Toads.  They are mankind’s oldest, most reliable and most delicious beast of burden and his earliest hallucinogenic drug.  Yes, ever since we ate all the unicorns, toads have been nearer and dearer to our hearts than any other amphibian, except perhaps for Gerald Ford, or Swamp Thing (and that’s assuming that they aren’t really the same person.  I mean, I’ve never seen them together anywhere, so let’s not rule anything out just yet).  Indeed, the ancestral manse of my family takes it’s very name from that noblest and tastiest of creatures (we’re talking about toads again here, by the way, not Gerald Ford).  As such, it is an altogether new and magical thing that Henricus, where I work, has recently become infested with toads.

            God only knows from whence they came, assuming that this isn’t a plague sent down upon us because we demanded that our volunteers make their tally of bricks for the Great Pyramid without straw, but one thing is for certain: there’s about a bajillion tiny toads hopping all over the friggin’ place.  All day long, they prance around, gadding about gaily amongst the tobacco fields, playing little pennywhistles and wearing teensy little frock coats (its so damn cute, I never get any work done anymore).  They recent spate of toad-related accidents however, makes this otherwise joyous occasion somewhat more troubled than it might otherwise be.  For instance, last week, a visitor stepped on a few of them and before we could do anything the toads panicked and tried to jump away, carrying him nearly a half mile before he had the presence of mind to untie his shoes and leap to safety.  Also, some of the less savory toads seem to be hanging out in the restrooms all the time, doubtless smoking tiny little cigarettes and playing with teensy little switchblades.  None of them have any money though, and they keep hopping into the gift shop and just milling around all day, or sneaking in to the admission area (to be fair, a few have bought tickets, but they are, by far, the exception).

            As I mentioned though, there’s more of them around than you can shake a weasel at (I tried, believe me).  Indeed, they would cover the sky, and blot out the very Sun itself, as great herds of them winged their way across the site, were it not for the fact that toads are, for the most part, infrequently airborne at best, it being the case that their great leathery membranous wings haven’t grown in yet (I’m just kidding, toads don’t have wings, they actually built little helicopters).  Anyways, as I walk through the site, they all flee from me like I’m Godzilla or something, on my way through their grassy little Tokyo, on my way to battle Mothra, or eat one of their many commuter trains.  The thing is though, I really like toads, and I always wish I’d spent more points on my Toad Mastery attribute, so that I might have a shot at bending them to my will while they’re still young and naïve, in hopes of one day building an unstoppable toad army, that it might sweep across the countryside like a juggernaut, crushing all those who dare to oppose me (of which, there are thankfully few).

            Also, due to the legendary lickability of Henricus toads, toadlickers and other toad junkies have descended upon our site in record numbers.  Your normal sized toads, of course, get you high when you lick them, but these little ones are bite-sized, so they tend to go through ‘em like popcorn (bet ya can’t lick just one!).  Alternately, they’re like those little Listerine slips, where you just take one toad and lest it dissolve on your tongue.  To make matters worse, a lot of the local population has been trying to use the toads for fishing bait, prompting some of the more proactive among them (the toads again) to form a toad militia, the actions of which, while protecting the toads, have brought about no small number of casualties amongst the local fishermen.  Some of the toads have even reverted to a feral state (The Feral Toads being a totally sweet name for a band, of course) and as you walk through the site they just sit there, their long serrated fangs glistening with venom, their eyes burning with the livid and untamable fires within as their primal jungle-forged brutality inexorably fights its way to the surface, until they leap upon those who would oppress them in a seething and bloodthirsty rage that would be too terrible to even watch, if it wasn’t so cute.

            So, between all the toad junkies getting all hopped up on toads, and the fishermen falling before the wrath of toads, and the toads themselves who even now are busy putting together their little helicopters in preparation of the approaching day when they’ll all take to the skies and head into Richmond to go clubbing, it’s been pretty crazy around here as of late.  Meanwhile though, they’re a cheap source of site security, and a quick pick me up (assuming, of course, you can catch one to lick).