Terrible, terrible things

Last night we made a large pot of chili. Being a large pot, we had chili for dinner tonight, also. As you might imagine, after two days of chili dinners the discharge of flatus gases from my fleshy parts has been both loud and copious. Go ahead. Imagine it.

Just now I came inside from an amusing smoking session. Seconds after loosing a long blast of chili-flavored wind, a frog answered my call from a nearby grove. "I'll be," I thought. Having ample reserves, I released three more quick bursts: "toot-toot-toot." From the trees came a reply: three ribbits. My anal sphincter and the lovelorn amphibian discussed things while I smoked and listened.

"toot-toot-braaap-toot"
"rrib-rrib-croak-ribbit"
"braap-crackle-toot-toot"
"croak-chirp-rrib-ribbit"

I found the frog's capacity for mimicry astounding, and as I smoked I pondered whether the Discovery Channel would see in this an idea for a show. Not for an entire series, of course, but perhaps an hour-long special. Was I using intestinal gas to announce my willingness to act as mate to this frog? Were we discussing territorial issues, he with his larynx and me with my rectal opening? Was I misleading him toward food? I'm sure the Discovery Channel would know.

Sadly, I didn't record the exchange. All you have is my word. It was an entertaining five minutes, nonetheless.