I wondered briefly whether Edwin Teller had a similar moment as they wheeled “Fat Man” and Littleboy” into the hold of the USS Indianapolis. Did he wrestle with the devastation he was about to unleash, or was he simply enamored that the theoretical had legs …

… the big, atom smashing kind.

I was standing at the sink ignoring the pool of dye on the linoleum, the steady drip of florescent chartreuse that caused the gas burner to sputter loudly … because in my trembling hands was the means to complete the extinction of fish on Planet Earth …

… if used for what it was intended, or handed over to fly fishermen.

But Edwin won’t share the docket when PETA pronounces my sentence. Some emaciated Vegans will shaking their fists at me while the tinny translator in my ear struggles to keep pace with the swearing.

I saw the tapes from Nuremburg, and the movie, none of these pet lovers will resemble Spencer Tracy …

I need a half dozen fly tiers that are cool under pressure, can resist unleashing complete fish death locally, and more importantly are articulate and can convey thoughts about colors, tints, textures, and overall efficacy via email.

I’ll supply the nasty, you’ll need to tie some flies with it, and convey your unbridled lust in an intelligible response (English this time), while I monitor the front page of the local paper until news of your apprehension.

Yes, it’s that good.

Drop me an email if you’re interested in putting some final gloss on a product (followed by a potentially limitless incarceration).