A Friend for Jim ("Jim and the Frog" series, #1)
A Friend for Jim Written by grrside
Art by Valy J. ThunderBeast
When you were in high school, you probably heard about that guy. Yes, THAT guy. That loner boy, always sitting alone, the perfect target to be the butt of all jokes? That was me. My looks weren't anything special. Just your typical Husky, my eyes a boring shade of gray, rather than the bright blue my breed can be known for. Always wearing the same baby blue anorak in the winter or a simple shirt of the same colour in the summer. I just turned 18 last month (nobody came to visit me on my birthday, not that I even tried to invite anyone anyway) and I didn't feel any older than the day before that. What's more, everyone (but mostly my mother) said I still had the face of a cute little puppy. I hated that, I just wanted to be an adult so I could move as further away from this city as possible, and I can't currently do that without looking like a stray pup.MORE If I told you my DNA was 1/16th wolf, you would never believe me. Oops, I talked so much and I didn't even tell you my name yet! I'm Jim Sockett. With two "t"s, and don't even think about calling me Jimmy! So anyway, the following story takes place on a chilly day on the winter, the sky as dull and gray as my eyes, my white and light gray fur rendering me almost invisible. My 26-year-old brother had fractured a bone on his right leg while playing soccer. Don't worry, the operation was a success and he recovered soon after, but as my parents had to accompany him to the hospital by car and my mother couldn't let her "adorable puppy boy" all alone in the house, they obligated me to spend the afternoon at my uncle's house. He didn't live too far, but I can't remember the last time I gave him a visit. I heard he had been fired from three jobs in two months, and with his lazy attitude I wasn't surprised. As he was my father's half-brother he was 1/8th wolf, and just like me there's no way you would believe me when you saw him, but for the complete opposite reasons. He was the very definition of a slob: a lazy, fat, fast food-addicted, alcoholic fatass. He was a crossbreed (he was my father's HALF-brother, remember?) so while you kinda could tell his Husky features, his fur was mostly bright brown.
But enough descriptions, as I already told you I had been forced to spend the afternoon at my uncle's, and half-way there I arrived to an area of empty space filled with knee-high grass. And that's when I saw him... "Oh, dear, where are they, where are they...?" There was a small frog searching through the glass, dressed in dirty clothes, he looked like a hobo. He sounded desperate. For some strange reason I approached him and asked him what was wrong. "My glasses, my life depends on them! Oh, my glasses!" I wondered why a homeless person would be so interested in reading glasses, it's not like they could afford to read books, and hobos preferred to get their asses drunk in the middle of the street anyway. But for some reason I helped him search for them anyway. It had not been more than a minute before... "CRAAACK!" I noticed I had stepped on a small object with my left shoe. I hope that wasn't what I thought it was... "Oh no! My glasses, my precious glasses, shattered!", the small frog cried in desperation. "I-I'm s-sorry! I didn't know they were so tiny, I mean, you are tiny, so it's normal that your glasses are tiny, n-not that I was trying to disrespect you, but..." "This is bad! This is bad! Those glasses were my only ticket to freedom, but now, oh the irony!", he cried. "Look, there's no need to be so dramatic. I'll bring you some new ones, ok? Maybe I can buy you some cheap ones, or ask my uncle if he has any old-" "So is settled!", he said triumphantly. "-ones in his...Wait, what is settled?" He jumped into my hands, a smile with rotten teeth on his face, his body odor penetrating my nostrils. "You'll take me to the new glasses!", he said happily. "When I'm rich and famous, I shall share my profits with you!". "...R-Right...", I said incredulously. He wouldn't leave my hands no matter how hard I tried, so I just took him along.
***
As expected, Uncle Benjamin was splattered on the sofa, open beer car in hand, a bowl of assorted snacks on the table in front of him, watching the soccer match. "Uhm...Uncle...", I managed to say. He kept staring at the TV. I faked a few coughs and tried again, "Uncle Benjamin..." "I know you're here, Jimmy-boy", he said without even glancing at me. "Go play upstairs, or whatever boys your age do". I didn't think there would be anything interesting to an 18-year-old to play with in the second floor of this slob's house, but that wasn't important now. "It's not that. As I was walking here, an unexpected company showed up..." I showed him the frog. "Hello!", the hobo said with a smile. Benjamin finally glanced at my direction, and gave a disgusted look at the thing between my hands. "What is that disgusting, smelly thing?, he asked. Pot, meet kettle. "Dispose of it outside, don't keep it inside or the stench will stay here for months", I didn't doubt that. "It's not a "thing", uncle. It's a person!". "Excuse me if I interrupt your family reunion", the frog said. "But you have to take me to the new glasses, remember?" "Ehm...Uncle, do you have a spare pair of glasses? The sooner I find them, the sooner I can get rid of this "thing"." "I dunno, I have a lot of junk upstairs", Benjamin said. On the TV screen one soccer player, a bull, charged against a rabbit from the opposite team knocking him off his feet. "That was such a clear foul! This referee is full of shit!" I just rolled my eyes and went upstairs. Most of the rooms on this floor were used just as storage closets, as uncle Benjamin lived alone. After searching through them I found a small, old pair of glasses, probably used by Benjamin when he was a young pup and then got tired of wearing them because he wasn't a "nerd". "They're perfect!", the frog said. I was completely sure wearing someone else's prescription glasses wasn't good for your eyesight, but if he likes them, good for him. "Good for you", I told him. "Yup", he said smiling. "So..." "Yes?" "...When are you leaving?", I asked him, a little irritated. "I can't leave yet! I promised you a share of my profits!" "Profits from what?" "From the award-winning novel I can write now thanks to my new glasses!" For a second, I thought about just grabbing him and throwing him out the second-floor window. "There's just one other thing I need...", the frog said as he kept searching the pile of junk of the huge storage room which was originally marked "Bedroom 2" in the house's blueprints. "Talent?" I felt like saying, but didn't. The frog somehow found a dusty typewriter between all that crap. It was still loaded with paper, now yellow after all those years of abandon. I wondered what sort of useless ancient relics could be discovered from that pile of junk. "Now you can delight yourself watching the master in action!", the frog said. He gave his arms a few stretches, wiggled his fingers toward the typewriter, his mouth salivating like a predator about to jump on its prey.
I watched him in awe; he looked like a completely different person with that serious look on his eyes. Then he started pounding the keys with such brute force and speed I couldn't even see his hands moving. "YES! HAHA! TAKE THAT! SLUT!", he screamed. It was the first time I had seen someone "authoring" with my own two eyes. It was fascinating. "WAAAHAHAHAHA HAAAAAAAAA!" "Ding!" the typewriter chimed. "Phew, that was a huge load of a novel, but give me a few minutes to recover my strength and I may even come up with another" he said proudly, ripped the paper from the typewriter and gave it to me. I was very surprised at what was written on it. The first line read:
"I'M THIRSTY"
That was the only line written on the paper. "What the...? There's only two words written on it?!" I said incredulously. "Three, if you count the contraction", he said. "Your novels are only two...I mean, three words long?!" "It's inspirational art. And once I even managed to sprout a five worder, if I can say so myself". I was so disappointed. For a second I thought he was seriously going to create something, ANYTHING, and he comes up with this? I sighed. I took out my smartphone and texted my brother. "Bummer day at uncle's. Did you bring your phone to the hospital?" No answer. Maybe he left his phone at home. I checked my messages. I had four friend requests. All of them spambots. I blacklisted them, and now my friends list was once again empty. "Updating your status for the friends in your social circles?", the frog asked. I was quite surprised a hobo like him was up to date with technology. "I really don't have any friends. But changing the subject," as I didn't really want to talk about that, "why are you homeless? Don't you have any family?" "Let's just say I once wrote a novel that "inspired" me to get rid of all my belongings" the frog said like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. "That makes perfect sense" I said in a sarcastic tone he probably didn't notice. I was getting tired of this senselessness. "Do you even have a name?" "I am known by many names...", he looked like he was about to finish the sentence with a great revelation, but he just stood there and started poking his nose with a finger from his webbed hand. "So are you leaving now or...?". He flicked the mucus out from his finger "Oh! But I just had an idea for another novel!" "All right, just one more novel", I rolled my eyes, a two or three-word novel couldn't take long. "But after that, you'll leave the house, or my uncle will be mad." "Deal! Oh, I think this time I might get a five worder!..." "Ugh...I'll be downstairs. I need something to drink". I didn't really want to see him "in action" again. "Great idea! A refreshed body leads to a refreshed...something or another" he mumbled while he looked with a grin at the typewriter, thinking of all the nasty ways he could use and abuse it. I went downstairs towards the kitchen, filled a cup with water from the tap and started to drink. I hadn't realized until then how thirsty I was...
***
The soccer match was over, and my uncle didn't seem too pleased with the result. I hoped he hadn't made some shady illegal bet on it or something, he had enough debt already and my father had had to "rescue" him more than once. He adjusted his smelly wifebeater and, with great effort and a few grunts, standed up, his tail happy that it was no longer squashed between the sofa cushions and his owner's buttcheeks. He put his lips on the beer can but not single drop came down. He threw the can away, disappointed. He was about to go to the kitchen to get more but he noticed me in there drinking from a cup of water; entering the kitchen would mean risking having to converse about kiddy stuff with me. But then he remembered he left an half-empty can in the second-floor bathroom two days ago, when he had that "accident" involving microwaved Mexican food. He went upstairs, and he heard the frog in middle of his writing. *Pound* "YEAH!" *Pound* "ALMOST...THERE!", cried the frog in ecstasy. "What the hell is that...", my uncle said as he opened the door. "Ding!" "Phew, I'm wasted!" the frog said and let himself drop to the floor on his bottom. "It's...that disgusting thing that kid brought here! I told him to throw it away!" my uncle said frustrated. "Thank you very much..." the frog said, puffing and panting. "For letting me use your typewriter...Mister Suck-it sir...I'll leave your premises...When I recover the strength on my legs". More panting. " In the meantime, delight yourself with my new novel..." With tired, trembling arms the frog ripped the page from the typewriter and gave it to uncle Benjamin. The paper was mostly blank, but there were a few words written on the middle:
"JIM NEEDS A BEST FRIEND"
"Phew, five worders always consume all energy from me. If you excuse me, I'll be taking a nap in the guest's room". The frog then stood up, took a few steps groggily, opened the door to a small closet containing only a rarely-used vacuum cleaner, uncomfortably sat on top of it and closed the door. Loud snores were soon heard coming from the dark closet. My uncle looked again at the piece of paper. "Jim? Could it mean...Jimmy-boy?", his puzzled expression changed to pure anger. "That kid has some explaining to do..."
***
The cold water felt very refreshing. I was going to check on the frog, but while walking through the living-room I noticed my uncle was no longer there. The match was over? I hadn't noticed my uncle leaving the room. I hope he hadn't seen- *THUD* *THUD* *THUD* My uncle was slowly walking down the stairs. Oh-oh, that meant he wasn't happy. "Jimmy-boy, you'll have to explain to me why the second-floor is a mess..." It was already full of junk before I got there. In fact, after searching through it I think it's better organized now...But I didn't dare answer him. My uncle finished walking down the stairs. "And why that smelly thing you brought home I told you to dispose of..." he entered the living room, now facing me. "...was pounding and slapping that valuable old typewriter, which I had put on an eBay auction, like it was its bitch..." "I-I...Didn't wanted him to do that...He s-said he wouldn't leave without writing something for me first..." He showed me the second piece of paper...I mean "novel" the frog had written that day. " "Jim needs a best friend"? Is it an ad for a homosexual hook-up magazine or what?" he said sarcastically. "No!...It's...A very inspiring piece of literary art!...I think." And then my uncle's expression changed. I didn't think for a second my explanation sounded THAT convincing. His eyes stopped looking at me like I was dirt, and then they darted around, confused, like he didn't remember where he was. He looked down, he seemed surprised at the fact that he was wearing a wifebeater and shorts. He tentatively gnawed the wife beater with his teeth like it was an intruder in his body. "Uhm...Uncle Benjamin, are you feeling ok?" I said, a little worried. With his muzzle still holding his wife beater, he looked at me. He seemed surprised, like he hadn't realized I was there. His tail started wagging happily. "Err...What's wrong?", I said. Suddenly he sprinted and charged against me, throwing me to the floor. I got scared. He started licking my face with his tongue. Oh god, was my own uncle going to rape me? But he luckily didn't seem like he was going to as his licks felt playful, not abusive, although the smell of his breath was toxic. "Stop it! Stop it!", I cried out. And he did. He gave a few steps backwards, sat on his butt and looked at me expectantly, tail wiggling like mad. "What's wrong with you? This isn't funny!" "...Woof! Arf! Woof! Woof!" he barked playfully. I was confused. Then my uncle felt an itch on his back and in a swift move he bit it furiously for a few seconds. Then he just sat there, looking at me expectantly with his tongue out. Then he tilted his head slightly to one side as if not understanding my shocked expression. What had happened to him? He was a full-grown adult, a bit fat and smelly, sure, but civilized. Why was he, a dog like me, acting like a pet animal?
***
I knocked on the small closet's door. "Occupied!", the frog called out. "It's not that! My uncle is acting weird! He licked my face, sniffed my butt and then he started chasing his own tail! And it all happened after he read your piece of "inspiring" art!" The frog opened the door, but stood still on top of the vacuum cleaner. "Oh, so after reading my masterpiece he felt inspired to be your best friend, and what would be a man's best friend but a pet?" "I honestly didn't find your novel that inspiring. It's not like self-help books tend to have rich and complex plots or anything, but still...with just five words you completely brainwashed him?" "Well, my novels tend to have these effects on people. Once, there was this rich entrepreneur, I can't remember his name. He read my greatest masterpiece ever, a metaphorical novel about forgetting the mistakes of your past and living in the moment. The next day, he felt motivated to sell all his companies' assets for a paltry sum and now lives as a smelly hobo on the streets. Damn, if I could just remember his name, I'm sure you would have liked to meet him. He had a nasty habit of abusing typewriters and computer keyboards like a madman!" I had the impression I already knew who that hobo was, but that wasn't important now. "Is there anyway to undo the "spell"? I tried ripping and disposing of the novel, but that didn't work. Can you write another one to turn him back to normal?". "You did WHAAAAAAAAT?!", the frog screamed, a few tears dripping from his eyes. "You destroyed my novel like it was a piece of garbage?..." "I didn't do it to hurt your feelings! I thought that maybe that would break the spell. Like in the movies when-" "Oh...My beautiful five worder..." He looked depressed. "This is such a turn-off...The business closes its doors for the day" The frog tried to close the door of the small closet, but I put my foot on its frame. "Just a little three-word novel! "BACK TO NORMAL" would be enough! I'm sure you can write that!" "...I'll think about it. Bring Mr. Doggy sir here so he can read it as soon as possible. But don't expect a masterpiece!" he said reluctantly. "Thank you! I'll bring him up, I left him leashed in the living room."
***
"Where is Jimmy-boy? I'm bored!" thought my uncle as he scratched his ear with his back leg. As my uncle never had a dog, and hence no collars or leashes, I had to grab a dark blue tie he used to wear in one of his old jobs, put it on his neck (it took a few tries, as he always tried to playfully snatch it with his teeth) and tied it to a decorative, slim pillar in one of the corners of the living room. Unfortunately I never knew how to make resistant knots, so he was able to detach it from the pillar very easily thanks to his huge body mass. "Great, now on top of all these ridiculous clothes I now have this annoying tight thing on my neck", he thought. Walking on all fours, his annoying shorts came down very easily and he felt good to be unconstricted down there, but the wife beater and tie was a different story. He sniffed and searched all over the first floor for me, his big butt exposed, without success. He yawned, stretched his paws, gave a loud burp and was about to circle around for a bit before laying on the floor when he saw an exit.
When I went downstairs looking for him, I couldn't find him anywhere, the only thing I found was his discarded shorts. I hoped he was wearing underwear. Then I realized the glass door to the garden was open.
Uncle Benjamin's neighbour was a white Doberman. Benjamin never liked him because he was always making fun of Benjamin's weight, the Doberman himself quite muscular. When I arrived to the garden, Benjamin was wagging his tail at the neighbour, his paws on top of the fence, naked except from a dirty wife beater and a incredibly unfitting formal tie. The Doberman was blushing but he couldn't stop staring at the spectacle in front of him. "Woof! Woof! Arf!" "Benjamin Sockett...Did you...Drink too much again?", the Doberman asked, shocked. "Excuse my uncle...He's..." I tried to think of the most realistic-sounding excuse ever. "He's practicing "dogging". His doctor recommended it to him to relieve the stress of losing his job. It's a known spiritual practice to channel your inner instincts. Lots of people practice it. If you don't believe me, check it out on the internet. You can find ANYTHING on the internet!" He didn't look very convinced at my explanation. The fact that my uncle was licking his testicles as I talked didn't help. "Are you sure he won't get a cold with this weather?", the doberman asked, while looking at my uncle's shrunk genitals as they were licked.. "It's part of the therapy. Believe me", I said. I guess that in the most desperate of situations, even the most ridiculous lie sounds convincing in your head.
Somehow, I managed to take my uncle inside. It wasn't easy, as every time I tried to grab his tie he ran away and taunted me by wiggling his butt. "This is not a game! Get inside!", I kept telling him. The Doberman looked at us like we had gone insane, but somehow I felt him staring at my uncle with what appeared to be jealousy in his eyes. What a weird thought that was, I guess I'm not that good at reading people's feelings. As I pulled him into the living room by yanking his tie, the frog came downstairs holding a piece of paper on his hand. "It has no soul. It's pure commercial trash. But seriously, have you ever heard of the expression "three strikes and you're out"?" I didn't know what he meant by that as I don't play baseball. But the novel worked! Uncle came back to himself and thankfully didn't remember anything since remember the match was over, the frog was very thoughtful of thinking of that. He just thought he had just fallen asleep on the sofa and removed his shorts in his sleep, though he didn't remember putting on his tie.
***
"So, why not just write a novel where you stop being homeless?", I asked the frog later that day. "There's no hurry, Mr. Doggy sir won't notice a small frog between all his pile of junk" The frog smiled. "After all, it's much funnier this way. And I can't let my newest puppy friend to spend all the night all alone with an alcoholic uncle can I?" It was the first time I wasn't annoyed someone called me a puppy, in fact, I felt happy. Someday, I'll present him to the rest of my family. He would have to take a bath first, though.
THE END
...
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you one more thing! A few days later while uncle Benjamin was taking out the trash, he saw his Doberman neighbour on his garden completely naked and on all fours. He kept on digging on the ground, chasing his tail and licking his penis. "What the fuck are you doing?", my uncle asked. "*Pant* *Pant* I''m practicing "dogging"!" he said with a big smile on his face which uncle Benjamin promptly punched.