A/N: Heh, just my own random story about what became of the frog. Short and humorous, it includes references to the Princess Bride and Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned anything, would I be bothering to write this?

Well, I was sitting there, minding my own business, when this idiot came running up my hill and tried to step on me, just like all the other morons. Stupid gits trying to impress their girlfriends. I'll never understand it. It's a sad day indeed when a frog can't even enjoy a little French sunshine with being stomped on. I hopped away, and he pretended to have killed me. I watched from the tree.

The first thing I noticed was that his girlfriend was very good looking. I'll never know why she bothered to hang out with Ugly Frog-Stomper. Good-Looking only had eyes for Cute Writer Guy though, even if Ugly Frog-Stomper couldn't see it.

Hmm, I thought to myself. This is shaping up to be a very interesting love triangle. Maybe I should stick around and watch this play out.

So I did. I hitched a ride in the picnic basket, and found myself in the famous Moulin Rouge, the underworld converted to a theater, where they were rehearsing their latest play. It really was pretty good, and I definitely noticed the symbolism behind the courtesan and the penniless sitar player. The Duke was in the way of the poor lovers, and I resolved to do something about it. And to get back at the stupid Duke for trying to step on me.

First order of business was to acquire what I would need. Apart from an adventure involving a cat, a door, and a suspicious butler, I did manage to sneak into a shop and get what I needed. Now to put it into play…

I was sorry to miss the performance, but it had to be done. I knew that the Duke had a nightcap before bed every night, so I snuck into the kitchen, and climbed until I was on the shelf above his nightly glass of wine. Carefully, I drew my secret weapon. A tiny vial. Unscrewing the cap, which, considering I had flippers instead of hands, is more difficult than it sound, I poured its contents into the glass below me. Now all I had to do was wait.

That night, I hid myself on top of the Duke's lamp. This was not something I wanted to miss. I heard the door open. The hunt was on.

The poor, unsuspecting Duke lifted his glass of wine to his lips. I watched, motionless. The nobleman casually drained the glass, and I allowed myself a smile. It was done.

Several minutes passed. The Duke began to feel woozy. "I'll just lie down for a minute," he murmured to himself, collapsing on the bed. I grinned froggily. Perfect.

That night, the Duke breathed his last, thanks to the iocane powder I had slipped into his merlot. I, satisfied with a job well done, turned on my webbed foot and began the long journey back to my pond. As I went, I reflected. This had been a fun adventure, and I was keen to have another. Maybe next time I would go to the Paris Opera House. I had heard that they were in the market for a new Phantom…

Such is the firsthand account of Earl, the frog who assassinated the Duke. He went on to have many other adventures, and although he later discovered that Satine had died and came to her funeral to mourn her, his first adventure was always his favorite.