Suicidal Frat Boy Frogs

I currently have about 15 cats, give or take a few depending on how many were killed by coons or birthed during the night. Our cat population can change for better or for worse by as many as 5 furry little faces in one day (city readers, please remember I live in the sticks. Rules out here are different). Rest assured, however, that my cats are well cared for. They spend their days chasing birds, lizards, elves, smurfs, frogs, and other small woodland creatures.

That brings me to recent discovery. Apparently we have a cult of suicidal frogs that I can only assume live in a tiny compound somewhere on our property. I say they are suicidal because I keep finding them hopping steadily toward the space under the back porch, which is inhabited on a continual nonstop basis by our white trash cats. They (the cats) sit on, around, and under the porch, smoking kitty sized cigarettes as they deep fry smurfs. Needless to say, any frog that ventures near this area definitely has a massive death wish.

I'm fairly certain that this particular cult isn't affiliated with the Heaven's Gate crowd because so far none of the frogs have been wearing tiny black Nikes. I'm not sure if they are polygamists though...however, the babies all look the same so it's safe to say something smells like Warren Jeffs (was that his name? I wanted to write Warren Beatty but I know it's not him...). The only other explanation I can think of is that there is a little frog fraternity down by the pond and the porch death march is some kind of sick initiation rite that they are forced to perform in order to prove their manly frogness.

I staged an intervention tonight and prevented a young frog from reaching eternity for at least one more day. It was probably his first time away from home. Anyway, when I picked him up, he let out a high pitched little frog shriek. I'm sure all of his beer drinking frat frog buddies were watching from the pond and they'll probably call him Nancy or Barbara for the rest of his life. Better to be a safe Nancy than a dead Bob, I always say.

On a closing note, a few weeks ago I managed to drive through a concrete slushee on the highway as I headed into town. Now this is classic...it had been raining, and a concrete bag fell off of someone's truck. Anyway, I proceeded to town, went to class, came out, and had a nice new thin protective layer on the lower part of my truck. And think, some retards out there actually pay for rhino bed liners. Why don't they just break open a bag of quick-crete in the bed and turn on the garden hose for a minute?

I was seriously thinking about just coating my truck in concrete and maybe adding a nice reflecting pool or sculpture, but then I decided that bringing concrete on to our property would have bad results. I don't want to drain the pond in October and find dozens of little frogs wearing concrete overshoes...the frogs that failed to survive the new initiation swim.