"Gone Fishing"

Many years ago while I was still living at home, my mom bought me a "gone fishing" sign that I hung from my bedroom door.  At this point in my life, I was doing one of about 4 things.  I was either at work, hanging out with friends, hunting with friends or most likely I was out fishing with friends.  For a while, fishing was all I thought about and looking back, I have so many good memories that are wrapped around fishing trips.

Most of these fishing trips were impromptu events.  I'd either be at work or at home and the phone would ring.  It'd likely be my buddy Horton.  "Hey Prick, you want to go fishing?" he'd ask.  "Yeah, I'm off in an hour.  Let me gather my stuff and I'll be right over."  We'd go to pick up that Carter kid and head out to Vegas Wash or one of our other haunts and fish all of that afternoon and well into the night.  Sometimes we slayed them, other times we sat around and laughed our asses off.  Nothing too special, just a bunch of buds out screwing around.

All of this started for me when I was much younger.  My dad used to bring me to the lake, in the boat, in my bassinet.  He'd rig the bassinet up in a fashion where he could either rock me with his foot or bump me with his knee and keep casting plugs into the brush for bass.

Later, that evolved into me getting my first fishing rod.  It was a blue colored Abu-Garcia with a Mitchell open faced spinning reel, probably with about 6-8 lb. test line on it.  I started to learn how to tie knots, how to handle live bait, how to cast and since then, I don't think I turned down an opportunity to be on a boat with the old man.

Somewhere between the bassinet on the boat days and learning to do these things for myself, I got to spend some time with my grandpa and great grandpa fishing everywhere between Las Vegas to Idaho to Nebraska.

Right before my grandpa retired, he bought a motor home.  We all hopped in to go to Idaho for a week of visiting relatives and fishing.  All of the relatives were older folks and I can't even recall their names.  Family was and still is important, but I remember starting to ask, "Are we going fishing yet?' before we even got out of the driveway in Las Vegas.

We finally made it to Lewiston, Idaho.  Seemed like it took days.  We pulled up to this cabin in the woods that sat about 100 yards away from a small lake.  I looked at my grandpa and great grandpa and asked, "Now are we going fishing?"

We went over to greet these relatives and grandpa excused us so we could make a quick trip down to the lake.  In a matter of a couple of minutes, I caught my first trout.  Then another, then another.  It seemed like every cast I was reeling in something.  That night we ate some trout cooked over the camp fire and my great grandpa told me that he had a secret spot he was going to sneak me into at first light.

Most of my family was kind of full of shit.  Great grandpa wasn't, as best I could tell.  I woke up that next morning and had mom get me into my overalls and get my hat on my head.  I ran over to the cabin where great grandpa was and knocked on the door.  There he was, ready to fish and dressed for success!  He had this old hat with a dozen or so flies and lures stuck to it.  He had a look in his eye that to me said, "We're going to get 'em."  He looked down and said, "You ready boy?" and off we went.

I thought I was in for this big adventure.  Fact of the matter was, great grandpa didn't want to get too far from the motor home, just in case he had to turn me back over to mom for some reason.  But there we were.  Great grandpa turned over a couple of milk crates and told me to take a seat.  He sat next to me and started telling me some fishing stories of this very lake, many years earlier.  All I wanted to know is if they caught anything.

Great grandpa cast my rod into a good spot and told me to watch the bobber.  As soon as he got ready to cast his rod, I had a fish on.  He was coaching me on how to real the fish in.  It was a monster!  I started laughing, he started laughing and we thought we were going to wake everyone in camp up.  When I got the fish close to the bank grandpa said, "Back up and drag him through the weeds."  I start backing up and all of a sudden, there was Moby Dick flopping around.  I couldn't believe it.  I looked at grandpa and he said, "Let me get the hook out of his mouth, then you have to put him on the stringer."

Grandpa removes the hook and sets the fish back on the ground.  He whispers, "Well, get him."  I bend over and pick the fish up around the belly with my small hands and he squirts out the other side.  I do it again and again with the same result, each time making the old timer laugh harder and harder.  He leans forward and says, "Get him by the mouth."  I looked at him.  The information seemed legit so I reached forward, jammed my thumb into the trouts mouth and stood up.  When I stood up, the fish clamped down...  it didn't hurt but startled me, so I kind of jumped and dropped the fish.  Its so quiet out that great grandpa whispered, "What happened?"  I looked at him and said, "The son of a bitch bit me!"

Great grandpa fell off the milk crate laughing.  I thought I killed the poor old guy.  My grandpa came out of the motor home laughing his ass off.  My grandma came out with her hand over her mouth trying not to laugh and my mother came out with tears in her eyes from laughing.  Next thing I know, the cabin door opened.  A couple other old people came out laughing, so there I sit with a smile on my mug wondering what in the hell was so funny.  We laughed for at least a half an hour.

Mom gathered me up told me that I wasn't allowed to swear, probably especially around great grandpa.  I thought that was odd because he appeared to have the most fun with the whole experience.

I'll never forget that.  I heard the story probably at least 100 times from my grandpa and great grandpa and it got funnier every time trying to watch them get through the story and maintain their composure.  I bet I told the story at least another 100 times and hope I live long enough to tell it 100 more.  I've taken my kids fishing and hope to be able to take some grand kids fishing one day.

If you don't have a good time fishing, you're doing it wrong.  Whether it be with family, friends or by yourself, fishing is about having a good time.  I believe its what fishing was invented for.  Get out of town, get in the sticks, get on the water and relax.  Take it all in.  Bring a friend, bring your kid, bring the wife... just get out and go fishing!

"Lee" from Gold Card Services

So, I'm sitting at work the other day and the phone rings.  This brings me great excitement because I was sitting there watching this tiny spider walk across my desk, shivering from the cold, looking for a warm place to hide.  I was going to warm him up with a lighter and a half of a can of carb cleaner but I didn't want to have to explain to the bosses why the cub scouts were roasting marshmallows were the guard shack used to be.  All of the sudden, the phone rings.

Much to my delight, it turned out to be "Lee from Gold Card Services."  Before I could say anything Lee, in all of his benevolence, tells me that there was a flag on my Gold Card.  Now, I'm no rocket surgeon and my memory is not what it used to be so I asked Lee "Who are you looking for, Lee?"  Emphatically Lee said, "You sir" in an accent that I'd never, ever be able to replicate.  He added, "Your Gold Card has been compromised and fraudulent activity has been detected."



I asked, "Lee, if you're looking form me, you must know my name, right?"  Lee let go with a sigh and then there was an uncomfortable pause before he said, "I don't know your name but I know your credit card has been compromised.  Give me last 4 numbers and I can help you get this problem resolved."  Oddly, I was surprised by his mastery of the language.  Not sure what language it was but his confidence in the shit he was saying was just over the top!

"#1" I said.  Lee said, "What next?"  I said, "That's it.  I got the first credit card awarded by this particular institution so the number is one."  I could almost hear him shake his head.  Before he could say anything I asked, "Do you want to know a secret?"  Before he could answer I said, "My name is Lee too.  Some people have called me portly because I am kind of short and fat.  Some people have called me ugly and that's because they are stupid and they don't have feelings.  Others have called me
dick, but I don't understand that..."

The guy yells, "Enough!  Enough!  I don't need this information.  I need the last 4 digits of your card number."  I then apologize.  "Lee, I'm sorry.  It sounds like you are a very busy man.  I'll let you go for now.  Can you call me back later, because I know when I try to return this call, the number you called me on will not be available."  "What" he asks and then adds, "What are you talking about?  I'm trying to schedule a "reburchment"."

Now, up to this point, I thought I could keep Lee on the phone.  I felt as if I garnered some level of trust, but I ruined it completely when I said, "What in the fuck is a reburchment?  Are you going to plant some trees or shrubs?  Are you going to do a habitat rehabilitation program in my front yard?  That's awful nice, Lee, but its winter and its a bad time to do reburchments... I think."

That is when Lee lost his mind. "Mother Bitch!  What the fuck is this?  I don't know what you are saying.  I ask questions, you say things that don't make sense.  I don't have this time."  I then asked, "Is your whole name Angri-ly because you seem to have taken an unkind tone with me."  He said something in his native tongue, sighed and came back with, "Do you need my assistance" to which I replied, "Yes".  He said, "I need last 4 digits of your credit card number to reburch."

At this point, I wanted to try something else.  For years, and this started when my kids where little and were having some kind of non-crisis, I would say "pee pee-poo poo" and they would either laugh or spin out.  I introduced Lee to it.. I said, "Pee pee-poo poo".  He replied "three three, two two" and I started to laugh.  "Yes, Lee. Pee pee-poo poo  ca ca doo doo".  I really lost it when he said, "Too many numbers.  Try again."

By now, I am running out of potty humor and I figured he would have hung up by now.  I didn't know what to say so I just said, "What's your favorite color?"  He didn't say anything but I could hear him typing.  "Lee," I asked, "what is your favorite color?".  Nothing... "Lee, what is your favorite food?'  Still nothing, "Lee, if you could have one super power, what would it be?"  Still nothing so I throw one more at him.  "Lee" I said before being yelled at... "God bitch, mother damn it!  You no good.  I fuck this up and you fuck jokes at me."

I've heard and done a lot of things to people, but I not once "fucked jokes at someone".  I am just not that type of guy.  I'll help you carry in the groceries, maybe give you that pesky clue on the crossword, but I will never, ever fuck a joke at you.

Lee's done.  He yells some incoherent shit at me, throws down another lame attempt at cussing me out, but he is through.  For me, the best is still coming at me.  I sat here, in my mental mind, trying to figure out how to fuck a joke at someone.... begging for the phone to ring again.

"December Hate Its"

A while back, my wife spent a good deal of time putting "December Gratefuls" on her Facebook account.  Every day for the month of December, she would list one thing she was grateful about.  I on the other hand decided to counter that with "December Hatefuls".  As you probably figured out, I spent time once a day putting up things that I hated.  This Presidential Election cycle and with the holidays right in front of us, I realized that there are a ton of things that I truly hate.

With that said, here are some of the things I hate in no particular order:

#1.   When walking down the street this time of year, some people will say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays".  I typically replay with the same term.  If the term "Happy Holidays" offends you, please go fuck yourself.  Seriously, go into the darkest, loneliest room you can find and just fuck your miserable self into the soul sucking black hole you really are.  Christian or not, you are not the only person celebrating something this time of year and its about high time you got over yourself.  Christmas is but one day.  I know this from looking at a calendar, yet some of you jack offs want to hijack a whole month!  Maybe I would feel differently about this if you actually went to church or if you actually prayed at other times rather than not puking at the company Christmas party. Screw you and I hope you shit yourself in front of your in laws during Christmas dinner.

When someone says "Happy Holidays" to you, they are trying to be nice and NOT presumptuous.  You may or may not be Christian.  They don't know that.  Would you prefer they walk up and hit you across the teeth with an ax handle?  Shut your over commercialized holiday, candy cane sucking hole, and try to remember what this time of year is supposed to be about.  Try being nice in return, or like I mentioned, go fuck yourself.

#2.   Drama.  Jesus Christ...  Have you ever noticed how many people claim to hate drama but yet do everything they can to fill their life with drama at every turn?  I hate that shit.  I can't stand it.  And when you point out the fact that "their" drama comes from a bunch of shitty decisions they made, they make YOU out to be the asshole in the equation.  If there is a God, why can't he just smite these jerk offs?  All we need is one big ass lightning bolt and a loud BANG! Nothing left but a black mark on the sidewalk and a smoking rib cage...  That would stop a lot of the drama, quick!

#3.   I've run into a few women recently that take pride in the fact that they are a bitch.  No matter what they do or what they say, they come off like a bitch and are proud of it.  What they can't wrap their tiny, little, shit filled heads around is, when they act shitty towards people, people act shitty back and they just can't figure it out.

If you pride yourself on "being a bitch", can you do me a favor?  Please take a moment and step out in front of a speeding dump truck.  Now, try and pick yourself up after being run over by said dump truck.  That, my ignorant friend, is a bitch.  You are an asshole and you shouldn't confuse the two.  Grow up, be decent or try to suck start the bumper of the next dump truck doing 80 mph, okay?

#4.  Shitty drivers in winter...  This may take me a while to get through because I have a step by step plan for this special group of shit wits.  There is a thing called physics and by the looks of some of you sons a bitches, I can tell that you haven't heard of them.  I'll give you a cliff notes version.  4 wheel drive does not mean 4 wheel stop.  The white shit you are driving on is ice and snow and its kind of slippery.  When you are going 80 miles an hour on snow and ice and have to slam on the brakes in an attempt to get out of on coming traffic, because you decided that a blind corner was a great place to try to pass someone with a knowledge of physics, you're going to slip and slide, be out of control and probably injure or kill yourself and others.

Suicide is no joke, but if you want to kill yourself, do it in a no fail manner.  Find a loaded sawed off shotgun, 7 sticks of dynamite, duct tape and a lighter.  Go 30 miles into the desert where nobody will find you and you won't blow up anyone elses shit.  Take the dynamite and twist all of the fuses together and duct tape them to your chest.  Take the lighter, light the fuse, place the shotgun in your mouth, pull the trigger and then the dynamite will blow the rest of remains to rodent feeding sized pieces and there will be no clean up... considerate, right?

On the other hand, there is this.  This plan is more of a dream than a real plan, but it works out in my head and I manage to stay out of prison this way... in my head.  If I see you driving like shit and I watch you get in a wreck, I am going to help you out.  I am CPR/First Aide certified, but that is of no consequence here.  I am going to run and and check to see if your alright.  If your unconscious, I will move on with the plan.  If you are conscious, I am going to jerk you out of the car and flog your sorry ass like a spoiled American kid who keyed cuss words into a North Korean Generals brand new Hyundai.  Then I am going to beat your kids, kick your dog and choke your wife.  Then I will administer proper first aide to them, hire a Voo Doo High Priestess to come slap a life long curse on you, stuff you back in the car, light that shit on fire, steal all of your shit and then hide your cell phone or change your password, just in case you survive.

Act right, assholes.  I am one bad day from making this a reality!

#5.   I had a cop friend of mine tell me, in a social setting, "It's against the law to talk on your cell phone while operating a motor vehicle."  I had no idea what he was talking about.  He was doing all he could to make me feel uncomfortable, but because I didn't know what he was talking about, he got mad.  I hate that shit.  I hate everything about that.  I asked him, "What are you talking about?".  He informed me that he saw me at a stop light on my phone.

At that moment, I understood what he was talking about.  In reality, I wasn't talking on the phone and that shit would have stood up in a court of law.  I was switching songs... probably still no bueno but I was not talking on the phone.  And, for the record, I was not operating a motor vehicle.  I was at a complete stand still at a stop light.

Some time later, I catch this guy riding along side me, having a casual conversation on his cell phone.  I decide to bring this up.  I honked and waved. He holds his phone out and nodded, like saying, "I see you, but I am on the phone."  I honk again, point at his phone and shook my head.  He hung up the phone, rolled the window down and said, "What?".  I reminded him of our conversation a while back where he told me how ILLEGAL it was to talk on the phone while operating a motor vehicle.
He played stupid but informed me that he was "discussing business" on the phone and that the whole thing was "no concern to me".

Now, people who know me know that I will argue with an ice cube if I think it isn't cold enough.  This discussion was beginning to wear on me.  By this time, we had pulled over and I had my elbows on his passenger door jam, speaking through the passenger window.  I pointed to his radio.  I asked, "what's that' to which he replied, "Its a radio" and added, "you know that".  So, me being me, I had to say, "If you were conducting official business when I saw you talking on your phone, why were you not using the radio and why were you breaking the law?"  He went on to tell me basically that he is a cop and can do whatever he wants.  I told him he was a dick.  He got mad.  He got more mad when I told him that I probably had a better driving record than he did and offered to place a bet on it.

So, all of that made me mad but you know what pissed me off the most?  He wouldn't take the bet.  Johnny Law in all of his benevolence and pride didn't have enough faith in his driving record to place a bet on it.  He got mad when I said, "Your wife reminding you to get paper towels, a copy of Nat King Cole's rendition of "Blue Moon" and a pint of ass lube doesn't equal "official business.""

I don't think were friends any more.  I don't think I hate that.



#6.    Cheap toilet paper.  My hate for this vile torture device runs deep. (Maybe not so deep if I weren't so heavy handed.)  When you provide cheap toilet paper, you are telling your guests, "I don't care about you, your ass, your health or well being.  I hope this shit trashes your rectum like you wiped with a belt sander coated in crushed glass, and I hope you go crazy trying to explain this mess in the emergency room."  This is the most indirect "fuck you" on the planet and you just know that somewhere in the house, they have a stash of disposable Kashmir ass wiping cloths.

#7.   Deodorant and lotion.  Kind of dumb to spend time hating things that make you not stick and your skin to look healthy.  Its not that.  It's that my nose doesn't always work right and I can't tell what things smell like before I put them on.  What I wish was, they could all have a universal smell, like cedar or new car smell.

Anyhow, on a recent trip to Las Vegas, I realized that I forgot to bring my deodorant and lotion.  We were getting ready to go out, so I mashed a bunch of my wife's Secret (strong enough for a man but made for a woman) and some extra girly smelling lotion that made my skin all shiny.

I can't tell anything is up, but my wife is grinning at me from ear to ear.  I'd look at her and she'd smile.  I asked, "What's up with all of the grinning?"  She said, "Can't I just be happy?"  Of course she could, but after being married for nearly 25 years, I know she isn't that happy... I mean, she's happy but not happy enough to just break out in a random grin.  And, she's married to me so she isn't above letting something like her big dumb ass red neck husband go walking around in public smelling like a pretty princess.

We make it to our destination and walk in.  Friend walks up, gives us a hug and invites us in.  As he's walking in front of us, he turns around with this look on his face and says, "right this way, ladies."

So there we are, all gussied up, walking around and associating with everyone.  Some of these people I haven't seen in years so it was really a nice gathering.  Every once in a while, I get a real good whiff of some alluring aroma and I can't help but wonder which woman smells so good.

Just about the time I start to forget about this wonderful aroma, I go up to shake a guys hand.  This is a guy I haven't seen in 25 years.  He's a big old boy like me with a hell of a handshake.  I remember this and the key to shaking hands with this guy is to get the jump on the squeeze part of the handshake.  We see each other, grin and extend our hands.  I put the clamp down on him and my shiny, pretty princess hand shoots out of his hand like shit out of a gooses ass.  We laugh about it briefly, but not I am starting to put things together.

After we broke towards the bar for a beer, this guy smells his hand, looks at me and kind of shrugs his shoulders like "whatever".

I ask where the restroom is and make my way for it.  Once inside, it becomes abundantly clear that I am the woman with the "alluring aroma".  I freak out.  I look at my hands and they are still all shiny and shit, so I scramble underneath the sink and find my savior... Ajax and some other clean but not pretty smelling shit.  I wash my hands with the Ajax and that immediately takes the scent and the sheen off my paws.  I splash on some hydrogen peroxide and some mint mouth wash on my shirt and spray on some bug spray, just to help.

By the time I get back outdoors, I realize that I have concocted something that smells a little like mustard gas.  As I walk around and meet and greet more people, I am making their eyes water and their noses run.  That is more my speed.  Now if I could only get rid of the chemical burns....