The way I heard it was...

   Once upon a not-too-long-ago, in a land-not-so-far-away, a beautiful, independent, self-assured and athletic young woman met up with her own talking frog as she was contemplating her lost golf ball in the water hazard she was sure she could have cleared from the tee.
   This bold new amphibian cleared his froggy throat and spoke up from the water's edge: "Hey, baby! Look down here! Yeah, me!"
   The golfer lady peered down in surprise at the little green froggy talking to her so familiarly: "Do I know you, Kermit?"
   "You probably do, baby. Yeah. See, I was once a famous folk singer. I wrote a lot of songs and made a lot of money and had famous friends and a movie career and had the whole success thing happening pretty well, y'know? But then I wrote and recorded a song that pissed off The Man, y'know, the Powers-That-Be... The Masters of War, y'know? Anyway, they got a lot of their blood money together, man and hired some wizard to turn me into a frog. Now I sit in this little puddle eatin' bugs on some fat cat golf course."
   The young lady cocked an eyebrow: "Really? That's quite a tale of woe."
   The frog nodded his froggy head in agreement: "Oh yeah, tell me about it... But here's the best part... I swear, if I was to get just one little kiss from a beautiful babe like yourself, I'd turn back into my own form and be the songwriting genius I was before. Rolling Stone™ called me a national treasure."
   The young lady cocked her other eyebrow: "Really? That's simply wonderful."
   "Yeah," smiled the folky froggy. "Just lay a little sugar on me and I'll be myself again. Then I'll write you a love song that's sure to be another big hit for me and we can split the profits. Hell, we can do an album called Green on Blonde and I can make you rich, baby ! Whaddaya say?"
   The young woman knelt down and laid her hand open on the ground. The transmogrified folksinger froggy hopped into it happily and puckered up as she raised him to her beautiful face.
   "Sorry," winked the woman. "It ain't me, babe."
   And she started to tuck the complaining frog into the front pouch of her golf bag.
   "Hey, whatsamatter with you? Don't do me like that! I said I could make you rich! I'm a famous folksinger!!!" squeaked the frog.
   "Yeah, whatever," shrugged the woman as she zipped the pouch shut. "But how much you want to bet that a talking frog's worth more than a famous folksinger?"
   "Aw bugger!..." came the frog's muffled voice.