I live in the jungles of Guatemala. I can’t help it that I am a small, cute frog and people want to pick me up and hold me. My mother taught me when I was just so high I had to be very careful not to let anyone do that. Something about touching my poisonous glands and dying. It doesn’t make for a large social life, believe me.
I remember just the other day when Lee Alvarez, her hubby, and her mother came stomping by. Something about The Drop-Dead Temple of Doom. There was a lot of groaning and moaning about the heat and stuff like that. There was even some chit-chat from Lee about wanting to call a cab, whatever that is. Come to find out they were searching for a man who got kidnapped a few days before.
“Hey!” I said, “I know where he is.” I ribbited, croaked, and even gargled trying to tell them. They never heard me. That’s what comes of being just 1.5 inches long and weighing 0.11 ounces. Nobody listens.
Anyway, soon after they headed for a Mayan temple nearby where I am not allowed to visit. It seems a deceased man, dressed up like a 14th century Mayan warrior, was found on the steps of the temple. That must be why my mother never lets me go there. Too dangerous for little guys like me.
Although, I cannot help but wonder, just what Lee Alvarez and the Alvarez clan are doing in the deep, dark jungles of the El Mirador Basin? I heard it was about Mayan kings, stolen antiquities, and lost tombs. But I don’t know about stuff like that. I’m just a frog.