Smelling Phishy

FLY1_ANIM STINK_ANIM FLY2_ANIM . FLY

FISH

Listen to the Rant in RealAudio

What's the definition of confusion? Three blind lesbians in a fish market.
Know what I hate about sushi? Tastes like raw fish.
Know what I hate about seafood? Tastes like an animal who lived his whole life in salt water.
Know what I hate about fishing? It's like sitting around doing nothing for hours...only boring!
Know what I hate about fish? Tastes like something that eats flies and worms.
Know what I hate about oysters? Of Course You Do!

FLY2_ANIM
Once when I was fishing a bee buzzed around my head. I shooed it away and in that gesture my thumb ran down the line (I was between casts) and jammed the fishhook into my thumb. Past the barb. With shrimp or worm or anchovy guts all up and through there. A visit to emergency and a tetanus shot later, I finally got to go home. That sort of hurt.
Once when I was fishing, using raw bacon as bait, I caught my friends dog. It was one of those moments between baiting the hook and sitting stupidly staring at every ripple for hours. I leaned the pole (an ugly stick made by Shakespeare) against something and Scott's little Yorkshire Terrier (named Yorky, in a shocking display of lack of creativity) sniffed out the dangling bacon and swallowed it whole, one gulp, hook and all. We all sweat out the night, but no one was happier than yours truly when that hook passed the next day. Well, maybe Yorky was a bit happier. Certainly more relieved.

FLY3_ANIM Once when I was fishing, my friend Gary had heard that if you pump air into the worm using a hypodermic needle, the worm will float, thus becoming all the more attractive to the bass or catfish or whatever the hell we were hoping to snag. We caught nothing that morning but somehow the hypo got clogged with worm parts or guts or worm skin, and after drawing the plunger back we couldn't press it forward again. There was nowhere for the air to escape. So, being the geniuses that we are we did what any red-blooded American Fishermen would do. We forced it. Gary thumb-torqued pressure on the plunger with the idea that the pressure would blow the hollow needle clean. (I never said we were intelligent). Needless to say, that didn't happen. Instead the tip of the needle, a rounded plastic plug that holds the needle part shot off like a bullet. This worm slimed projectile shot past my face and stuck into the cushioned seat back behind me. Gary found this event and subsequent look on my face hilarious. I didn't. I simply made up my mind right then. I lay back and fell asleep, dreaming of steak and potato dinners, hot dogs and beer, BBQ ribs and chicken, forever leaving unevolved simple central nervous system fish to other people with the propensity to wear funny hats. From that day forward I have never fished again.
Of course Christ fed the multitudes with a few loaves of stale bread and a handful of fishes. Everybody saw what was on the menu and lost their appetite.
What are you supposed to use for bait when you're fishing for compliments?
Hey, you got any compliments? Go Fish!

Listen to the Rant in RealAudio	What's the definition of confusion? Three blind lesbians in a fish market. Know what I hate about sushi? Tastes like raw fish. Know what I hate about seafood? Tastes like an animal who lived his whole life in salt water. Know what I hate about fishing? It's like sitting around doing nothing for hours...only boring! Know what I hate about fish? Tastes like something that eats flies and worms. Know what I hate about oysters? Of Course You Do!
	Once when I was fishing a bee buzzed around my head. I shooed it away and in that gesture my thumb ran down the line (I was between casts) and jammed the fishhook into my thumb. Past the barb. With shrimp or worm or anchovy guts all up and through there. A visit to emergency and a tetanus shot later, I finally got to go home. That sort of hurt. Once when I was fishing, using raw bacon as bait, I caught my friends dog. It was one of those moments between baiting the hook and sitting stupidly staring at every ripple for hours. I leaned the pole (an ugly stick made by Shakespeare) against something and Scott's little Yorkshire Terrier (named Yorky, in a shocking display of lack of creativity) sniffed out the dangling bacon and swallowed it whole, one gulp, hook and all. We all sweat out the night, but no one was happier than yours truly when that hook passed the next day. Well, maybe Yorky was a bit happier. Certainly more relieved.
	Once when I was fishing, my friend Gary had heard that if you pump air into the worm using a hypodermic needle, the worm will float, thus becoming all the more attractive to the bass or catfish or whatever the hell we were hoping to snag. We caught nothing that morning but somehow the hypo got clogged with worm parts or guts or worm skin, and after drawing the plunger back we couldn't press it forward again. There was nowhere for the air to escape. So, being the geniuses that we are we did what any red-blooded American Fishermen would do. We forced it. Gary thumb-torqued pressure on the plunger with the idea that the pressure would blow the hollow needle clean. (I never said we were intelligent). Needless to say, that didn't happen. Instead the tip of the needle, a rounded plastic plug that holds the needle part shot off like a bullet. This worm slimed projectile shot past my face and stuck into the cushioned seat back behind me. Gary found this event and subsequent look on my face hilarious. I didn't. I simply made up my mind right then. I lay back and fell asleep, dreaming of steak and potato dinners, hot dogs and beer, BBQ ribs and chicken, forever leaving unevolved simple central nervous system fish to other people with the propensity to wear funny hats. From that day forward I have never fished again. Of course Christ fed the multitudes with a few loaves of stale bread and a handful of fishes. Everybody saw what was on the menu and lost their appetite. What are you supposed to use for bait when you're fishing for compliments? Hey, you got any compliments? Go Fish!