I was born in a poor Italian fishing village, the bastard lovechild of a torrid affair that should have never been. My father was a lab rat to some of Venice's seediest experiments. My mother, a scientist driven mad by her her own self-tested cerebral dampeners. I came to America on a rowboat in Aught-nine. Then I worked my way across the country as part of Barnum & Bailey's Fantastigmastic Festival of Fools, Fouls, and Frogs. (I had this whole act in which I dressed as the dreaded Moroccan Giant Bullfrog. I can still do the 'ribbit'.) Then in the 1980s those Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles came about and gave frogs a bad name. I couldn't walk three feet down any road in New England without a group of kids shouting, "Go back to Florida, Napoleon Bonafrog!" whilst throwing tomatoes and cabbage and bricks at me. I still owe those Eastman and Laird bastards a good thumbing-of-the-nose for the mental anguish their careless portrayal of frogs has put me through.
Now I am living out my post-circus frog days in Louisiana where no one knows about the exploits of my spotty past. I've made friends here. There's a bear named Roy whom I have brunch with every Sunday. I've tried to go in for a bit of what these Southern folk call "the book larnin'" with mixed results but continue to dabble in the world of erudition. It helps the time pass.
And it helps me forget about those damnable chants of "Napoleon Bonafrog, want to beat him with a log, tie him up just like a hog, and crush him flatter than a Pog."
Oh, dear.... I've just reminded myself.....
Barnum & Bailey, give me strength.
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I write. Alot. And it takes me forever to write anything so take that 'alot' and multiply it by like.... 'forever'.... so I write falorevert.... Yeh, that's a good way to describe it. I heart movies. And, while I don't read many, I love comics. Toys too.... Wow. I am completely undatable. Oh well... width="425" height="350" ..
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