Ribbit King has the very best premise in the entire history of video games. This is no small feat. It was a video game, remember, that gave us Chef Must Assemble Giant Sandwiches While Running From Evil Wieners. It was a video game that gave us Evil Giant Ape Throws Barrels At Plumber From Atop Scaffolding. It was a video game that gave us Silver Man Flies Down Psychedelic Tunnel While Bombs Explode In Time With Techno Music.

Exclusive company, true, but Ribbit King rises to the task. Here is its premise. Once upon a time deep in space, a planet of sweet friendly people who looked like Weebles lived together in harmony. They ate pie and told each other jokes and were clever and non-threatening. They were happy. Then disaster struck. Or, rather, threatened to strike. Supplies of Ribbinite were running short! Oh no!

Ribbinite was the fuel that kept the lights on and the pies warm. Without it, all the friendly Weebles would be lost and cold and bereft of entertainment. Their economy would sputter and grind to a halt. They would be sad. They needed a hero to find them a stable, multi-year energy supply, cost and methods and scruples be damned. They needed one fast. Unfortunately, George W. Bush was unavailable. So the good Weebles of space turned to a friendly little kid named Scooter.

"Be our champion," the king told Scooter. "Win us the Super Ribbinite!" So Scooter got into his spaceship and set off to become the best frolfer in the galaxy.

Frolf. Yes, that is the correct spelling. In the imagined future-space of Ribbit King, nations and planets do not invade each other over energy supplies and natural resources, and neither do they wage war on each other. They do not even trade. Instead, they hold big friendly frolf tournaments and give all the ribbinite to the winner.

Frolf is a bit like golf, only with frogs used in place of balls. You step up to the tee, you hit your frog really hard with a hammer, and it springs off with a jump that is part surprise and part sheer terror. The idea is that you must whack your frog, and then you must whack it again, and then you must whack it again, until it jumps or falls into a target hole. These are conveniently marked by basketball-sized diamonds, which hover in the air and sparkle enticingly.

This all sounds much harder on the frogs than it is. They are happy on the frolf course. They are fierce competitors and want to win. They do not mind the occasional bludgeoning for the sake of sport. In that respect they are a bit like defensive tackles. Also, they love the surprises that lurk around every corner and behind every tree on the frolf course. There are buzzing flies, which the frogs happily gulp down whenever an opportunity presents itself. There are water hazards, which are much more fun for frogs than they are for golf balls. There are trampolines made of spider web. There are soap bubbles, which float in the air and reward you with points if you manage to pop them.

If all this sounds like a bit much, it is. It is what might happen to a sensible sports game if all the design team spent a few weeks getting into the nitrous. It is silliness piled upon idiocy slathered with plain old fashioned dumb. But give it this: it is fun. You will have a good time playing, and so will your guests, even if they are not any good at video games. Even if they have been into the nitrous.

Scooter's spaceship requires a sidekick, in the same way Luke Skywalker's fighter needed R2-D2. The key difference is that Scooter's little helpful pal is a talking picnic basket.