Frog Man in Frankfort
photo by Danny O'Bryan
Saturday I went to Bobby J’s, another strange fellow at the bar. He looks at me and says, “You’re a very unusual looking man. You look like Sean Connery.”
Then he proceeds to buy me drinks, all night long. He was sitting with an English woman and was hitting on every woman in the bar. “I really hate women. You know, all these women in here are married. Their husbands don’t like anything about them. They don’t like the way they smell. They don’t like their pussies or their tits,” he said.
He was a short fellow with a slight build and very comical looking. “I’ll play their game and make over them while their husbands sit at home jacking off to porno. Funny when I’m talking to you, I feel like I’m talking to a woman.”
At one point he’s standing rather close to me at the bar and I could feel his penis against my leg but I ignored it and it didn’t go any farther.
I finally sat down next to the English woman he’d been sitting with. “He’s crazy, he really scares me. You look like a hair dresser I know. You’ve got the same hair style,” she says.
Meanwhile the crazy guy is dancing with every woman in the place, he’s totally rabid.
Finally he says to me, “You’re a really nice looking guy, why aren’t you hitting on any of the women?
I tell him, I’m married to a powerful attorney and music is my mistress and that’s the reason I’m in this bar listening to his madness and watching all these poor souls hopelessly trying to make a connection.
Meanwhile the black alto player is blowing his soul out on stage and I’m in heaven.
But the crazy guy won’t give up. “Doesn’t something really piss you off, I mean, look at Yugoslavia, all the refuges!”
Yardhog’s Journals
April 12, 1999
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