The one that got drunk (NSR, fishy)
Another round of what I'm tempted to call alky-journalism. I understand that lying is endemic to all fishing stories, and have put that freedom to use.
At a fairly early age I learned that one can hand pieces of paper to certain people and receive fully prepared food in return. This discovery dovetailed nicely with a growing streak of slothfulness on my part (unless presented with positive evidence to the contrary, I am assuming that slothfulness is indeed a word). So I've never been the sort of guy to collect recipies for example, much less actually act on any recipies. You may well ask what the hell this has to do with fishing. I've always viewed fishing, and hunting, and grocery shopping, as completely unnecessary extensions of the food preparation and consumption cycle. Actually hunting or gathering foodstuffs in preparation for cooking them seems to be a waste of time on par with watching a WNBA game.
So when a friend offered to take me bass fishing I was certainly leaning towards declining the offer. This 'friend' (we'll call him 'Asshole' for the rest of this story) has known me for years however, and sweetened the offer with promises of free booze. I am a weak man, which Asshole well knows.
Now Asshole is to normal fisherman what Roseanne Barr is to fat, annoying people. He is an Uberfisherman. As near as I can tell, his entire disposable income is spent funding weapons acquisition and research to ensure victory in this low-level fish conflict. His boat is a ridiculous mostrosity. It resembles nothing so much as a miniaturised Aegis class Destroyer, complete with phased array radar fish tracking and multiple gatling guns mounts. Asshole informs me that this is actually called a Bass boat, which implys that there are actually different kinds of boats made to catch different kinds of fish. I find this misprioritization of boatbuilding resources so disturbing that I refuse to call the boat anything other than the 'fish boat', to Asshole's annoyance.
He tows this beast behind a Chevy Suburban that seems to have been modified to M1A1 Abrams tank standards. He has a vast collection of fishing lures, whose bright colors suggest to me that they are not really designed to lure fish so much as gullible fishermen into buying them. His fishing rods are technical marvels that gleam with a certain deadly malevolence, at least if you're into fishing. I am not into fishing, so to me his fishing rods look like money that should have been spent on booze.
After arriving at the lake and launching the boat, warfare begins. Asshole guns the fish boat up to insane speeds, apparently so that we can reach his preferred spot more quickly. To me this urgency is disquieting. Exactly what are these fish planning? On the way, Asshole explains that this fishing 'hole' has been quite productive in the past. After an intial period of confusion on my part, based on the misconception that if the lake had a hole all the water would leak out, Asshole sets me straight and begins the process of assessing his tactical options.
Now I had the impression that we would just drop the lines in the water and wait, while drinking heavily. The second part at least sounds fun. This is not true. Asshole starts consulting the fishfinder to figure out where we should best be positioned. This is a tedious, boring process. To entertain myself, I start reenacting scenes from Aliens with the fishfinder. "They're all around us! 20 meters! 10 meters!" Asshole informs me that I need to be quiet, as I might scare off the fish. I am impressed that these fish know a scary movie when they hear one, so I grab the bourbon bottle and shut up.
Asshole then starts the actual process of fishing. Apparently unable to sit and drink like a normal person, Asshole is constantly casting, reeling in the line, checking the lure, and in general acting like a real jerk. This goes on for quite some time, and I'm starting to fall into a alcoholic stupor. Good god this is boring. This is the outdoor equivalent of waiting for a doctor's appointment. Asshole seems determined to make sure that I am as bored as possible. I quietly hum Stacey Q's "Two of Hearts" in an attempt to make Asshole as miserable as I am, but I can't tell if he's noticed or not.
This goes on for hours, without any sign that a fish has even noticed our presence. At this point I begin to query Asshole on his methods. Why, for example, don't we just drop a load of dynamite in the water and then collect our spoils? Asshole is exasperated, and goes through some longwinded explanation that makes it sound as if the object is to outsmart the fish. This must explain why fishing is so popular in the South, as everyone loves a challenge.
The argument is just starting to heat up when the unimaginable happens. At the end of my fishing line there is a fish. I am expecting a ferocious tug on the end of my line after Asshole's stories of fighting fish, and am somewhat surprised when reeling in the fish is about as dificult as making fun of Richard Simmons. After this unequal struggle, the next phase of the capture begins. Asshole grabs a net and hauls the relatively harmless looking fish into the fish boat. He hands me a pair of pliers to pull the hook from the fish's mouth. I go to grab the fish and am disgusted. This fish is not so much covered in slime as it is made from slime. This is a living booger.
At this point, I am done. I have checked out, and only want to declare a truce in this battle. Asshole takes charge of the situation, removing the hook and clubbing the fish on the head. He explains that this is the humane way to kill the fish, as death is instant. This sounds nice, and I'm disappointed by Asshole's refusal to extend me the same priviledge. We continue to fish for the remainder of the afternoon, however the fish seem to have caught on to our methods and refuse to be taken in by them.
Now I have never served in the military, but I have seen Platoon twice, and therefore can tell when a war cannot be won. I explain my position to Asshole, who informs me that "It's not the destination, it the trip that matters." Dickhead. Confuscious with a fishing pole. Fucking great. No more fishing for me, there's a WNBA game on.
Re: The one that got drunk (NSR, fishy)
Quote:
Originally posted by tonghands
Asshole takes charge of the situation, removing the hook and clubbing the fish on the head. He explains that this is the humane way to kill the fish, as death is instant. This sounds nice, and I'm disappointed by Asshole's refusal to extend me the same priviledge.
Classic. Thanks for that, tonghands.
Re: The one that got drunk (NSR, fishy)
Quote:
Originally posted by tonghands
As near as I can tell, his entire disposable income is spent funding weapons acquisition and research to ensure victory in this low-level fish conflict. His boat is a ridiculous mostrosity. It resembles nothing so much as a miniaturised Aegis class Destroyer, complete with phased array radar fish tracking and multiple gatling guns mounts. Asshole informs me that this is actually called a Bass boat, which implys that there are actually different kinds of boats made to catch different kinds of fish.
Quote:
Originally posted by tonghands
To entertain myself, I start reenacting scenes from Aliens with the fishfinder. "They're all around us! 20 meters! 10 meters!" Asshole informs me that I need to be quiet, as I might scare off the fish.
Quote:
Originally posted by tonghands
Confuscious with a fishing pole. Fucking great.
Awesome.
Re: The one that got drunk (NSR, fishy)
POTY!!!! Absolutely brilliant!
Amongst the other greats mentioned above:
Quote:
Originally posted by tonghands
I am expecting a ferocious tug on the end of my line after Asshole's stories of fighting fish, and am somewhat surprised when reeling in the fish is about as dificult as making fun of Richard Simmons.
Re: Re: The one that got drunk (NSR, fishy)
Quote:
Originally posted by Arty50
POTY!!!!
But the Rev said the other one was post of the decade...I'm confused now.
Funny shit, mang. You got skilz.
