About two years ago I received a copy of "Fly, Rod & Reel" as well as some other bass fishing magazine. The subscription was in my name. Most of you know me as a "water" guy... I spend more time in the ocean than I do on land, but I have never gone fishing. So, you can imagine my surprise when I started to receive these publications. At first it was funny... then they just kept coming. Eventually, my comic room mate David started putting them on my pillow when they arrived. I would come home from a long week in New York, Miami or wherever, walk in my cozy room overly excited to sleep in my own bed, only to find a fishing magazine staring me in the face. Sometimes, he would hide them under my pillow and I wouldn't notice for two days (though, not so coincidentally, I would dream of "reeling in the big one"). I started to feel consumed, surrounded, nay... stalked by fish. Despite all my objections, I was slowly turning into a fisherman. On nights of boredom, I'd actually read them. I found them to be a natural alternative to Ambien. You can read one of these magazines and be sleeping like a lamb within five seconds. I still have yet to go fishing, but I can damn sure tell you how to catch that elusive bass. I have become an unwilling expert.
Recently, after having a "few too many" at our local watering hole, David finally admitted to me that he had signed me up for the subscriptions. Apparently he was incredibly bored the day the offer came in the mail. And, I mean... why wouldn't he sign me up?
In the last few weeks, I began receiving reminders that my subscription was running out soon. "Thank the fishing Gods" I thought. I will finally have peace...
Wishful thinking. I came home from my last trip to find a fresh issue on my pillow. Thank you, Dearest David... so kind of you to renew.
"Nice Bass".
