Fo’ real. This is some funny shit. It kinda reminds me of the time my brother in law Billy Wayne (yes, he went by both names. Yes, he had a belt with his name on it. And yes, many of our friends also referred to him as Bubba. No, I cannot make this shit up) convinced his buddy Jimmy Lee to lick a frog’s ass.

Now nobody ever accused Jimmy Lee (God rest his mullet-wearin’ soul) of being the brightest bulb in the box, but that boy did like to get high. Jimmy Lee used to work for my daddy with Wayne (neither my sister nor I ever referred to him with two first names, it’s an oddity in my family) and my brother Tommy (also known as Turtle, do not ask) in my daddy’s logging operation.

Yes, my daddy is a lumberjack. Yes, he is okay. No, he has not, to my knowledge, ever put on women’s clothing. Nor does he get the reference. He is an 80-year-old man from Bullock Creek, SC. Monty Python has not penetrated that particular culture. Just accept it.

So Wayne and Jimmy Lee were sitting around one evening drinking beer (Wayne used to pour salt on the top of his Budweiser can, and if anyone can explain that particular taste sensation, I’d appreciate it) when Wayne looks over at Jimmy Lee and says “You hear that?”

Jimmy Lee responds eloquently with “Hear what?”

“There’s a frog over there in the woodpile.”

“So what?”

“I saw on TV about these people that lick a frog and get hiiiiiiiggggghhhhhh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, man. I saw it on the TV. You go over there and get that frog and lick it, and it will fuck you up.”

“Will not.”

“Yeah, man. It’ll get you stoned as hell!”

Well, stoned as hell was about Jimmy Lee’s favorite state, so he went over to the woodpile, found that hoppy toad, and after he brushed the sawdust off him, he commenced to licking that hoppy toad. He licked that hoppy toad like he was licking his first…

um, this is a family blog…

um, not fucking likely!

He licked that hoppy toad like it was the last pussy on earth. He stood there licking that frog for a few minutes and then looked over at Wayne and said, “Man, I don’t feel nothing.”

Wayne said, “Keep licking.”

So he did, and that’s how there came to be a 30-something year old redneck in the back yard of my sister’s doublewide wearing knee-high moccasins with fringe around the tops, no shit, cutoff blue jeans and blonde permed mullet licking a frog’s ass on a Friday night.

Good times, good times. I did mention that I can’t make this shit up, right?