It is snowing like hell in Boston; actually they have more snow than Maine.
I was in Boston last week and stopped in an old Irish pub for a beer; but mainly to get out of the snow storm. I was sitting at the bar drinking a John Adams Ale when another man entered. He stomped the snow off his shoes and hung his coat on the coat rack then came and sat down on a stool near me.
I didn't want to stare, but the man had an obvious birth defect or growth defect or whatever the hell you want to call it. He was a big man, built like a weight lifter but with an unusually diminutive head – actually not much bigger than a cantaloupe.
He mentioned to the bar tender that he was from Maine and I felt obliged to share that I, also, was from Maine. We started talking and he was quite pleasant. Trying to awkwardly steer away from his deformity I commented that he must work out all the time to maintain muscle tone like that. He said that actually he never worked out and that he used to be smaller than me. Then he said he had a story if I wanted to hear it.
I bought us both a beer and he began his story. It seems he had been camping on Chesuncook Lake in remote northern Maine. He had just canoed back into camp after fishing all afternoon. He left his fish in the canoe, rekindled his camp fire and popped a bear when he saw a spotted frog by the water’s edge. The frog was making a strange sound so he walked over to take a look. He had heard frogs croaking or making a noise like ribbet ribbet ribet, but this frog’s noise sounded more like kissme kissme kissme. Well, there was no one around and he thought it was funny so he picked up the frog and kiss it.
Instantly a beautiful naked woman appeared; she said she was a witch that had been turned into a frog a century before, and that since he had broken her curse she would grant him three wishes.
He looked at her and though how scrawny he was and how beautiful she was, so he told her that if she actually could grant wishes he would like to have a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger. There was a puff of cold wind and suddenly he was too large for his clothes.
She asked what his second wish was and he said he would like to have mad passionate sex with her for the rest of the afternoon. They had wild steamy sex right there beside the lake until they were both exhausted.
They lay in each other’s arms falling asleep. When they finally awoke she asked him what his third and final wish would be and he replied, ‘How about a little head?’
There is a moral to this story: be careful what you wish for – because a little head would have been my first wish.