I can finally ditch the expensive gear and G-suit necessary to keep arm, rod, and line in the same dimension. Shortly, I’ll be donating a Semi worth of rotting pelts, feathers and synthetics to the local casting club, along with my collection of waders and never used, newly illegal, felt soled wading shoes …

… only because I’ll be jettisoning the company of you grim and overly serious fly fishing types for the company of wide-smiling, truly genteel folk.

Sweaty, happy fellows that welcome you with a hearty backslap and firm handshake, insisting your lawn chair scoots in as close to theirs as is possible (makes passing chips easier), and are smart enough to stay out of the cold damn freshet in the first place.

That’s because real men can hit the other bank from where they’re sitting, and if there’s any goo left from filching goody out of a jar, that’s nothing a brisk wipe on the pants leg won’t fix …

That whole “lean and predatory extreme angler” bit kicked to the curb in favor of “extreme buffalo wing eating”, or “extreme bankside alcoholism”, complete with “X-treme tossing of empties” over that fleshy shoulder.

Now that I’ve left the priesthood, I’ll be able to hold a steady relationship with a female of the species, I’ll be able to catch and gut stomp anything edible, and I can finally fill that lonesome freezer humming in the garage without fear of reprisal …

Because Bait fishing is Cool again …

We’ll leverage the secret food that makes worms take on fluorescent colors, tinker with the DNA so science dubs them both single and ©Artificial, allowing me to skirt most restrictions (rubs hands together), and lay waste to your favorite corner of the Pristine.

With my new Artificial Fluorescent Leeches® you’ll be dumping all that wasteful and expensive ostrich on those Intruders, opting to spin some EcoGreen® fibers instead … their constant wiggling a bit of a distraction initially, but that’ll soon pass …

… (especially when your buddy just blanked …)

I can’t imagine not adding a bit of refried bean to the current chow, inducing flatulence and the Dry version of the worm floating leech®.

Absent all them secret handshakes, the knowledge of thousands of useless fly patterns, most dating back to the Pharaohs, and me no longer alienating some splinter cell with every comment spoken, it’ll be fishing as it was meant to be, simple and pleasant.

Dare I say, even Born Again?