| fishpoopoo |
06-28-2007 04:37 PM |
Got this from a seriously deranged individual on another fishing site.
I have to say, I agree with this person's sentiment 100%. All the circumstances discussed were personally witnessed by this guy:
Quote:
Dear Beach-Poopin Litterbug Poacher,
I very much enjoyed watching you (and your vast extended family from Lowell, MA) last season crowding some scenic rockpiles doing your level best to relieve southern New England of its pesky scup population.
And it was quite a blast to see your wife/girlfriend squat down in broad daylight to defecate in plain sight (good form). Thanks to her, I shed a few pounds, as I had strangely lost the urge to stuff my face with food. Next time, you should remind her to bring some toilet paper (most civilized people use this admittedly bourgeois convenience). While I'm sure that ratty old sweatshirt came in handy, it must have been hard on the posterior. And, I didn't thank you for your generosity - leaving that smudged sweatshirt for some other needy soul to wear (never know how cold it gets around here in July) was mighty kind of you. By the way, I have a lovely digital photograph of your gal in mid-squat. I even managed to match her to the license plate of her car (what can I say, I’m a shutterbug...I know, I must have looked like a Japanese tourist). I won’t post the picture here since this is a family-friendly forum and it would excite all your kinfolk back at home.
I tell ya, it was like watching a National Geographic documentary. In the wild.
I wanted to also thank you for your diligence in policing up your trash. Recall that I said hello and offered you a large trash bag to pick up your instant noodle bowls, bait wrappers, glass beer bottles, cigarette cartons, soiled baby diapers, and discarded fishing line. I guess you didn't really need the bag, since you had plenty of those red plastic baggies that every vendor in Boston Chinatown carries, and I appreciate that you went to the trouble of tossing all the debris into the Atlantic Ocean instead of leaving it on the rocks (good idea).
I'm glad you didn't have to exert yourself packing all that stuff out. Yup, that 100 foot walk back to the parking lot can seem like miles on hot day, especially if you're loaded down with all that scup. And you're right, damn those regulations, they don't apply to you. And if someone asks ... I love the fact that you can duck the issue with a clever "me speak no Engrish." Man, I wish you fellas were just as good at poaching plovers as you are marvelously skilled at scuppin'.
I hope you don't mind, but after you left I went to the trouble of nudging your gal's brown offering to the side of the trail (*sniff* ... mmm... fermented fish paste). You see, Mr. Hanky is a little tough to dig out of korkers when it gets all dry and cakey. And as much as I like pho as any other guy, I'm trying to cut down on poo.
Oh, by the way, some of the inhabitants of The Avenues have renamed a few roads in honor of you. "Poop Rock Road" has a wonderful ring to it, a nice foil to the typical starched-collar Old World New England appellation. Celebrate diversity I say!
I truly enjoyed watching you poach, poop, and litter. Whenever I drive into the area, the locals think I am capable of doing the same exact thing (would that we all live up to your impossibly high standards). Look forward to seeing you do more of the same when it comes time to poach tautog off the rocks in the fall.
Sincerely,
Piscatorial Micturition
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