A large pot sits in plain sight. There’s a frog in it.
Every day, Leader announces his plans to boil the frog. His campaign slogan was “BOIL THAT FROG.”
He has already made at least one run on the stove.
A man stirs the pot with a large stick. “It’s a metaphor,” he says.
The frog is sweating.
The frog is informed that this is due to a natural variation in temperature.
“He’s clearly boiling the frog,” say the other frogs.
All books about frogs have vanished from the library.
You ask the man with the stick about the purpose of the pot. “It’s a melting pot,” he says. “What are you melting?” you say. The man keeps stirring.
You ask about the frog. The man says something about the price of eggs.
A panel on TV debates the ethics of boiling the frog. The panel is composed of twelve herons and no frogs.
The Amphibian Conservation Organization is stripped of government grants. All funding is redirected to the new Department of Frog-Boiling.
The frog treads water. He’s reassured that the water is unfluoridated.
Leader tells other frogs not to worry. Healthy, hard-working frogs are fine. They can climb out of the pot whenever they want.
The US Secretary of Health says that boiling water is actually good for frogs. It keeps them from turning gay.
You ask about the frog. You’re reassured that it’s a nonnative species.
The pot bubbles. When the frog croaks, he’s told to speak English.
Due to a funding increase, the pot has tripled in size. The frog can no longer touch bottom.
The frog receives a text message asking him for three dollars.
The man with the stick adds garlic and butter to the pot. He seems to be following a European recipe for frog-boiling. He’s already halfway through.
You ask about the frog. “What frog?” he says.
All frogs are encouraged to call their representatives every day to request not to be boiled. They’re told their calls are very important.
You ask to turn off the stove. You’re told, “We can revisit this in four years.”
A panel on TV debates whether the frog is being boiled or merely poached. The herons lick their lips.
You walk by a pond. Every lily pad is empty.
The frog roils and flails in the pot, striking against the walls. Bump. Bump. Bump. The frog is accused of rabble-rousing.
The National Guard is deployed to subdue the frog.
You try to turn off the stove. Twenty masked men in body armor hit you with rubber bullets and tear gas.
The air smells like soup. A timer dings.
The room feels like a sauna. Your ankles are wet. When you open your mouth, out comes a croak.