As the bloggers whose content is most likely to contain a semi-dressed hardbody – veiled in some really thin fishing angle, in a round about kind of way, and then maybe … You should know I lived your fantasy last night, and it didn’t live up to your steamy advert.

The idea has merit; young vibrant females (humans this time) draped in various stages of undress, encountered while pursuing this most worthy of all pastimes, is solid. The deed itself, leaves much to be desired…

I suppose the restocking of the Underwear River’s underwear was a good thing, I know now from whence it comes – and after last night’s festivities the female articles now outnumber the male. Biologist’s think repopulation occurs as part of the upstream flight of mating insects – I now know that’s horribly wrong, it’s the downstream drift of mating insects that restores instream substrate.

I’ve never heard the word “like” used as noun, verb, and adjective, and all in the same sentence. I’m thinking these Californio’s were attempting to reestablish the SoCal Mallrat species of the 1980’s; like gross, like ee-Eww, like wet, like never, like Oh My God, like shut up. We’ve always insisted on exporting culture, but like – enough already.

… I did get fairly misty eyed over the loafers-no-socks-Miami-Vice-linen blazer memory – but then I’ve always had a weakness for Ray-ban Wayfarer’s…

I’m innocently waiting between rafts of youngsters, darting glances ahead and behind hoping not to hook the celebrants – while being assaulted by firm expanses of tanned flesh absent restraint. My thoughts were of you fellows – wondering whether your fantasy of Trout & Angling would survive the evening, or whether both blogs would be semi-chaste thereafter.

Sound carries quite a distance on the water, here’s the best quotes from the young ladies to caption your next Permit tattoo, or the next girl treating a boat rod like a stripper pole:

“He’s fly fishing, Old People do that…”

“Eww, fish – that’s so, like gross.”

It’s gut-wrenching, I know – but the shapely ladies that you depict, slathered in lanolin and gazing at the screen like a fat kid steaming a bakery window, the ones that’ll tear the waders right off your portly, aging frame – like, think you’re old – possibly quaint, but mostly old.

I got the “dime” tour last night – not just perched on the rocks, but prominent in the bow – with the boyfriend’s deep monotone, urging the buxom lass to play with her “cat” – for our everyone’s their mutual entertainment.

… for thirty verdammt minutes.

My lack of interest in the proceedings added fuel to the fire – and now the slack water behind me is occupied with … like … them.

Watching Grandma on the deck opposite swallow her dentures was kind of fun, but neither of us saw any feline.

I’m picking lint out of my reel, attempting to look occupied as another of Cleopatra’s barges idles past, doing my best to remain both cordial and responsive to the display of drunken debutantes and their beau’s..

… upstream I hear, “Dude!, Bro, go left, Go LEFT – you’re gonna hit him!”

I’m retrieving the metal tipped bludgeon wading staff from underwater where it’s unseen – and from the high pitched voices I can tell they’re at least 40 yards off, I’ve got plenty of time to sidestep and sweep their decks with either canister or grape – when I hear the gal chime in:

“You’d better get your act together, that guy looks mean.”

Best quote yet, and perceptive too …

Nothing can match Mother Nature’s natural beauty – especially when they’re untouched by Man. You can tell ’cause they float  Be careful what you wish for – as room for a couple false casts may quickly outweigh both pert and upthrust by a long shot.

We understand you mean it all in good fun, as do I. Those belligerent, drunken boyfriends won’t see it that way, and as non fishing agnostics they’ll take as much glee wrapping precious cane around your neck as splintery graphite – whichever rod you’re holding..