Saturday, June 11, 2011

STOLEN: How French Kissing is Destroying the English Language

Earlier today, i was thinking of something to write. I was recovering from my night of kudos bars and gummie snacks that kept me occupied past 2a.m.
All i could come up with was the idea that french kissing is destroying the English language. Thinking harder on the subject, i think it quite true, though i find it hard to focus on any one thing. I can hardly hold back the fact that my room looks like it is strewed with the carcasses of a hundred underwear. They are hanging on the end of the bed, all the draws in the room are open, in a terraced style, to accommodate my rooms cotton humidifier. I am also having trouble holding back the urge to discuss my time down at my o-so-focused upon swimming dock. It is easy enough to say that it will soon be my fishing dock. While down there today, at least 25 catfish visible and countable with any glance at the water, i watch people pull them out repeatedly. They were so abundant that one was caught in the pocket of a pair of pants that i saw swimming by, propelled by the trapped fish. The only men that were not fishing for horn-pout were two black men that i have seen down there before. They had two full five gallon buckets of what pan fish that liberal shepherds do call a grosser name, but our cold maids do sunfish. They plan to have a cook-out on the sabbath. So, i got excited... excited enough to buy a fishing pole. Of course, being here for 7 more weeks, you could not expect me to buy any old fishing pole, and most certainly not anything that didn't have a disney princess smiling from the pink fishing reel. While i did have to suppress the romantic image of my sitting next to the large black men catching pan fish with my Ariel or my Sleeping beauty 3 and 1/2 fishing rod, talking about sports, and women, and what we had at the bar, and how the bugs and water temperature are influencing how the Lepomis macrochirus are feeding, I instead invested into a rod with no reel and a single eye at the end. It is telescoping and essentially the modern version of the green alder branch with a string tied to the end. I remember a picture in the hall of Dad's house with a boy on a rock bearing a straw hat with ample holes in the brim, falling asleep as a fish began to pull his bobber under water and he remaining oblivious to the fish at the end of the line.


Like him i hope to fish the old fashioned way, no reel just a stick and a string.


Disclaimer: Mercury levels in the fish of Seneca lake peaked in 1910 and steadily declined to 1977 where they reached steady and harmless levels. there is no need to worry about losing me to lead poisoning as Dan insisted would be the consequence of my antique thriftiness 

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