"I have herpes."

"I have herpes."

"Herpe-derpes?" I asked, my eyes widening.

I moved my fingers to my lips. Oh No! It was the dreaded "Herpe-derpes". Luckily, I knew a cure passed down through the ancient generations of my family:

The cure was a kiss from a drunk reticulated giraffe. Long blue tongue included. In fact you couldn't cure "Herpe-derpes" without the slobbery tongue juice. Guess that meant I had

no chance. I mean, a giraffe - that's worse than my grandma. Instead I decided to seek the help of a lonely wizard, as I heard he had the spell to cure the Herpe-Derpes.

You approach the wizard, he looks like he could break at any minute into a speech of how lonely his life is. You decide to not be rude and gradually start the conversation. Uh oh,

he's not talking about his life, he take out his wand and start casting spell at you. But luckily, your armor are shiny, thus reflect the spell back to the wizard.

The wizard transform into a frog, and you eat frog. Magic frog, you thinks as you slurp its leg. "Gotta get me some more"

was the marketing slogan for the canned version of Magic Frog Leg Juice, and it was indeed extremely successful. Many people drank four or five cans a day. The effect of this was

unpredictable: some suffered from Enchanted Prince Syndrome, a few native Frenchmen would attempt to broil and sautee their own legs, while the majority would