GONE FISHING!

Plenty of Fish...

Wow.

Where does one start with this?!

I am a trout.

Trout is not an option on POF... (Plenty of Fish...)

I am also a Cancer.

And Crab is an option on POF...

Hence, as a Crab, and a Cancer, I will approach this thing sideways... and as you'll see... I will transform from a Crab, back into a trout, then back into me.

We'll call it an adventure in the demystification of fishing via the mythos of Mr.E! (Sure, why not. It's a good title!)

So, let's sully-up to this underwater gurgle-phone and blather some babble on the inter-stream about the types of "Fishy's" this pond of absurdity has to offer...

The water, as you'll see, is a bit murky...

That is certain.

And from a 10,000ft view... it looks inviting... though a bit muddy.

So, you stick a toe in to see how the water is, and mermaids flutter about with flowing hair and the sweet sounds of Siren's songs squealing in the wee hours...

Harps of heart-strings strummed to fantastical visions of vivacious vacillating vixens of every shape, size, and color... All seemingly too eager to please... all accosting your eyes and imaginations. (Hint: accost too high to pay to play, as you will see, this consumption-"con" consumes completely).

As that muddy-murkiness clears a bit while you fill-out form after form of this and that... and are then  presented with some supposed, actionable information. But as you review this actionable information, you dis-cover that you knew all this about yourself already... it is your archetypal personality trait... and like looking at a horoscope reading, it's vague and general enough to apply as the reader so sees fit.

But, it's your fishing-license if you will...

And no "license", no fish.

So, you pay the fee... how ever grudgingly, and say "HELL with it all! I'm going FISHING!"

So, you grab your rod, hang-up your sign and off ya go!

And then SPLASH! 

You jump in, feet first!

And the waters start to bubble almost immediately! Air pockets start to form... magma flows from the deep and sulfuric gases are emitted from down below... Then, the water starts to taste like egg-shells and aluminum-foil!

But, your hopes are high that this is a big enough pond and that you can get away from the stink of it all, and long before you can even get close to the extent of it all...

You need to find your bearings, as things are not what they appear to be. You are all turned around, upside down and grabbing for a surface that doesn't exist. You've even swallowed a bit of the water and are choking underwater, which is not an easy thing to do. Finally, you do find your bearings... or so you think.

One such bearing is geographical. And if geography was a pond, than mine is full of Carp. And quite frankly, that may be the whole problem in a nut shell... But we still have to explore, just to make sure... There could be a gem out there under some rock, lost in the weeds... that would like to play!

Anyway...

Carp.

Invasive, shit-eating, miserable looking, bloated, un-happy, listless, life-less, worth-less, tooth-less, ugly fucking Carp!

"The water is muddy", you say to yourself, "don't get the blues..." as a way to ease that shock of so many damned Carp!

And so, you decide to narrow your bearings a bit and find some more productive waters... It's a big pond, right? Plenty... right?

You notice that Age has a lot to do with it... and the POF folks kindly put it at a statistically appropriate level... (10 yrs either way),... so you change that Age about and start to see Goldfish!

Tons of 'em...

From solid to multi-colored to bulge-eyed, bright-eyed, fan-tailed, flutter-bugs... all of which think that they are big fish! (Funny on one hand... sad on another... but boy do they flutter!)

All a glisten and lost in some wUnderland of hopeful wishing's that the big bad shark will find and eat them up, yumm...

Now, with a little practice, you learn to squint underwater... and can, over time, begin to ever so slightly visualize every single one of these little Gold-fishy's, turning into a shit-eating Carp.

And ya know how they got there, right?! (Hint:Remember that piece of Dealing with Your Shit
 some time ago? Well, there ya go... ya just flushed and forgot, didn't ya?)

Now, one way of fishing Carp is called snagging.

And snagging is a brutal technique of taking a three-pronged hook with rough barbs and yanking it back rapidly. An aggressive strip-strike with your entire rod! Ya gotta yank it hard!

In essence, the hook sinks in the rotting fatty flesh of the shit-eating Carp and tears into it.

The result is, blood and slime, sweat and shit floating everywhere...

But they fight like mad, and then just give-up!

And ya can't even eat 'em... So now ya got a dead useless fish, good for nothing but the fertilizer in the garden.

No good.

Junk-fish fishing on junk food eating Carp is CRAP!

Now, the Gold-fishy's know they're gonna turn into Carp one day, and they know that snagging hurts, so they try as best they can to dole out as much "s" as they can. (One might call it a process of X-ing... or the taking of something from something while leaving some thing behind, unnoticed, and bitter.)

So, snagging, for all intents and pour-pus-is, to turn it  into Nagging for all that "s" X-ing they mustered to hook you, hoping that the Fisher-man himself gets snagged on the Sneaky-Shit this snagging business is all about!

Indeed.

And any Fisher-man that sips on the seemingly succulent juices of these "s" X-ing Gold-fishy's is gonna get what he deserves!

"Desire leads to suffering" some one once said... And the raw end of a gut costs too much for the small bit of splishy-splashing's it produces.

So, that Fisher-man has now got to think a bit differently... Does he really want to play with these types of fish?

No.

He has got to change his tactics if he gonna hook a "nice" fish. One you could eat let's say...

And one way of doing that is to change bait and technique...

Now, this new way of fishing entails taking that same treble-hook... and instead of snagging... the Fisher-man loads that hook with chicken-livers, fish-heads and other such nasty, mucky, sun-baked, smelly shit and puts a big honkin' piece of lead on to the end of the line to hold it all in place.

Now, with a bobber, placed high enough up the line, he chucks his rig of treble-hooked, lead-weighted, bobber placed bait shit as far into the water as his skill will allow, and just waits.

And waits...

And waits...

He drinks a few beers...

Eats a few sandwiches...

Snags a few chips...

Drinks another beer...

And waits...

And waits.

***

And just as the sun is about to set, the bobber goes kurr-plunk, the rod-tip bends and the fight is on!

Now, for a good twenty minutes or so, reeling in and letting out and re-reeling in again... the Fisher-man finally gets to see his quivery quarry... which presents an odd query of qualm...

This time, the Fisher-man caught a Cat-Fish!

Another shit-eating, slimy snake like bottom-feeding turd of a fish!

"Awe, hell" the Fisher-man says, "at least I can eat this one...", provided one can nail its fucking head to a board and peel-back the slimy skin of this three-pronged shit-eating, slimy snake like bottom-feeding turd of a fish! And then, only if he can get the image of CATS out of his head! (Hint: Cat anything will piss on your shit, run! Just take my word on it, run).

That's right, I said "three-pronged"... CAUSE THAT is pay-back, too! Those three spine-like needles from the back and two dorsal s are loaded with a poison! Prick your hand on that, and it's gonna sting like mad! So handle these buggers with care... "I'm just sayin...". No one should ever be so hungry as to eat one of these damned fish, it'll ruin your palette on finer fish for sure!

Well, by this time, the Fisher-man has once again got to re-evaluate his approach.

So he washes the slimy muck off his hands and the ceiling and calls it a night.

And as he sleeps, he sees visions of Sun-Fish and Blue-Gills... Perch... and Crappie... and look! Even a Blow-Fish! Now wouldn't that be fun?! (Nah... Scratch the Blow-Fish, way too many pricking-prongs on that porcupine!)

Come morning, the crack-of-Dawn has him excited, and he rises to his feet for another day of FISHING!

And he's gonna chase down some of those fishy's he saw in his dreams!

Now, the Fisher-man goes out to the bait shop, and gets all the gear he needs to catch him a gaggle of Pan-fish... cause everyone knows, Pan-fish are good eatin'!

So he grabs his grubs... wax-worms... and some night-crawlers... some crickets... and some minnows...

He buys hooks and shot, and barrel-swiggles to swivel which ever way, (with and without clasps of various sizes), and studies the maps to find where some of the best "lays" will be...

Again, he grabs his rod... hangs his sign... and off he goes!

***

Gone Fishing! Day 2...

Now, loaded down with all of this new gear, buckets of this, bags of that, he opens his tickle box... and starts to rig his line to entice these little fishy's to his hook.

What is exciting about this type of fishing is that the Fisher-man can have a gazzillion lines rigged in a gazzillion configurations and various depths to see if anything bites...

And as always... something does bite. And usually, on two or three of the lines at the same time!

And this causes great confusion, and a good number of fish are lost, swallow the hook too deep, or are just too small to keep. But ya fill your basket with a bunch of Pan-fish... and Pan-fish are good eatin'!

Only problem is, they aren't substantial enough.

Pan-fishing really only feeds the ego. It says "Hey, self! You're a good Fisher-man, good job! Wasn't it fun to hook all those fishy's? Play 'em one right after the other... several at a time even?!!!" and the Fisher-man about breaks his own back patting him self.

And patting ones self gets old and is also like too much Cat-Fish... More like Carp actually... a junk-food version of salt, fat and sugar... sure ya crave it, but ya ain't gonna be healthy if that's all ya eat!

So, the Fisher-man has yet once again, got to re-evaluate his approach.

Carp suck.

Gold-Fishy's suck and turn into Carp.

Cat-Fish suck and may hurt ya.

Pan-Fish are fun but still suck.

And yet, the Fisher-man does not loose hope!

No! Not he!

He has Pickerel and Walleye, Pike and Sturgeon, and Bass of every stripe or spot, yellow or rock, large mouthed and small to choose from still!

So after a long second day of fishin', the Fisher-man packs up all his gear and calls it a day.

Tomorrow is gonna land him his dream fish!

Yeah!

You just wait and see!

So, the Fisher-man goes home, rests-up, dreams of all these new fish and plans another day of FISHING!

"Plenty of 'em" he says... and off to sleep he goes.

Now, when the next morning rolls around... Dawn is no longer on his mind. He has set his sights higher than that... and off to the bait shop he goes.

And, new rods... and new reels... fluorocarbon lines invisible in water... spoons and popper's... jiggs and weed-free this's and that's... depth finders and underwater cameras... and a fleet of vessels to carry it in to his prey...

A Bass-Boat... a sail boat... a pontoon... a Hummer... a little red Corvette... a Porsche...  a Harley...

A mid-life crisis...

And wouldn't ya know it... these shiny bits lure in the fishy's like mad!

But these fishy's are a different breed all together... the young one's are all bronze and shiny, and the old one's are like tanned leather... and none of 'em are ever gonna be on the Fisher-man's menu...

So, the Fisher-man decides to be a bit more modest, and gets a few of the more logical trappings this new type of fishing requires... and gets enough to try his luck at all the Pickerel and Walleye, Pike and Sturgeon, and Bass of every stripe or spot, yellow or rock, large mouthed and small.

And off he goes... grabs his rod, hangs his sign... Another day of FISHING!

Again, he studies his maps, finds what he thinks will be good "lays" and sets-up shop.

Which to choose... which to choose...

And he fumbles around for the next few days, trying to get the hang of all this crap and comes out of it all frustrated as hell.

He now needs that Bass-Boat, that depth-finder... that Hummer... cause nothin' is even lookin' at his presentation... Seriously... He's fishin' from a DOCK! From the SHORE-Line!

He ain't got what it takes to take these fish...Lure-less lacks luster to leather-ed lovelies young and old and he packs up, depressed and defeated. The  Pickerel and Walleye, Pike and Sturgeon, and Bass of every stripe or spot, yellow or rock, large mouthed and small and the other breed are all beyond his reach.

Home he goes.

He drinks a few beers... fires up the BBQ... and eats a few Cheesy-Metz... then calls it a night.

And wouldn't ya know it, in the middle of the night, an idea hits hit!

Muskellunge!

Yes...

Muskellunge!

Muskies!

The inland barracuda's of fresh water!

And back to sleep he goes.

Now, in the course of his sleep, he plays through Muskellunge in his mind... all the gear... all the toys... and the gadgets... the boats... the trucks to pull those boats... the depth-finders... and trolling motors... ship to shore radios... and live-catch boxes...

And wakes-up to the realization that this too, is beyond his means.

But at least this time, he ate breakfast first and didn't even bother to hit the bait-shop.

He leaves the fishy's to go about their day of hookin' on the Fisher-men that are fishin' them today.

And besides, we still have Trout!

Rainbow's... and Brook's... and Brown's... Cut-Throat's and Green-Back's, too! And yes! More gear, rods, reels, lines, hooks, fur and feather... leaders... tippit... tools and toys... and waders and on and on...

Imitation's!

Flies to fly!

Oh yes!

What fun!

What trickery!

What deception!

A transition has occurred!

No more bait chuggin' at these here fishy's... no!

We're gonna entice them to our offering with a more gentlemanly approach!

Something haughty just might do the trick to find that something naughty!

Yes...

Deceive.

Make 'em think they got something good to eat...

Trick 'em into hitting your taste-less fluff of feathers and fur... and then Rip 'em out of their atmosphere and into yours!

Watch 'em wiggle and squirm!

See the horror in their eyes when they realize they've been had...

Then release 'em. (It's the humane and proper thing to do...)

Right?!

WRONG!

So wrong.

Wow.

Seriously, I'm starting to think this fishin' shit is for the birds... and they need their feathers to fly! And even flying-fish, which ain't got feather, don't like feathers! They're tasteless!

So anyway, I think I'm just gonna hop on out of this here pond and go row my boat gently down the stream... take in the scenery... go merrily, and maybe... somewhere's along that winding river of life... somewhere's in that babbling brook... that sea, ocean, cloud of life... another boat will float up next to mine and we can tickle oars a bit...

And how cool would that be?!

Much more to my liking than the 'poof' of a POF or the kooks on the Zoosk's...

It's just too damned depressing and I am a much more happy and positive guy than that!

Heck, that some imagined "we" is not to complete this Mr.E, but to compliment both the she and the me... to enhance a romance with wondrous possibilities!

That tickles my fancy and my palette...

Now HURRY-UP Ms. Ima Floatina Bout and come splash around!

LOL!

Cheers

"Peachclam"-mation Point!

Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker, was gifted to me "From one outlaw to another" by a brilliant red headed soul, to whom I am grateful for having had known, however briefly. And after having delved deeply into this tome, I am relieved to have found that Tom's Remington SL3 had sputtered out, not much unlike 'love' and ended with the last few pages written by hand... and beyond CHOICE, my most poignant re-membered point presented reads as follows: "It is contrary to the nature of mystery <sic> to stand still." Time well spent like a Mayfly in this river of life... I am humbled by happenstance, yet again. Travel well, row gently, merrily, dream, tow, let go... and flow... Cheers

Elemental Happenstances... happen-stancing...

This one deals with the List Shit... 

The Shit List... 

As I am listlessly listing lists of "List's"... I list over into a new realization that:

List's are shit.


Pure, unadulterated BULLSHIT!


Yet, by looking at it, (list's in fact), it can become a liberating experience to just list your lists! And this new list, now becomes a 'List of List's'! And no matter how you try to divide your shit... compartmentalize it... it just grows and grows and grows... Shit happens...


So, in order to use the magic of naming, or more specifically, the magic of words, one must take ownership over the word itself. And here, for our purposes, the word today is "List"...


So lean on over... in here a bit... List over... and List-en to this...


A "List" can be, by its very nature... untameable and never-ending. Overwhelming in fact! Hence why so many of us hate them!


They, meaning "List's", are vampiristic, soul-sucking excercises that must be exorcised into oblivion! One must get free from the force of list upon list, upon list... infinitum... ad nausium...


They, again meaning "List's", must be nutured, casterated and made tame!


Crushed! And SMASHED!


And in order to crush, Smash! and tame them, (again, these "List's"), one must sadly... list them...


I know, right?!


So, take a moment... Just breath... OK?

All better?

Good.

Let's continue:


This is exactly why "List's" are so damned evil. Just by naming them, they are envoked! Like some incantation, smoke enters the room to fill it (both the lister and the room), with dread and gloom... A green, low-laying fog of despair and listlessness rushes in... usually undetected...



They are sneaky like that...



But have no fear! For here lies a clue!!! This listlessness can be de-"ness"ed and segmented, to become somewhat more listless! And that can be de-"less"-ened, to become just a naked little-list, which is much more easy to deal with! And we can 'In-"ness"-ance', make that little list, less than its high-ness would like for you to think of her as... as from this... and from which, she is no high and mighty word... nor has she any royal claim in the land of words... but is only just a small irritation (and possible little gift), trying to make it in a big-word-world and in which, (with the help of many witches, warlocks, word-smiths and wanderers...), will allow you to kill the little bitch! (And don't get all bent out of shape here... you've cursed this little bitch called "List's" a thousand times over... and every-time you have had to face her... you've dreaded every moment... even when you lie to yourself and say... "we'll, it has got to be done, so here goes...", and you know in the back of your mind, that you hate her and you think your little-list won't grow into that MONSTER?! BULLSHIT! You know that somehow she will always grow! And she does... and you hate her for it. You loath the sight of her! "Damn it!" You've said it... and can't deny it... so deal with it and move on... I'm painting here.)


Now, for all practicle purposes, one must keep in mind, that when dealing with "List's", that one does not get lost in the 'Land-of-List's'... (Imagine a large echo-chamber here...) for this little-list-bitch it is a snake, eating its tail... and by so doing, grows as it consumes itself, into a larger and more unmanigable monster... And as each of these little respective monsters grows, then... they begin to become incorporated... to conspire... to become legion... and as they become incorporated... they get even more unmanigable! AHHhh..!!! The horror...


And the only way to kill it is to let it gorge itself, on its self until, for nothing else, it runs out of its own juices and becomes a listless mess of nothingness! Let her lay there... and good riddance!


She has been exorcised!

And you are now able to be free from the clutches of "List's", that if you listened... would find that it was list-less-ened... and the list was ended, dead and done...

Now the next time she rears her ugly little head, like a weed in a flower-bed, you'll identify it, pluck-it by the roots and throw it on that pile of How-to-Deal-with-your-Shit", that makes-up those life lessons... and there lies but yet another clue as to the doing's of language... its magic... its naming... and your "Lessons" will become: "Moresons" and we always know MORE is better than LESS! And yes, Less is More... but that is another story for another time...

Travel well and row gently, merrily! It is all but a dream in the stream...


Cheers