November 28, 2009
Originally published June 18, 2004
I usually like the sound of crickets and frogs at night. They sing up a storm and I enjoy listening to them. But you can have too much of a good thing.
Last night, some horny damned frog perched himself somewhere around my back porch and just wouldn't shut up. "RACK! RACK! RACK-RACK-RACK-RACK!" The bastard sounded as if he were singing through a microphone into a bank of Bose PA speakers. I couldn't hear my television over his love song.
I grabbed a .22 pistol and a flashlight and went outside to dispatch his noisy ass. As soon as I opened the door, he cut off his set and took a break. I shined the flashlight all through the weeds the beautifully manicured grass in my back yard, but I couldn't find the obnoxious little shit. I decided to sit in a lawn chair and wait him out.
Mosquitoes attacked me, so I gave up on that plan. As soon as I went back inside, The Frog of Love started a new set and cranked up the volume. "RACK! RACK! RACK-RACK-RACK-RACK!" If I opened the door, he shut up. As soon as I closed the door, he started singing again.
I'm gonna find that prick today and kill him.
All content © Rob Smith