i totally lack any knife fighting skills. no cool moves, no "swoooooosh" sounds as the blade cuts through the dampness of this dampest of damp friday afternoons. as a matter of fact, i don´t even carry a knife on me. there might be a blade on my leatherman but thats a.) pathetic and b.)out of reach in my tackle box. so no shank action then. my mind is racing...... i want to counter the verbal abuse that is thrown at me from the swim next door in true samurai fashion but i can´t even press out a hearty "go fuck yourself" let alone wipe out this gang of inbreds in one swooooooshing deadly blow.
so what the fuck do i do? i try to rationally expla CUNT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SWIM (thats inbred no.3 yelling at me again). see how rude they are interrupting me like that? anyway i try to explain that clearly i´m inside MY corridor of water and that this fact is plainly visible for everybody that has got eyes to see. and what do i get? death threats. inbred no.1 is even considering to come out in the water to fight me. and this dipshit doesn´t even have a boat.
now i know for a fact that my mum and dad are NOT brother and sister, i know for a fact that my haircut is like way cooler than any of theirs and i know for a fact that the marker i just wanted to lower into a likely looking patch near some lilliy pads is defenitely in MY swim. so i know i´m right and they are not. i am fucking right right right right right.
but that don´t mean shit. shit shit shit shit. and i fucking know it. i know that if i don´t give in i will have no peace whatsoever during my weekend session, maybe even a physical confrontation with a couple of enraged alcoholics with bad teeth and even worse tackle. so i pick out the h block marker and row away with my tail between my legs. i feel like my balls have shrunken to peanut size and my dick is even tinier than ever before." i hate myself and i want to die" by this up and coming indie band nirvana would be playing and nagging at me if this was a b-carpmovie. by now somebody had dropped into the empty swim to the left of me. this leaves me with a 10 m corridor to position my two rods. i briefly consider packing packing up and going back to my syndicate lake.
fuck no. i had spent an hour of getting all the gear into the boat and moving it to my chosen swim, putting up the bivvy..... and all that shit just to undo it all agin? i decided to stick it out and beat them on the fishing front. "that´ll learn´em" i thought but i knew deep inside that that they had won. of course i caught and the inbreds didn´t but i hated every single minute of this trip already despite catchin a few little´uns during the next few hours. plus i had seen fish topping right on the spot by the lillies that i had planned to fish, including what looked like a really good fish - aaaaaaaaargh!
saturday morning, way before 8 am some cunt wakes me up to see my licence. i light a cigarette in some sort of breakfastly manner and grudgingly hand over the documents. at least they didn´t fucking harrass me cuz of my bivvy (with bivvies and shelters actually being forbidden in redneck county) so i send them on their way, keep the cursing down and crawl back into the super comfy nashy wideboy bag.
saturday morning, 8.15 am. some cunt wakes me up to see my licence. what the fuck. i light two camels at once and try to stay calm while i´m surpressing an anger attack. i encourage the bailiff to maybe work on their coordination a bit, have a brief chat with him before wishing him all the best, stamp out the cigarettes on my forearm and start to cry.
i pack away my gear in record time and leave, vowing not to return to this lake until late autumn when the inbreds stay at home to beat up their wives, children and dogs, and their children´s dogs and dogs they don´t even know and attend right wing party rallies and u2 concerts and... the lilly pads are finally all mine.
so if you see me in a swim next to you, just remember that i´m a fucking whimp and take advantage of the situation
slack lines
"saturday morning, 8.15 am. some cunt wakes me up to see my licence. what the fuck. i light two camels at once and try to stay calm while i´m surpressing an anger attack. i encourage the bailiff to maybe work on their coordination a bit, have a brief chat with him before wishing him all the best, stamp out the cigarettes on my forearm and start to cry."
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