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A frog walked into a saloon... |
| [Introduction]
This is one of those rare "One Man Campfires" that you hear about but seldom see. It's a collection of short stories all starting with the premise of a frog walking into a drinking establishment. When the color of the type changes, it's a new story. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| A frog ventured into the city, curious to see what life was like beyond the confines of his pond. After a few hours of sightseeing, he grew thirsty and went looking for a drink. He had been warned about the "no animals" policy at most bars, so he was pleased to discover a little hole-in-the-wall called "Scales and Claws". He walked into the bar and noticed two turtles sitting at a table near the door and a couple of lizards at a dark table near the back. Ahhh, he thought. This place is perfect. At the bar he asked the bartender for a beer, but the bartender put his hands on his hips, glowered at the frog, and said, "We don't serve amphibians in here." |
| The frog turned around dejectedly to leave, but then he noticed that one of the "lizards" at the back table was a salamander! He was just about to whirl around and tell the bartender, "Hey! You're serving that guy and he's an amphibian!" when he happened to catch the salamander's eye and saw the pleading look in it. He grasped the situation right away. Damn! The salamander was trying to pass. The frog left the bar thinking what a screwed up world it was. Not only did humans discriminate against animals, but animals discriminated against each other. |
| The frog soon found another bar, the Fuzzy Wuzzy, but when the frog walked in, he saw squirrels and rabbits at the tables and an old racoon sitting at the bar. "Sorry," the frog said, "I didn't know this was a mammals bar," and he started backing out through the door. "It's alright!" called the racoon, "Come on in!" "You serve frogs here?" asked the frog with a hopeful smile on his fresh young face. "Sure," said the racoon. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the chef." Wow!, thought the frog. Now this is service! The racoon ushered the frog into the kitchen. "How do you like this frog?" the racoon asked the chef. "Excellent!" said the chef. The racoon walked back out into the main room and announced, "We're serving frog on the menu tonight, folks. The supply is limited, so first come, first served." |
| Three lady rabbits were sitting at a table in the main room. "That's disgusting," said Flopsy. "I know," said Mopsy, "Serving meat! This place has gone downhill since those carnivores bought it." "Why don't we go somewhere else?" asked the third lady rabbit, who was sipping daintily on a tall pink fizzy drink with a slice of carrrot on the rim. "But the Happy Hour prices here are so reasonable," said Flopsy. Just then the waiter, a tall fox with sparkling green eyes, came by the table. "Can I get you ladies anything?" "Not right now," said Mopsy, twitching her nose. After the waiter left, Flopsy exclaimed, "What a fox! And did you see how he looked at you, Mopsy? Like he could just eat you up right now!" "I know!" giggled Mopsy. |
| Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the frog was leaping for his life trying to escape from the chef, who held a cleaver in one hand and a pot in the other. "Yikes!" screamed the frog as he jumped off a table just as the cleaver thwacked into the tabletop right where he had been. He hopped along the tile floor and hid under a stainless steel shelf. He sat there panting, watching the chef's feet approach. "Psssst!" came a small voice from nearby. "Huh?" said the frog. "Psssst! Over here!" The frog looked around and noticed a hole in the floor from which protruded a small head. It was the salamander from the Scales and Claws! The salamander gestured furiously. "Come on! Jump down here!" "Aha!" said the chef, who had knelt down and was peering under the shelf at the frog. The frog leaped for the hole and found himself traveling through a large pipe with the salamander. Behind them they could hear the chef yelling, "I thought I told you to put a new cover over that drainhole!" After they had gone a few feet, the salamander stopped and said, "We're safe now." When the frog got his breath back, he thanked the salamander for saving his life. "But how did you know I was in trouble?" The salamander laughed. "To tell you the truth, I didn't know. These pipes connect all these buildings. I was just on my way home when I heard the commotion. I saw it was you and I figured I owed you one for not ratting me out at the Scales and Claws earlier. I saw you were about to do it, but you held off. Thanks for that." The frog nodded his head. "No, I couldn't get another 'phib in trouble." He wanted to add, "but I'll tell you straight out that I don't think much of phibs who try to pass for reptiles," but he realized it wasn't the time and place for that much honesty. |
| A frog walked into a saloon. The place was pretty quiet, but at one of the tables sat an octopus playing cards with himself. The octopus waved one of his arms. "Hey, froggy, come on over and play a game." The frog sat down at the table and was promptly dealt five cards. "Poker?" he asked. "You got it, Jack!" said the octopus, with a wide grin. And then added, "Jacks are wild," after he looked at his cards. The frog was about to protest, but decided to play the hand first and see if the octopus was holding any jacks. "How many cards do you want?" asked the octopus. "None." "Ohhh, standing pat." The frog noticed that the octopus had dealt four hands of cards and was playing three of them himself. He would pick up one hand of cards, adjust it, then put it down and pick up another of his three hands. "Do you think it's fair," said the frog, "that you are playing three hands against my one?" "Fair?" said the octopus, putting one tentacle to his chin and scratching thoughtfully. "Perhaps not. Why don't you pick one of my hands for me to play and I will discard the other two." With that he laid the three hands face down in front of the frog. The frog picked one hand and the octopus put the other two back in the deck. "Place your bet," said the octopus. "I'll bet a quarter," said the frog, not wanting to risk much in this dubious game. "Excellent," grinned the octopus, "and I will raise you the other three fourths." Now the frog knew he was playing with an oddball so he said, "See and call. What do you have?" The octopus lay down four aces and a jack. "Five aces!" The frog tossed in his cards and put a dollar on the table. "Beats me. Thanks for the game." "What's this?" said the octopus, picking up the dollar. "I bet a dollar," said the frog, "and that's the dollar." The octopus whipped out a tentacle and grabbed the frog. "Oh no. We weren't playing for money. We were playing for you." "But you cheated!" puffed the frog, struggling against the tentacle wrapped tightly around his waist. The octopus pulled the frog in close and stared eye to eye. "You calling me a cheat?" "Yes," squeaked the frog, barely able to breathe. "Fine," said the octopus, setting the frog down again. "Go for your gun." The frog tried to clear his mind. He had been very close to asphyxiation. Now he could only see a blurry image of the octopus with his four tentacles poised over four guns holstered on a leather gunbelt. Instinctively, the frog hopped backwards in a somersault, hearing the booming of the guns as he flew through the air. As soon as he hit the floor he hopped again, while the guns spat bullets at him, some so close he felt the breeze. The frog hopped out of the saloon, hopped on his horse, and galloped away into the desert. Later that evening, as the frog sat eating beans and bacon, watching the moon rise over the desert, he thought about how close he had come to death that day and a sudden shiver ran through him and made his long powerful legs twitch. |
| A frog walked into a space bar. He was almost blinded by all the chrome and strobe lights and the laser that caught him in the eye, but he managed to hop up to the bar. The bartender was a pop-eyed Denebian, one of the red ones who have a knack for mixing drinks. "What'll you have my little Venusian friend?" The frog frowned. "I ain't no Venusian. I'm a Terran frog." "Ah, no, my friend," said the Denebian bartender, swiveling one eye to watch the bar while the other eye stared at the frog. "Ya can no be a Terran. Terrans be pink and hairy and you be green and slick." "I said I'm a Terran FROG, dammit, not a Terran human!" "I do not think there be anyone entitled to call themselves Terrans but the humans." The frog hopped up on the bar so that he could look the Denebian in the face and said, "Listen, 'friend', I am a frog from Earth and Earth is Terra and that makes me a Terran. Got it?" The Denebian bartender pulled back from the frog. Although he was very tolerant of other species, a necessary attribute for a bartender in a spacebar, he was turned off by bad breath and this frog's mouth had the distinct smell of dead flies in it. He looked down his nose at the frog. "Please don't sit on the bar, sir. We have provided barstools." "So am I a Terran or not?" asked the frog. "If you say so, sir" said the bartender, deciding to rely on formal politeness to end the conversation. However, the frog was too upset for an easy ending. "NO! Not because I say so! Because it's true! Dammit! Say to me 'You are a Terran' and with no qualifiers!" But by then, the Denebian had swiveled one eye around to the back of his head and winked at the bouncer, a very big Humper from a very tough planet. The Humper clumped over to the bar and looked down at the frog. "You got a problem, buddy?" The frog gulped at the sight of the ugly face and bulging muscles of the Humper. Maybe I am making too much of this whole 'Call me Terran' thing, he thought. "No, I don't have a problem." "Good," said the Humper and clumped back to his place by the wall. The frog was silent for a moment, then meekly asked the bartender, "I'll have a beer please... a Terran beer." |
| A frog walked into a pub. One old chap noticed him. "Uh-oh! What have we here? A bloomin frog?" His friend cast a glance. "Aye. It's a frog all right. I did not know they fancied a taste of the brew." "Oh yes!" volunteered a red-faced man at the bar. "Frogs are drinkers, all right!" He took a swig of his beer, then looked down into it and muttered,"...aye, they drink..." The frog, who had been poised with one foot in the pub and one foot out, ready to leave immediately at the slightest show of hostility, decided the pub seemed safe enough and made his entrance. He found a place at the bar next to an old man in a worn tweed jacket and asked the bartender for a beer. The old man beside him looked him up and down before speaking. "Green is it, then?" The old man shook his head side to side. "You lads with your 'fashions'." The frog, who was a little nervous because he was young and this was his first time in a pub, stammered, "It's for c-c-camouflage. So the snakes don't get me." "The snakes!" boomed the old man in the tweed jacket. "The snakes... I never tried to hide from them. Better to face things straight on, I say. Take arms against your troubles and oppose them,as the bard says. Do ya read Shakespeare, froggy?" The frog was somewhat offended by the use of "froggy" as an appellation, but he wasn't quite sure what was acceptable in a pub. Maybe impromptu nicknames were customary. "Well, Old Tweedy," he began, but 'Old Tweedy' interrupted him. "Old Tweedy? Har! Har! My name is Jake, young frog, and what might be yours?" "Freddy." "Freddy the Frog? Har! Har! Let us be glad you did not say Kermit! Har! Har!" "Kermit?" said the frog. If he had had eyebrows they would have risen, but in frogs it's a slight popping of the eyeballs that indicates a question. "Yes. Kermit. Do you not have a telly, then, that you do not know the most famous frog of all? Ahh. Pity for you, lad." The frog couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he started drinking his beer. Not bad, he thought, and felt himself relax. Not bad at all... |
| [Remember the first story about the frog and the salamander? You know. The chef was chasing the frog and the salamander showed him how to escape down the drain? Well, we are resuming that storyline right where we left off... down the drain.] The salamander said, "My name is Max." The frog shook hands. "I'm Freddy. Glad to meet you. And thanks again for saving my life." "Don't mention it. Say, why don't you come on to my house. You need some rest and I've got some frozen French flies we can reheat." "I don't know," said Freddy. But he was thinking that he could use a friend in the city and Max seemed liked a good guy. "Yeah, sure! Why not? Thanks for the offer." "No prob. Come on! It's not far from here." Max's apartment was small, but cozy. Freddy felt better after a shower and a hot meal. He and Max sat in the living room listening to a little jazz. When a sax solo came on, Max said, "That's me on the sax." Freddy was surprised. "You play?" "Oh, yeah!" said Max. "Why do you think I'm doing that whole 'reptile' thing?" "I don't know," said Max. "I wasn't going to bring it up." Max laughed. "I saw the hard looks you gave me about it." Freddy was embarrassed. "I didn't know my feelings were that obvious. Yeah, I am kind of surprised that a sharp 'phib like you would pretend to be a reptile." "It's for the music," said Max. "You know the kind of crap they play in 'phib clubs -- Hop and Jump stuff. I like Slither and Crawl. You don't find phibs playing S&C. Only reptiles" Freddy was more into country music than any of the styles Max was talking about, so he just nodded his head in agreement. "And I've got a reptile girlfriend..." "What?!" said Freddy. "And she doesn't know you're an amphibian?" "Oh, she knows all right. It's what she always wanted -- a phib boyfriend." |
| Freddy scratched his chin with a hind foot. "But how do you do it? How do you get them to think you're a reptile?" "It's not so difficult. It takes a lot of this." Max held up a bottle of Thompson's Guaranteed Skin Dryer. "This takes the moistness out of my skin and gives it that dry look that reptiles have." "But what about the scales? They must notice you don't have scales?" "No problem. For one thing, it's pretty dark in those Slither and Crawl clubs. And if anyone does notice, they don't mention it because they think I have Fisherman's Syndrome." "What's that?" "It's a disease reptiles get where they lose their scales. They don't like to talk about it. But it's not contagious, so I just let them think I have it if that's what they want to think. But really it's so dark in the clubs that most cats don't even notice my skin. They just like to hear me play." Max grinned a big salamander grin. Freddy chuckled. "Pretty good are you?" Max shrugged. "Hey. you hear me on that recording, don't you? What do you think?" "To tell you the truth, Max, I don't know anything about Slither and Crawl. I like country music, though." "Country! Mercy, mercy, I'm talking to a hillbilly!" Max lightly punched Freddy's arm to show he was only teasing him. |
| A frog walked into a bar. "Hey, you! We don't serve frogs in here!" yelled the bartender. The frog's eyes narrowed. When he spoke it was low, slow, and very deliberate. "You do now." The bartender looked at the frog. It was true the frog was wearing a gun belt and in that gun belt were two pearl-handled revolvers. However, the bartender had never met a frog who could shoot straight. The bartender, on the other hand, had been a gunslinger in his day. He still kept a loaded Colt hidden behind the bar. Unseen by the frog, his hand searched out the hidden revolver and cocked it. The frog spoke again in the same dry voice. "I wouldn't try that if I were you." The bartender wasn't surprised that the frog had heard the click of the revolver being cocked. The bar had been deadly quiet from the moment the frog first spoke. The bartender hesitated. He had been counting on the frog's first shot going wild, giving the bartender time to bring his gun up and fire. But suppose this frog could really shoot? A bead of sweat formed on the bartender's brow. The frog spoke again. "I'll have a beer." His eyes were locked with the bartender's. "Please," he added, but there was nothing subservient about that "please" or even conventionally polite. That "please" was an ironic comment by a frog who was going to get what he wanted whether it "pleased" anybody or not. The bartender's brow was dotted with sweat now and he felt his hand trembling. He silently cursed his lack of decisiveness. Then, suddenly, gritting his teeth, the bartender swung his gun up to fire at the frog. The frog knew instantly what the gritted teeth meant, so his guns were out of their holsters and firing before the bartender's gun made it's appearance. The bartender crumpled behind the counter without firing a shot. "Ya killed him in cold blood!" exclaimed a grizzly beard oldtimer. "Look in his hand," said the frog. The grizzly beard peeked behind the bar. "Well, I'll be... He's holdin' a gun. He was gonna kill you! Here, stranger. Here's that beer you wanted. I reckon Old Jake ain't in no shape to tend bar right now." "Is he dead?" asked the frog. "Naw, he'll live. You almost missed him. You shot his ear off!" The bartender groaned and sat up. "You damn frog!" "I'm glad I didn't kill you," said the frog. He raised his beer up to the oldtimer and the cowpokes who had run into the bar when they heard the gunshots. "To his health, boys!" and the frog downed his glass of beer in one big gulp. |
| Max the salamander threw a mattress on the floor for Freddy the frog and the two friends drifted off into slumberland. Or at least Max did. Freddy was having trouble getting to sleep, even though he was very tired from the day's activities. Part of the problem was the subway train that came roaring by every 20 minutes, shaking the little apartment and making the dishes rattle. Freddy listened to Max snoring and wondered, How can he sleep with that train noise all night long? Freddy thought about the peaceful evenings back at the pond, all the frogs and crickets singing together as the moon rose into the sky. Now here he was deep underground with strange rumblings and that horrible subway noise. Maybe if I sing a little, Freddy thought. Freddy puffed out his throat and sang one of his favorite songs, REED-EEP REED-EEP REED-EEP! Max leaped up in his bed, eyes wide. "What the hell was that?" "I'm just singing," Freddy said. "Singing! You call that singing? Geesh! I was sleeping good, Freddy, and you let loose with that yodeling?" Freddy frowned. "It's not yodeling. Only tree frogs yodel." "Yodeling, shmodeling, it's really awful. Please stop." "Fine. I'll stop. But I can't sleep with that subway rumbling through here." Max looked thoughtfully at his new friend, then snapped his fingers. "I've got the solution. Put this on." "What is it?" "That's my headphones. Just slip them over your ears. Is that better?" Freddy smiled. He could barely hear Max. Sounds were muffled. "Hey, yeah! This might work. Thanks, Max." "You're welcome. Let's get some sleep." |
| A frog walked into a bar. The bartender said, "What will you have?" The frog gazed longingly at the shiny bottles lined up behind the bartender. It was so unfair that he had no money to buy a drink. "Just looking," he said. "Well, go look at something else. I don't need a frog staring at me." "Oh, I wasn't looking at you, sir. I was looking at all the delightful beverages you have for sale." The bartender noticed the frog's shabby clothes. "Broke, eh?" "I can pay you tomorrow," said the frog. "One drink, then. What will it be?" "Do you have that brand of Tequila that has a grub in the bottle? I would very much like to have that grub." "They aren't easy to get out of the bottle, you know." The frog smirked. "No problem for me." After handing the frog a Tequila bottle that was empty except for a grub, the bartender watched with surprise as the frog's long sticky tongue flicked down into the bottle and neatly extracted the grub, which the frog immediately swallowed. "Delicious!" said the frog. "That's quite a trick!" "Would you like to see it again?" "Not now," said the bartender, "but I want my friend Henry to see it. Can you come back this evening?" "Sure," said the frog. "I'll be here." |
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