His lumpy wart wobbled with insult and he decided to teach those two nasty pasties a lesson. Without a sound he vanished in the cool evening mist.
Kingie and Queenie were too busy watching the idiot box to notice little pattering and sucking feet going through the kitchen, along the hall, up the stairs and into the big bedroom. One by one the frogs slipped under the covers of the four poster bed. Auntie Nell and her fifteen children, Uncle George and his huge family. Grandpa and grandma Stan, followed by their thirty-eight grandchildren and finally great-grandpa Frog, with the award winning lumpy wart, which gave him a spot of bother as he tried to slip under the covers. "Ssh, not a croak," he whispered as he settled down in a hollow of the bumpy matrass.
Meanwhile Kingie and Queenie decided to hit the sack. Both waddled, rather than walked, up the stairs. Queenie's enormous bulky stomach seemed to hang down to her knees. Kingie groaned with every step and claimed the chocolates must have been off. Both sighed relief as they wriggled under the covers not suspecting anything until Mr Frog landed on top of Queenie's face. After that it was squeals, screams, croaks, sucking feet and a slimy fight for the door.
With frogs jumping on their heels Queenie and Kingie ran for their lives. Both rolled down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom watching in terror as dozens of frogs jumped over them and out the window. Last but not least Mr Frog balanced on the window sill and croaked a croak fit for a king. "Overgrown fat lumps of blubber," he said and with that the frog and his lumpy wart disappeared in the garden.