Five Terrible Toads

Five terrible toads sat on the boardwalk, each immersed in his own fairy tale.

The first, the smallest, was a tenor who dreamed of writing his own operetta – and starring in it, too, of course.

The second, a little larger, a little greener, dreamed of kissing the princess, should he ever find her.

The third, and largest of the five, was also the most cowardly. He rarely slept because when he did his dreams were nightmares: he was boiled alive; gutted; his legs chopped off, breaded, and fried before his eyes.

The fourth terrible toad fancied himself a therapist, a toadish Freudian type who listened to the dreams of his brothers and tried to help them, giving them advice that they rarely followed. And why should they, really? He was, after all was said and done, merely another terrible toad, just like them.

The last terrible toad, the youngest, had yet to discover his true calling, and was happy to simply sit with his brothers on the boardwalk, croaking.