Fucking frogs

(Written, well, pretty much every night since I arrived…)

I fucking hate them. Seriously want to kill every motherfucking last one of them.

Not the French, I love them. There’s the Auld Alliance, The Inspector Cluzo, Serge Gainsbourg and the fact that they eat horses. They rock. I’m talking about those slimy, hoppy, ribbity little bastards who are slowly chipping away at my sanity by keeping me awake from roughly ten at night till three in the morning.

You see I can handle the heat, it’s just a matter of acclimatising. I can handle the jet-lag, it wears off before you know it and my body clock is well and truly adjusted. I can handle the noise of the fan in my room, you just tune it out into the background thanks to its regular, rhythmic nature.

What I can’t handle is the motherfucking frogs and their motherfucking croaks right outside my motherfucking window.

Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Non. Ribbit. Fucking. Ribbit. Stop.

You can’t tune it out; it’s too loud and too arrhythmic. You can’t silence it; the windows don’t close all the way. You can’t get rid of them; if you scare them they just return to the same spot in a couple of minutes. Nick the Marine tried chasing them with some kind of garden implement last night – several minutes of effort rewarded by maybe thirty seconds of silence before they returned to mock him.

Please, for the love of all that is decent and pure, send me tips on how to combat these evil bastards. Whisky and sexual favours for the best suggestion.

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2 responses to “Fucking frogs

  1. Nothing to be done. They sound as if they are over there, but they are somewhere else. Probably in the other direction. Their sweet little croaks always seem to come from where they are not. Chasing them is futile.

    Whisky might be the best bet – lots of it – for you. Or get some snakes to eat ’em. Any napalm still out there in that part of the world? – that might do it. Earplugs? iPod? Tune into nature and love them. A number 8 iron is effective IF you can get close to them. Or a number 9, depending on the lie.

    Spare me the sexual favours, please.

  2. Well I tried the earplugs and the music, somehow their vile croaks manage to pervade those measures. I’m liking the whisky idea though, the local hooch is pretty volatile so may do the trick. It’ll take out the local plant life as well but it’s worth it for a night’s kip.

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