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Roger Roger
Another drinking story. This is about a great friend of mine, who is also sober. I'II call him Travis.
Early June, the Vineyard, Travis is fishing the Oyster Pond opening. He's using his 'go to' plug, the red headed bomber. On his fouth cast he hooks a good fish, beaches it. The fish is on the sand and his hands are shaking as he unhooks it. He figures he's got his dream fish, so he loses focus and heads back to his house where he measures it: 53" He doesn't have a scale so he puts the fish in his bath tub and gets all the ice that he can which isn't enough. He's good and buzzed at his point, but decides to run to a bar, where he knows the staff, to get a bunch of ice. On the way to the bar, still drinking, up behind him he sees the lights a' flashing. The cop pulls him over. Travis spens the night in the clink. In the morning he goes home gets his bass heads to Coopers. Up on the scale it goes, forty-nine pounds.
And to this day he keeps saying "what if?...................that was a fifty. weight loss due to...............................
Sorry Travis that's a forty-nine.
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