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Who Drew Signal The Frog???


KiltCacher
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Who's what????????

:D WOW! We are definitely impressed! :huh: He does have a sense of humor... :D

 

Great way to start off the New Year....Enjoyed every minute of this thread!

 

~Shirley & John~

He should express that sense of humor with his non moderator account. Doing it as a mod doesn't lend this site credibility.

 

Ok I was wrong. Dong it as a mod at the expense of another member doesn't help the sites credibility. It also doesn't earn moderators the respect they need to do the job.

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Maybe they're all in on it together....or maybe there IS no frog, yeah, that's it, it's a global conspiracy to make us spend money, cause money's green like frogs, and they both fit in your pocket, and I'm SURE frogs are used as currency SOMEWHERE....wait, what was I asking again???

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:( I wish I had that kind of artistic ability. I love signal but I don't draw him.

I thought these so called frogs looked like Ninja turtles. Hydee's avatar reminds me of a green Pogo the possum. Whatever, they're all swamp creatures. And that reminds me of the movie "Swamp Thing". There was a movie that had deeper meaning than what was on the surface. :D

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If you don't think Signal looks like a frog head to your local toy store and look at the leapfrog stuffed toy. If they weren't so expensive I would buy one and put an antenna on its head and it would be Signal

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Edited by Stunod
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The Real Story of Signal the Frog

 

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, a wee tadpole swam in a tepid pool alongside a game trail in a vast forest. The forest was pristine and virtually untouched by the heavy hand of humans. For weeks the little tadpole grew and swam stupidly in little circles. One crisp morning she woke up and noticed she had legs. Short stubby little legs they were, but legs nonetheless. Her legs grew until she finally hopped out of the pool, which had by now grown rancid with the feces of dozens of other tadpoles and one huge steamer left by a passing elk. Now a full grown but naive little frog, she flitted away the days listening for insects and hopping around the forest.

 

One misty morning the little frog awoke to the sound of something crashing through the tree branches. She heard voices saying things like, “I’ve lost the #$@dadgum signal”, “This ain’t the fu$@ing trail!”, and “I got a stick in my eye!” An intense beam of sunlight blinded the little frog as the forest’s lower canopy was suddenly hacked away. She felt a cold hand lift her and toss her unceremoniously into a coat pocket. Jeremy patted the pocket of his coat and carried the little frog back to his home in Seattle. Once safely inside his hovel, he pulled the bewildered frog from the pocket of his chartreuse North Face rain coat and picked the hairs and lint from her trembling body. “I shall call you Signal”, he proclaimed, “and you shall be the mascot for geocaching.” Signal promptly urinated on the hand of her captor.

 

Signal looked around at her new surroundings, the floor was covered with brightly colored gravel, and the plants didn’t have the same smell they had in her forest home. There also seemed to be an invisible force the kept her confined to a small area. She cried herself to sleep on her first night in her new prison. The next morning, Jeremy opened the sky and thrust his filthy hand under her belly, lifting her to the heavens. Signal saw his two giant eyes and open mouth. She squirmed violently believing she was about to be eaten. The brow above one of the eyes raised and his booming voice screamed, “You’re OK, I will not eat you. I’ll only taste you a little if anything.” She saw the mouth getting closer and opening wider. “Put that frog back in the tank!” This was another voice, of a higher pitch than Jeremy’s. Signal was thrust back into her small world, but not before urinating on the hand again. That night she cried herself to sleep as she had the night before.

 

Signal the Frog lost track of the passing days and tearful nights as weeks stretched into months. She ate as little as possible, often her food wasn’t even alive, and her water was only occasionally freshened. Jeremy decided to send a photograph of Signal to an artist to make a cartoon-like drawing from. Again the heavens opened and the hand wrapped its sticky fingers around her trembling body. Jeremy took the frog out to the garage and placed her on the workbench to take the photo. Signal hopped towards the brightest light she could see. Jeremy grabbed the frog and replaced her on the workbench, and then wiped the frog urine from his hand. Signal again tried to hop away but discovered that no matter which way she hopped, the hand was there blocking her movements. Jeremy began to lose patience with his frantic frog, and quickly grabbed a hammer and nail that were lying nearby. Poor poor Signal had no idea what was about to happen as Jeremy drove the nail through her head and pinned her to the three-quarter-inch plywood bench top.

 

The photo, on Kodak glossy paper, was mailed to the illustrator with instructions to draw the frog with a face happier than the one thereon. Jeremy removed the nail with a Craftsman 22 oz claw hammer and Signal was returned to her small world with a splitting headache. The wound healed after a few days but the trauma would haunt her for the rest of her life. Shortly after that, Signal the Frog was released into the backyard of Jeremy’s home by a smaller, cleaner, more feminine hand. Except for a slight paralysis on the left side of her face and the inability to hop in a straight line, Signal was no worse for the wear. She would live a long and unfulfilling life in the 24 inch concrete pipe that runs beneath a nameless road.

 

The illustrator returned the photograph with his drawing in a large envelope with the words, “Do Not Bend” written in black ink, and Jeremy was delighted to see a frog with a smiling face. Also in the drawing though, was the nail in all its rusty glory. Not being able to afford to have the drawing redone due to Briansnat’s refusal to become a paying member, he decided to call the nail an antenna. No one questioned what an 800MHz length antenna had to do with a 2GHz GPS satellite signal, or why it was a whip style instead of a patch or quad helix. Instead they bought shirts with the abused frog’s likeness emblazoned thereon.

 

Late at night, when a man’s fears come calling and the quiet is deafening, Jeremy thinks about poor Signal. He wonders if she is there in the room, waiting for him to fall into slumber, to exact her revenge. He ponders the urine smell he cannot wash from his right hand, even with Comet and Oxyclean. As he drifts away to sleep he’ll suddenly sit upright, hearing what sounds like the hops of a frog that needs a front-end alignment coming near his bed. He turns on the light and searches the room, and not finding anything he’ll go to the backyard in his plaid pajamas, crawling through the swampy yards looking for Signal like a wild-eyed werewolf on the first day of a full moon. Meanwhile, back at Groundspeak headquarters, the user requests pile up, the emails go unanswered, and the site upgrades remain undone. Jeremy considers hiring someone to handle some of the tasks he cannot perform due to his lack of sleep and mild psychosis……

 

Stay tuned for the next chapter in the continuing saga of Groundspeak, “The Hiring of Hydee!”

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The Real Story of Signal the Frog

 

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, a wee tadpole swam in a tepid pool alongside a game trail in a vast forest.  ....  Jeremy considers hiring someone to handle some of the tasks he cannot perform due to his lack of sleep and mild psychosis……

 

Stay tuned for the next chapter in the continuing saga of Groundspeak, “The Hiring of Hydee!”

LMAO!! I cannot wait for the second installment! :)

 

edit to shorten the quote from Criminal, I don't need to repeat all that!

Edited by PSUPAUL
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