Q and Alex

Q: I know you have been a busy little boy lately, but are you ever going to get off your lame ass and write some shit on this gawd damn blog? You need to get on that.

Alex: You can stuff your head up a camel twat. Don't tell me what to do, you prick. But yes, eventually I will gather up the necessary motivation to tell the people about the recent goings-on, the Wrinkleneck tournament outcome, and a few other things of interest.

Q: You know that people have little patience these days. You let that stuff get stale and people will drop you faster than a dollar bill covered in dog crap. I know there is something that you could put up, just a little nonsense to keep the page fresh?

Alex: Yeah, I will think of something. Maybe.

Q: Whats this rumor I have heard about you boys signing contracts with some production company in California?

Alex: I can't talk about that. Find whoever told you that and uppercut them in the gooch.

Q: What is a gooch?

Alex: The perineum.

Q: Perineum?

Alex: Yeah, the taint.

Q: What the hell are you talking about?

Alex: It is the area between the balls and the b-hole.

Q: What? Why would I want to punch someone there?

Alex: Well, it was suppose to be funny, but you ruined it.

Q: What if it was a chick?

Alex: They have it too, but it is a little smaller so you have to have better aim, but you wouldn't have the ballsack to contend with, so I think someone with your lack of coordination could manage it.

Q: Are you always this strange?

Alex: Probably.

Q: Well, anyways, back to the blog. What is your next move?

Alex: Well, I will probably start working on the Wrinkleneck write-up, like I said. It probably won't be as epic as the last one, but who knows.

Q: Sooner than later, I hope.

Alex: Shuddup.

Sometimes....

I don't really drink too much anymore.
I do not care to drink alone, I used to go out to the bar all the time.
One day I just pulled up to the bar just around the corner from my house, walked in to the bar and grabbed my wallet. Suddenly I found myself placing the wallet back into my pocket just as the bartender said, "Hi Kyle, a big Bud Light for you?"

  "No." I said, as I turned and headed out the door.

I could not figure out why I did that, until I heard this song;



Now everything makes sense. I found out why I do not drink like I used to.

The Arrival Back Home

Leaving the White Mountains, I already miss the pine trees, the lake, the guys, but not the dust.
Aaron and I pack everything up after the killer breakfast, A bit overwhelmed it went quick. Stopping by the Indian casino to fill up on gas, we decide the windshield looks like shit and needs a bit of cleaning at the Spray and Wash in Pinetop AZ.

 The beginning of the drive was nice, warm but not hot, the pine trees  still in sight, old people driving like shit everywhere. knowing soon we would be out of the oasis, we seem to be in, and be back in the desert, we take it slow with little talk to enjoy what we do not see everyday.

  Before we know it the the land scape turns back to shit, and the heat starts to beat down on our sunburns. We are unable to drive fast enough to get home, without getting a speeding ticket. Traveling threw the Salt River Canyon slow RV's going way to slow, and dumbasses in motorcycles gearing up way too close. A quick stop in Globe to wash our hands and arms, or as I call it a "French Shower", to our suprise the restroom was clean. Yet the town and the people were still ugly and gross.

 The stretch home, nothing but dirt Cactus and a dead skunk. Seriously it was 100 miles of pure "God Took a Dump on this Place" scenery.

 We arrive at my house, I let Aaron get his shit out of my car and load his Jeep. I rush inside to see my Fiancee, smelling as if I was a dead otter. Aaron leaves and Jamie goes to work. I start the washing machine, load cloths smelling of mildew and some odd animal urine, But before it starts, I have to take off the cloths I am wearing.......  it was gross but when I remove the boxers I have been wearing for the last four days, the smell of Fromunda Cheese makes me a bit uneasy. So a quick rush to the shower. A total of fives days  in the dust and grime, the fish slime and food dripping from what I ate, and the sweat from success,  the water from the shower quickly runs down the drain with a sewage tint.

 I am now clean. My nose is red and hurts. I want to sleep. I have to be at work at 1A.M.

 I am going to bed

Kyle- Alex has the photos and is a much better writer than I, He will most likely put the Wrinkleneck 23 fill up here

Super not cool

How many of you watch Swamp People?
Well Alex started watching that show when we lived together and got me into it. As the seasons went on I got more and more hooked. Instantly I have my favorites on the show, Mitch and Glenn Guist. As a tragedy may happen Mitch had passed away.

RIP Mitch

"Swamp People" star Mitchell Guist died on the bayou.

shiny

Sometimes it pays to know the right people. Haha, I'm funny.

Can someone please pass the salt? Haha, I'm funny again.

I was driving down the street today and I passed a lifted Toyota with a big SIMMS sticker next to a G LOOMIS decal on the back glass. The girl driving it was at least an 8. I slowed down to take a better look.

She was way past cute. We pulled up to a red light and she must have felt my piercing stare because she looked over. I leaned out the window with my best smile.

"Do you fly fish?"

"What?" She asked, returning a smile that melted me a little.

"The stickers on your truck." I motioned behind her.

She turned to look where I was pointing at the rear window. The move pulled the shoulder belt tight across her chest and I couldn't help but smile a little bigger and be glad that the lenses of my sunglasses were adequately opaque.

"Oh, haha," she laughed and turned back in her seat. "No I don't fish, this is my husbands truck."

I can't be certain, but I am pretty sure she heard me mumble goddammit under my breath as I rolled the window up.


-Alex who just wants to say good job to the guy with the white lifted Toyota and if you have read this and don't want to punch me in the face lets go fishing. Bring your wife. Haha, I'm funny, again again.

mouth

Take it. Eat it. Put it in your mouth.
Be mean to it, I won't mind. Jump around a little bit. Make it fun.
I wish you would have eaten it the first time. I wish you would have eaten the one that wiggled around on top so enticingly. But whatever.

You still swallowed it down, so thanks for that. Now go tell yer mama what I done, cause I'm gonna tell my friends about this and they are going to smile and laugh and throw high-fives.

We are going to talk about how fat you are, and how much of a fight you put up before finally succumbing to my irresistible pull. But don't be hard on yourself. And don't fret about your weight, we likes 'em chunky, baby. Keep packing on that thinkness, sweetheart. I will be back to check on you.

Now run home. Run home and go cry in your bed and understand that we are careless assholes, but not the worst of our kind. Understand that this will most likely happen again, and next time you might not be so lucky.

Next time, you may end up in someones freezer, or rotting away; stinky in a hot dumpster somewhere. Be weary, my little chubby green angel, there are demons lurking above you in that thinnest of vapor.

 See you again soon and best wishes,
-A

PS You probably shouldn't tell your boyfriend about our time together. I wouldn't want to have to put him in a frying pan with butter and shallots. 

Things you don't see every day. Or ever.

A gentleman donated a couple boxes of old fishing books for auction at an upcoming event of which I am a part. I took it upon myself to catalog these books, and find their current values. Many are first edition, and many are signed.

Here are a few notables:

 Keene, J. Harrington. Fly-Fishing and Fly-Making for trout, Bass, Salmin, Etc. 1898

This book contains 2 plates with 36 original fly tying materials... 1898! Old school.

Just thinking that someone sat down over a century ago to tape some materials from their bench into these books is astounding to me.

accessorize like a man

Like, OMG Karen! It even matches his hip and stylish Patagonia sweater! That guy is so awesome we should take our clothes off in his presence.

It could happen.

-A

WelcomF Cake

Her last words rang in my mind over and over. Like a mystic chant. Like the answer to a prayer as their car sped away.

Here you don’t think about the fact that you haven’t showered this week when you are walking to the bar in the dark with a drink in your hand. You don’t think about time. Only light and dark. Only rain and shine. Only high and low. Is the water in the woods? It looks like it is coming down, yeah? Not really.

Dirty water travels at the speed of inevitability.

The wind was cold all day. The sun seemed to struggle and apologize through the clouds. Twenty-eight when the sun came up. Twenty-eight when the hot dogs huddled for warmth on the small bank-side propane grill. Twenty-eight when the ice cubes chilled the last sip of whiskey in your mouth. Twenty-eight when you set the hook on nothing in particular and wanted to look around and ask someone “why?” but nobody respects a petulant angler so you try hard and keep your mouth shut.

Out in the street the middle-aged women in the silver SUV had asked questions about fishing but we knew what they were really after; It takes a special brand of gal to brake for sweet hot stinky rubber-legged man-meat on the side of the road.

 “We will have cake,” they had said as the car sped away. And something about a birthday party at Bud’s bar… and cake. I remember clearly the part about cake.

It was like a weight lifted. We will have cake. A burden alleviated. We will have cake. Feeling down? We will have cake. Work hard for little to show for it? We will have cake. Empty inside? Fill it with cake.

Steelhead are like the promise of cake by strangers on the side of the road.

We fished and were men in Michigan: Men with bad habits and fly rods and low-fill beers and bacon and Frosted Mini Spooners; Men with strong coffee and stronger wills and a need for water like a shot of whiskey when wet boots are shed on kitchen linoleum; Men who are still and will always be confused about the proper use of the colon and semicolon. Men as real as it gets.

Life in Michigan has a strong nose, with powerful mouth feel and notes of blood and dirt and salt, a sweetness that can sometimes finish bitterly as it slides down your throat and becomes a little more of who you will be when you die. To the refined pallet it is the most delicious nourishment of all.

We walked to the bar that night. We hunted the flavor combinations of our existence under sodium-vapor lamps and past rusty cars to the place called Bud’s. There was no cake. No cake. But it didn't matter for our hearts were full and we dined on friendship and PBR and were lifted by the beauty of things and cohesion and stuff and other happy horseshit and whatever. But seriously, you shouldn’t lie about cake.

-Alex who forgives but never forgets - ladies without cake - but did find some steel:

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