A Fish Story

Back when I was living in West Virginia, I went fishing one day with my friend Ted and his son, Chuck. We went down to Back Creek, which was near my home and we ended up at this spot that was known locally as "The Waterfront". Yeah, you got me, but that's what the hillbillies called it. Anyway, "The Waterfront" consists of a high cliff wall that was an easy climb down to the creek below. Back Creek was deep enough in this spot to be a popular swimming hole and it was equally popular as a fishing hole. This place was about as close to hillbilly heaven as it gets.

Ted... I loved that guy and I can't help but laugh like hell, whenever I think about him. Ted had transplanted himself from Minnesota and he had the accent to boot. Ja? If you know what I mean. Ted was tall, a bit over six feet, with a curly mop of grey hair that adorned his scalp and a big, bushy porn star of a mustache that was the same steel grey as his hair. Ted was just the sweetest guy ever, just as jolly as could be, but man, that guy was fucking burnt. I'd never imagined that anyone could possibly be stoned twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and three hundred sixty-five days a year, but Ted laid my any doubts that I had to rest. That motherfucker was always fucking stoned. The amounts of alcohol and pot that Ted could consume were absolutely staggering. I was kind of in awe, to be honest.

Chuck, Ted's son, was basically just a shorter, younger version of Ted, with brown hair and without a mustache. Chuck definitely followed in his father's footsteps. Great kid.

The three of us had been at the creek for hours, drinking beer, sippin' corn likker and we probably smoked enough weed to get half of the fucking county stoned. Good times.

Ted and Chuck caught a lot of fish that day, reeling them in one right after the other. Meanwhile, I caught nothing but ridicule. Fucking assholes. Every time that Ted or Chuck would catch a fish, they would look my way, start laughing and give me a huge ration of shit. Those dirty fucking motherfuckers.

This shit was not only intolerable, it was humiliating. I really needed to catch a fucking fish.

After a while, Ted asked me to reel my line back in and I did. He told me that he knew that I was used to salt water fishing, not fresh and he told me that he wanted to check my tackle. Ted adjusted the weight on my line, changed the hook and he changed my bait for shits and giggles I guess, before handing the fishing rod back to me.

I cast my line back out and waited... And waited... And then I fucking waited some more.

Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Son of a bitch.

Those bastards kept right on laughing at me. Motherfuckers kept catching fish, too. I could have shanked a bitch.

I really, really needed to catch a fucking fish or I was never going to be able to live this shit down. It was unbelievable and it seemed that no matter what I did, no matter what I tried, I just couldn't catch a fucking fish. There were times that I cast my line out to virtually the same spots where Ted and Chuck had their hooks in the water and still those fucking pricks managed to catch all of the fucking fish. Fuck me.

Around half past three, my ex-wife showed up, with both of our sons in tow. Anthony, our oldest, was five years old at the time and he jumped out of the car and ran towards me. He was so excited. Anthony loved fishing.

"Hey Dad," Anthony yelled, "Did you catch anything yet?"

Ted and Chuck erupted with fresh gales of laughter. I felt my face burn red from embarrassment.

Fuckers.

"Not yet, buddy," I replied, "But I'm trying."

I really, really, really needed to catch a fucking fish. There was no way that I could allow myself to be humiliated like this in front of my children.

Medusa walked up holding our youngest son Dominic's hand. Dominic didn't seem very interested in what was going on and he certainly didn't give a fuck about fishing. He still doesn't. Now that I think about it, Dominic seems to have that attitude about a lot of things. The not giving a fuck, I mean.

Medusa asked how the fishing was going and those two assholes started laughing again. They told her that they were having a great time, but I evidently had the fishing skills of an old, blind goat, but even an old, blind goat would have surely caught something by now.

Medusa started laughing at me too, that traitorous bitch. Fuckers. They were all fucking fuckers. I was going to show them. Yes sir, I most certainly was. It was on like motherfucking Donkey Kong.

Yeah, why don't you guys go eat a big bag of dicks or something.

I really, really, really, really needed to catch a motherfucking fish.

Anthony asked me if he could fish for a while and I brushed him off, asking him to wait for a little bit. I was going to catch a fucking fish any second now and I just knew it was going to be a whopper, I was sure of it and there was no way in hell that I was going to give up that fishing pole, not until after I had caught my prize..

Ted caught another fish. More laughter and more insults followed. Bitches.

"Please, Daddy," Anthony asked again, "Can I please fish for a little while?"

"In a minute, buddy," I replied.

I was mere moments away from glory, I just knew it.

"Please, Daddy," Anthony said, "It's not like you're going to catch anything."

I looked at my son, startled.

Et tu, Brute?

All of those motherfuckers started laughing at me again.

I felt the sting of Anthony's betrayal like a knife piercing my heart, but I reeled in my line and I attached fresh bait to the hook. As I prepared to cast the line back out and hand the rod to Anthony, I got a queasy feeling deep in my gut. Somehow, I just knew that as soon as Anthony touched that fishing pole, he was going to catch a fish and then my humiliation would be complete. I shook off my premonition and my angst, cast the line back out and I handed the fishing rod over to Anthony.

I don't even think it took ten fucking seconds before Anthony let out a whoop of joy.

"I caught one. I caught one," he yelled excitedly.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Let's just say that someone, and I'm not going to name any names, but someone came very close to getting a combination cliff diving/swimming lesson that day.

Those fucking assholes started laughing at me again and gave me even more shit than they had previously. I felt my face grow red again. I'm sure glad that those motherfuckers were having a good time, because I sure as shit wasn't.

I remember thinking to myself, "That's okay, motherfuckers, y'all are staying for dinner and I'm going to poison your asses. I couldn't poison Medusa, though. That bitch had built up a tolerance over the years, despite my best efforts.

I helped Anthony reel his fish in. He was proud of his catch and rightfully so. Anthony had caught a fairly large striped bass and was excitedly showing it off to everyone, the little shit. Good for him and all, he's my son and I love him, but that little shit had caught what was supposed to be my fucking fish! I had been taken down by a snot nosed kid.

Meanwhile 3/4 of the supposed adults in this story were busy pissing themselves with laughter and it was all at my expense. Yeah, real fucking funny. Assholes. Had our situations been reversed, I'd never have given any of them a hard time. No sir, not me. Honest. Like, cross my heart and shit.
Dejected, I called it quits and I let Anthony continue fishing. He caught another fish and then another. Every time that he caught a fish, my pride and dignity were assaulted and brought down to a new low.

That's fine, motherfuckers, I know how to make bodies disappear.

Around five o'clock we packed it all in and headed back to my house to get cleaned up and grab some grub. Apparently, Ted and Chuck evidently had an immunity to poison as well. Lucky fuckers.

I haven't fished since that day, the scars run too deep.

Fuck fishing.

Catch this...

If you liked this story, here's a link to another one. You won't find this story anywhere else.

The Middle Aged Man and the Sea