I suffered through one more outing suckling off the plasticine teat before adding lemon juice to the bag, just enough tart to take your mind off the rest of the taste – it’s cold, tastes like Pepsi Light, which I never could stand, but I’ll live.
You get a couple “old guys” in the crap water and elementary school reasserts itself; an artificial spry that lasts until the other fellow ain’t looking.
Saturday was solo and Sunday the Peanut Gallery showed – Singlebarbed reader, Igneous Rock – aka “older bro” – decided he needed to get bit, bad enough to flee the City.
It’s good to know that even in our dotage the testosterone playground is still alive and well. Forty years ago it was who could run fastest, hit the ball furthest, and drink most-est. Now, with the weight of years, it’s who’s suffering more:
“That’s nothing, they want to replace both hips, I passed a kidney stone the size of a softball, and the doctor can’t explain why I’m still breathing.”
“Dude, Lameness. I’ve been diagnosed with three kinds of inoperable cancer, which are contentedly eating each other, they want to amputate both legs, and my doc says, ‘what circulation, I can’t detect a heartbeat.’ “
“What do you got, Blue Shield?”
“Nope, I got your Momma, right here …”
A couple of old degenerates, content to molest small fish and pound chest in the doing. Me, I fiddled with the endless cornucopia of odd variations created over the last couple of weeks, and color – lots of it.
I can’t say that the reception was much, but the tie-dye crowd would have appreciated the up-tempo changes.
Tweety-Bird is the hot pink, gold, salmon variant. Parrot is the multi-hued purple flavor. Bass ate both – but not the way they flock to the Little Stinking Olive.
I did get the physics right, as all the hookups are in the top of the mouth. The filamentous algae will cling to the hook bend on a traditional fly, and can increase it’s size by 4-5 inches. I was wondering whether this was part of the reason Carp flee in panic when my flies get within visible range.
Just methodically ticking through food groups, physics, and the engagement process, at some point I’ll discover what ails me.
In the meantime I’ll host the Big City Swells, carrying their luggage, kowtowing constantly, without hope that some of Ma’s baked goods will survive the trip.
Funny how they’re always misplaced. I do the “good son” bit, sending Almonds, Walnuts, and all manner of raw materials, yet each shipment is hijacked minus an apology.
Hey Meathead, remember when you took that long pull off my water bag, and you mentioned it tasted funny? The other end of the siphon was in the pooty water – and when you recover, you be sure to send me a card.
Shameless enlarged picture for Ma, of her baked goods hijacking oldest son – so’s she’ll bake even more goodies. As much avarice and profit motivated advertising as we’re able to stomach on Singlebarbed.
Family counseling isn’t all that expensive, and – based on your post – could lower your medical bills substantially.
Just saying is all.
I was thinking incarceration, the offenses are numerous and lack remorse.
Why can’t we all just get along? After all, us blueliners – and our elevated moral sense – apparently get along with our older brothers just fine (provided baked goods aren’t in the picture).
My brother stopped by Saturday morning for a cup of coffee and became very concerned when he didn’t see my vise, since he was hoping I’d tie some flies for one of his upcoming trips. I told him my wife and I were having company over for dinner that night, which meant I had to clean up my tying bench (that being the far end of the dining room table.) Then he noticed the box of flies you gave me (they were still on the table), and now I’m about two dozen light. He said “These really look good! How about I test some of them out for you?” He’s always been considerate that way.
By the way, great job on the CA FF article – probably your best work yet.
“Two dozen lighter?” – blood kin or no – two dozen is stretching the bond considerable. My brother may be worth six … OK, seven flies tops, considering he’s poring through the collection assisted by a water glass of my best hooch.
The CA FF article resulted in someone burning a cross on my lawn, fortunately it was two bamboo rods tied together, and didn’t burn long.
I was wondering whether you knew anything about that…
It never seems like a lot at the time because it’s always, “Mind if I take two or three of these, and maybe a couple of these…” Next thing I know I’m digging through the recycling bin looking for a Cocoa Channel Brownliner Fly Box so he can carry it all home. At least I never have to worry about him drinking anything stronger than a Diet Coke.
I don’t know anything about any burning bamboo fly rods, and will purchase/coerce an alibi from one of my relatives if necessary.
Beware the men in brown hoods…
Yeah, I bet it was them brown-hooded guys that did it. They’re the ones you need to go after. My guess is they went north in search of more fuel.
Wonderful article (as usual for you) in the October CFF rag.
You’re my favorite writer
after those other guys.
Dear Brother:
No comment!
Dear SMJ:
What’s your brother’s phone number? I’d like to compare collections.
…as it should be, them other guys bathe more often and respect your early arrival to the fast water.
Me, I’ll be siphoning the gas out of your car back in the parking area.
so do I consider myself lucky I was the only boy?
I think the trick is to parade all of those flopped fly pattern experiments into a fly box and let the riffraff have them. Make it sound like you’re totally put out too. Then they won’t be borrowing any more of your flies anymore when they don’t catch fish. Of course, it looks like Ig Rock was already on to that plan, took your “good” box of flies instead KB, and left you with the duds. Or is that not the story you’re going with when your
tattlingtelling ‘Ma’?Maybe it’s time to get a new older brother. Did your mom keep the receipt?
Heck, my first time fly fishing with younger brother TC and he was kind enough to tie on one of HIS flies on my line (which I promptly lost to a spruce on the back cast) and I still feel bad about it. But on the other hand, that was a fly, baked goods on the other hand… it’s every man for himself!
Ohhhh, the older Chandler shoots and scores…
So much for the harmony and mutual respect that TC claims permeates the Chandler clan. Baked Goods is Sacred, as evidenced in the confession above.
OK, you can let go of Tom’s ear now … he’ll be docile and obey.
I go away to Indonesia for a couple of weeks and I come back to all this talk of undelivered baked goods.
With all the walnuts, pears, figs, persimmons, oranges, tomatoes, bell peppers, garlic, and the ubiquitous etcetera, that leaves your local farm source, now your blaming your brother for unrequited home-prepared food deliveries?!?
At least next time, wipe the crumbs from the side of your mouth. (No, I’m not taking about those cigar ashes, either.)
Sounds like an amazing fishing trip… mmmm ma’s pie delicious!