Tuesday, January 1, 2013


Written by: Attila Farkas
The new evolutionary order!
Fishes, Amphibians, Reptiles, Birds, Mammals, Fisherman.
Is it a miracle of evolution that the two-legged creature landed at the end of the list? Not only human but also a fisherman. Or someone made a mistake and fisherman are not exactly the Crown jewels of history?
It depends on whom you ask. If you ask another angler, he will tell you that all fisherman are good people.
On the other hand…
If you ask Maria, my friend’s wife she might list fisherman closer to the prime mates.
She’d refused to learn the mysterious science of worm digging, fish cleaning and other vital skills like biting through the fishing lines with your teeth. She will never, ever touch the fish, dead or alive and keeping worms in her refrigerator = sleeping on the couch. For a week.
Last time my friend kept a dozen or so night crawlers in a yogurt container and put it way in a back behind the ready whip can that she has not used since she started dieting. But some brainiac decided to write an article about rewarding yourself as a part of dieting and she read it. Whipped cream covered strawberries were her reward after aerobics class. The aluminum foil covered yogurt container looked suspicious. She opened it. She screamed. Long and loud.
There are all kinds of newspapers, beer bottles and a few pairs of socks lying on the couch. Steve lives there now. In the basement.
If you are a real fisherman I know you’ve done your share of pre historic crimes.
Not sure if you are real fishermen?
Here is an incomplete list:
-You’ve read somewhere that large catfish are attracted to chicken guts. The butcher in the supermarket is your friend. He gave you four pounds. You left it on the sundeck in a plastic bag. Where the cat found it. Irresistible. She decided that the only place she can enjoy such a delicacy is in the living-room. On the  Persian rug. Where your wife found the cat in the middle of enhancing the colors of the antique treasure with the bloody red patterns of chicken guts. This was four years ago. And she still remembers the smell. Of course, she needs to share this information with the whole family, just before Thanksgiving dinner. Every year. It’s become a tradition.
No, this is not the worst…
Remember that rookie cop? His first case was in the city park and it started like a horror story…
There were no lights at the north end of the park, only what the moon provided and even that’s started to fade as the darkening clouds brought the promise of rain.
John Rhode has just finished his shift patrolling the streets of Seattle on a Bicycle and decided to go through the park on the way home. He pedaled in a steady pace on the sidewalk that was only four feet wide and the overhanging bushes made him ride in a  zigzag. He put his flashlight in a socket on the crowbar and that gave him enough light to see thirty feet ahead.  Grotesque shadows danced on the rough surface of the sidewalk as the light browsed through the leaves, twigs, and branches of trees. They looked like long fingered bony hands trying to grab the wheels…
The wind became stronger and the cool air has carried the smell of rain. The night symphony of frogs and crickets became quiet as the first heavy raindrops started to fall.
He’s just picked up some speed to get home before the storm when he saw the slow moving light off the road, deep inside the park. The light disappeared for a while then it’ has danced against the darkness without moving in any direction. Who would stay in a park in the middle of a storm? With a flashlight. .. It was suspicious. He’s stopped and leaned the bicycle against a tree. He turned off his flashlight, closed his eyes for a few seconds until they adjusted to the darkness. Very quietly radioed for backup, then with small careful steps sneaked closer to the light. He drew his gun and loaded a round into the chamber. He was maybe thirty feet from the scene when a dried twig broke under his feet, with a sound of a small cannon. He quickly stepped behind a large pine tree, froze. and held his breath.
The other stopped too. The flashlight searched through the woods than a few seconds later the mysterious person continued its work despite the rain.
The officer used the cover of the trees to go closer. He saw a shadow of a man and a shovel. The smell of freshly turned earth was unmistakable. He raised his gun and drew a breath of air before stepping out from behind the tree.
Meanwhile, Bill Callahan has repeatedly whipped the sweat off his forehead and wished that he hadn’t drunk four bottles of beer before he decided to dig for worms. He was on his hands and knees, this way his beer belly wasn’t in the way and he was poking at the ground with a tiny shovel. When he turned the rich soil he grabbed the mother of all worms the slimy creature must’ve been ten inches long. He proudly placed it on top of the others in a used milk carton., when his ears were bombarded with a human scream:
“Hands up! Don’t move!!!”
Bill’s whole body’s jerked upwards from the eardrum-splitting noise of the warning shot. He jumped backward as if an electric shock threw him up in the air. He threw the milk carton and the flashlight up in the air with the scream of a tortured prisoner jumped backward right in the middle of an n overgrown rose bush.  Either the dozens of thorns that wanted to become a part of his body or the charging canines that arrived with the backup were to blame but the four beers found their way out of his body through his pants.
Now three policemen were pointing their guns at him and the scene looked like a sitcom in the rose bushes.
When the officers had realized what happened it was too late. The embarrassment was already a future police report.
At this point, the mother of all earth worms has parachuted down from the trees and landed on Bills baseball hat. It started to crawl through the letters that summed up the situation: I’d rather be fishing!
More on: www.fishonline.ca and www.enviroartist.com