]" Froggy said, smacking the picket sign in place of saying that!
It read: #Frogs'LegsMatter
"You sonofa . . . bitch!" the alpine lizard said, strained for breath, for hire by management he rarely seen, getting his dander up, knowing he could have froggy appear in court, get put on probation (in the event, of course, it worked out he ended up back behind his desk), and still be subject, in the interim, in the immediate experience, to a rib-crushing solar plexus pounding and just maybe a dislocated jaw if he drew more fire (from Froggy's ire) and could cut the uppercut just between —
A.L. cracked his knuckles, in anticipation, and to focus his energies.
Froggy didn't stand a chance.