So we were sittin in Bobo's apartment. The place was hot, and dark, and humid, like the inside of a swamp. Could be minus fifty degrees outside, and Bobo's place would still be hotter'n hell. There was a game on, Yanks versus the Red Sox, scoreless after three innings. I walked back into the living room from the kitchen, holding a cold beer to my forehead. Joe and Bobo were arguing.
"You think you got it tough?" muttered Joe. "Jeezey Pete's, ya dumb bastard, you got enough contracts to last you 'til next July. Some of us don't even know where are our meal's gonna come from."
"Yeah?" croaked Bobo (he always croaked when he got mad, don't know where the hell that golden tenor of his went) "Yeah? You know what it's like bein' a singing frog? It's so humiliating. It's never enough to be a singing frog, oh no, you gotta be like that God-damn singing frog in that God-damn looney tune, with a hat and a cane. 'Great act' they say, 'Great voice, great tunes. But can we get it with a cane and hat?' they say. HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO HOLD A CANE AND A HAT? Or eatin' flies. 'Let's end it with you zappin' a fly with your tongue, It'll be cute.' I'm a frog, so what is all I do? Eat flies, of course. I'm the first real-life Honest-to-God SINGING frog in the history of showbiz, and they don't wanna hear me sing, they just wanna see me eat. DO THEY ASK PAVARADI TO WOLF DOWN A CHEESEBURGER ON STAGE?" Bobo's eyes bulged out. They were usually bulging, but now he seemed pissed.
Joe can't help himself. He starts hummin 'It ain't easy bein' green' and pretendin to play it on violin and Bobo almost loses it, he hates that song, hates that song so much. I thought it was kinda funny, actually.
Then the Yanks get a hit, and we start watching the game.