Sunday, November 27, 2011
River Tanguero during the Rut
This one is a poem in letter form. I sent it to a tanguera. Once you read it you'll understand why I'm still single: I'm not gay, I'm just a whitewater river guide who wandered into the milonga. Enjoy!
I'm just a frog in a pond and I like it. I am a bull-frog and a pond is where a guy like me would rather be, here with the spiders and the snakes in the lake. At the same time, however, me being a male frog does not preclude me from trying to get a princess like you to kiss me. In fact, that is right up my alley, it's what I'm supposed to do, law of nature and all that, right?
That's why all us frogs are such good dancers....and talkers, we gotta get princesses like you
so spun around, with twirls and addle-babble, that you see the logic in giving the little guy with the green skin and big amphibian lips, a huge smacker.....smmmooooooooochhhh! Yeah, baby! Score one for the frog!
But then there is always reality to deal with afterwards, specifically, an angry princess who's got no prince, only slimey frog breath. You can never get the kiss and escape the cannon. Makes a frog seriously think about quitting this game of kiss-the-princess. Her getting all riled up like that and coming up with all those ways to make my life miserable... perdon, miserabla. Oh, the horror.
Maybe I shoulda stayed in school and become a fish, maybe my life wouldn't have turned out like this: always chasing princesses, making them so angry and all. I coulda been a bass, a perch, maybe even a pike!
Oh, woe is me, the frog sitting on the lily pad in the pond, nuttin' to do but croak and moan all day, hopping around, swimming, diving, trying not to get eatin' by the alley-gators.
Man, I like being a frog, it don't get no better than this. Hey, what's that in the distance, is that Cinderella in her gown, coming down the hill through the forest in her high heels?....that's the fifth time this week!
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