6:10 A.M. Another couple good ones from Knuckledraggin ‘ …

The above is quite an accurate perception … And the following is an entertaining tale that reminds me of my youth …

Ran that motherfucker over with the lawnmower, damn it. I’m all distressed. I’m not sure I killed him because he scooted off behind the gas cans, but his tongue was hanging out and he wasn’t looking real good. Pretty horizontal, you know? He was pretty pissed too. Toady Jones is/was my shed toad. He’s about the size of a Copenhagen can and is pretty damned sociable for a toad. Well, he was before I ran him over, anyways. But all last summer and fall whenever I opened the shed doors he’d be there kicking back in an open spot, not tripping a bit about me interrupting his slack time. Matter of fact, I’d be in there doing whatever I had to do and he’d never run off or try to take cover unless I nudged him if he was in the way. But today? Today he was an asshole and got himself fucked up for it. I was gassing up the mower and noticed him a few feet away and when I got ready to fire it up, I’ll be damned if Toady didn’t shuffle right under the deck. Is he fucking stupid or what? Fuck. I raised the deck and got down on my hands and knees and tried to chase him out with a stick but he wasn’t going for that shit. He wasn’t leaving the overhead cover of that deck to save his life, no pun intended. Finally, I got him back between the rear wheels so I fired up the mower and then got off and looked again to see if he moved because you know me, I believe All Lives Matter, right? He was in the same spot so I jumped in the seat and scooted out, checking behind me as I cleared the door. He was right where the right rear wheel would’ve been and looking pretty damned flat if you ask me. He didn’t appear to be more than a quarter inch thick, right? Sonofabitch, I done run poor Toady over. Fuck me with a great big stick. I jumped off and looked down and there he was laying there, tongue hanging out, deader than a doornail – or so I thought until I poked him with my finger at which point he hopped a couple hops, shot me an accusing look and scooted off behind the gas cans with his tongue still hanging out. He looked butt-hurt as hell, man. Can’t say that I blame him, I’d be pretty butt-hurt if somebody ran me over with a lawnmower too. I thought about chasing him down and rendering first aid until I realized that not only do I not know a fucking thing about what do do if the victim has been run down by a lawn tractor and it’s tongue is hanging out but I also don’t know a fucking thing about toads in general other than they eat bugs and shit. I’d probably do more harm than good I damned sure couldn’t take it to a vet. He’d look at me like I was crazy and then offer me 5 bucks for it so they could catch a hawg bass that couldn’t tell the difference between a frog and a toad. Pro Tip – If it’s swimming it’s a frog. If it’s drowning, it’s probably a toad. Then he’d call the local paper and say “Hey Jimmy John, you ain’t gonna believe this but…..” and the next thing I know I’d be The Macon County Chronicle’s main headline for the next three weeks. Motherfucker’s would laugh me out of the Tractor Supply and probably physically assault me at the Farmer’s Co-op.

Source: Knuckledraggin My Life Away | Where Bad Choices Make Good Stories

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