What appeared to be a classic coen brothers scene (for the few of you that get that reference, my father being one of them)

When I was first reading about the area we would be driving through, I read about a town on the border of Northern Territory and Queensland called Bing Bong, and thus the love affair began. We found the King Ash Bay fishing club just shy of Bing Bong, and camped there for two days so that Lloyd could cease his salivating for a bit of fishing. He caught us a beautiful Javelin fish and a huge shark, so I offered to buy him a beer for each fish at the clubs pub, which was simply a thinly veiled excuse to partake in King Ash’s Thursday Night Pie Nite (nite mind you, not night). On our way to the pub some 7 kilometers from our camp site on the river, we stopped by the tip (the dump) to drop off our days worth of garbage. Tips in rural country such as this are basically just big holes in the ground that are either lit on fire, or, as far as I know, combust spontaneously like a rank little explosion on impact. Anyways, we pulled up to the burning waste, and Lloyd hopped out to chuck the bag into the flames. As He began to walk towards the car, I noticed five or six large frogs hopping out of the pit like amphibians of death. “Ooh, look, frogs,” I called out innocently enough. Or so I thought. So that Lloyds next actions don’t seem slightly psychotic or deranged, I might point out that the cane toad was introduced to Australia by a frustrated farmer who couldn’t (VERY IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE- a wallaby just bounced by, first one I’ve seen) get rid of the cane beetle that was decimating his cane fields. The cane toad went above and beyond the call of duty. Not only did it eat the beetles, it also ate all the beneficial bugs in his fields, then killed the dog with its poison sacs, and procreated to the point that the toad has now threatened all with its pestilence that there is a national organization called toad busters, encouraging, basically, everyone to go out and kill every cane toad they come across, in any way imaginable. A cane toad breeds 30,000 eggs a year, while an average frog breeds 5,000, I recently read, and the threat they pose upon the biodiversity of the country could leave some species of flora and fauna extinct. On a far less serious note,I also read that the aussies often take cricket bats and golf clubs to the toads, and several references to the variety of ways to kill a cane toad has been criticized by PETA groups around the world. However, I am beginning to sound a bit like a Wikipedia excerpt. So, the dreaded cane toads lope lazily across the road away from the burning rubbish (did I mention they also eat garbage?) in front of the head lights of Lloyd’s ute (truck), and Lloyd returns from the back with a stern expression of biblical hatred and an axe. Wagners Flight of the Valkyries would be the only song appropriate or possibly something western and coen-esque, to add a soundtrack to the wailing that Lloyd inflicted upon these toads. I believe I actually covered my mouth when I saw him raise up the axe, the headlights casting devious shadows upon his face, he then brought down the axe, and the lights showing his silhouette chopping at the toads with all his might (they don’t die easily, so I’m told, but I have my doubts), the body of the toad flying through the air followed by a comical puff of dust. He chased down every last one, and I even found myself pointing out some that were about to get away. It was so hilariously macabre; I still feel a bit guilty taking pleasure in recounting it to you. But hey, if you think that’s dark, read about how I boiled a partially decaying roo head to take the skull home as a souvenir.