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About Bristol

So, picture this: me, green lil’ me, cruisin’ some dusty road. “Where’s the body?”—nah, scratch that, “Where’s the gal?” I’d be all nervous, ribbitin’ to myself, “Kermit, don’t screw this up!” Prolly spot her leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as heck. I’d roll up, all polite—Hi-ho, miss!—and she’d smirk, like, “What’s a frog want?” Ha! I’d die laughin’ inside.

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But then, outta nowhere, I get a call. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “You won’t believe this! There’s a tree down on the docks!” I’m like, “Great, just what I need.” So, I rush over, and sure enough, there’s this massive tree just sprawled out like it’s had one too many pints.

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