Rain was spattering off the windows like a lunatic’s depiction of the Niagara Falls. Occasionally, the odd drop would be eerily illuminated by a passing headlight. These privileged drops would fade into dull oblivion within seconds, joining the herd of drops that continued to assault the windows like an angry geography teacher with an AK-47.
On the other side of the window sat an angry geography teacher with an AK-47. He was called Brian. He sat at a table littered with enough paper to feed an average-sized third world country (if we’re assuming that the people of the third world country in question were keen on paper). The geography teacher stared angrily out of the window, then angrily took a swig out of an angry bottle of illegal spirit distilled by Mark Zuckerberg’s evil twin brother (who had anger issues).
As the methanol slowly poisoned the man at the table, he laughed with a laugh that could have sent the most annoyingly positive life coach into a spiralling depression. It was a laugh that masked the turmoil of dread and fury taking place just to the left of the lungs that had given birth to it. The laugh was glad to escape. It hadn’t liked it much in there.
As the ringing of the laugh died away, the sound was replaced by a soft squelching. Upon hearing this, Brian the angry geography teacher cocked his AK-47 and aimed it at the source of the sound. But before he could let fly, he was knocked backwards by an invisible assailant. Something was violently attacking the teacher’s legs and making its way further up. Brian risked a look down his body from his supine position and noticed a green blur swishing around his legs like a well-meaning but still a little bit murdery piranha.
The blur eventually came to a halt on the geography teacher’s chest. At which point, the blur turned out not to be the magic piranha that Brian had been secretly hoping it would be, but was in fact a frog in a tiny home-made ninja costume.
The frog was about average sized when it comes to frogs. It wasn’t that much greener than the norm either. It was, apart from its frankly astonishing martial arts skills, a quite ordinary frog. The amphibian then proceeded to open its mouth and unleash a volley of profanity.
Once the swearing had stopped, the frog hopped a little bit closer to the astonished geography teacher’s face.
“Well, well, well,” it croaked, “what have we here? If I didn’t know better, I might think you were trying to do me in with a Soviet firearm bought off a dodgy bloke in King’s Cross.” This was, incidentally, true. You can buy anything off dodgy blokes in King’s Cross. Ask anyone.
The ninja frog continued its astonishingly perceptive lecture.
“Jesus, you got issues, man,” it ribbeted, surveying the shitey flat around it. Again, this was true. Brian was planning a revolution, sponsored by Pepsi. So far, the revolution was made up of Brian and the crackhead who lived in his dustbin. Brian therefore had his work cut out (hence the environmentalist’s-nightmare quantity of paper on his desk), but Pepsi was still willing to sponsor him. Pepsi sponsors everything.
“Well,” continued the frog, lighting up a spliff. Frogs smoke a lot of weed. Ask anyone. “Good thing I came along. JEFF!” An ear-nuking (ear-splitting is not the right word for this) crash then rang through the geography teacher’s flat as the window exploded. Shards of glass flew in all directions, burying themselves in the walls like shrapnel. And in the midst of the wreckage stood the most terrifying teddy bear that the geography teacher had ever seen.
It was built like the unholy spawn of Arnold Schwarzenegger and a World War II-era Panzer VIII Maus tank, at least 6 foot 5 and covered from head to toe in military and prison tattoos. “Good evening,” it growled in a voice like a mass extinction, “My name is Jeff.”
As Jeff stepped closer, the floor of the flat shook like a leaf in a force 12 gale. As he stepped into the light, an eyepatch became visible over the bear’s face. He was, however, no relation to Pudsey Bear. Anyone who made the mistake of suggesting so often went to bed with fewer limbs than they woke up with. But, on the other hand, with a lot more life-threatening injuries.
Jeff towered over the quivering geography teacher. Was this it? Jeff bent down to speak to the man. And when Jeff spoke, the world listened.
“YOU POOR THING!” the bear roared. “You look like you really need your life sorting out. Don’t worry. This is where Ninja Frog and I come in.” And with that, Ninja Frog backflipped off Brian’s chest and produced a miniature broom.
The next few hours were spent sweeping and mopping and scrubbing, while the geography teacher lay on the floor bemused. Jeff picked up the AK-47 and ate it all in one go. Ninja Frog threw all the revolutionary papers out of the window onto the head of a passing fascist, who died instantly. Before long, the flat was spick and span, with not a single trace of psychological disturbment.
“There you go,” ribbeted the frog happily. “Now how would you like a peanut butter sandwich?” The geography teacher accepted the gift with shaking hands and took a bite. One taste, and everything was all sunshine and roses and David Tennant. Brian was a changed man.
And that was that. The teacher went into school the next day and only shouted at three people (all of whom were annoying year 7s anyway and therefore had it coming to them).
And what of Jeff and Ninja Frog? you may ask. I would love to tell you. But that is another story.