Welcome back to Haiku Monday, where Fish Hack is busy asking, “Who Dat?”
Remember, Fish Hack called it Saints all the way in the preseason. Didn’t bet it at Vegas, but got some Fish Wrap juice out of it.
Besides, who can root against Nawlins?
Colt fans love Peyton./’Aints are now Saints, thanks to Brees.Who Dey think Dey is?
For Haiku Monday virgins, this is the day Fish Hack busts out some non-rhymes about whatever’s on today’s agenda, but all in the form of Japanese poetry fashion. Just a different way to have a few yucks about the outdoors and all that’s Hack-ish in this-here cyber Fish Wrap world.
The Super Bowl always has a strong outdoor twist to it, at least in that double-digit entity called Fish Hack’s Intelligent Quotient.
Indy vs. Nawlin’s. Gotta root for which town brought Hack the better angling experience.
Indy is a nice city … for the Midwest. Visited Indy last January for some Outdoor Hack meetings, and didn’t get to fish. That’s because ice fishing isn’t fishing. It’s nothing more than an excuse to ditch the Wiff and sit in your size XXXL snowmobile suit and drink brandy like it’s …. brandy.
Gulp, wince. Gulp, wince. Gulp/”Go clean out the ice hole, Sven.”/Just why am I here?
But we did go to the best steak house in Indy. Hack ordered the smallest slab on the menu: a 22-ounce ribeye, rare.
“It’s Carnivore Night:”/Eat something someone else killed./ No honor in this.
Now, Fish Hack last visited Lousiana one year after Katrina. Fishing the Gulf south of Nawlins was AWESOME.
Hack and his fellow Oregon Fish Wrappers caught enough red snapper and cobia (for you Norwesters, that’s warm-water lingcod) that we spend $500 shipping home all the fillets.
Hack hosted Taste of Louisiana parties for a year. Fish was sooo good that s0-called friends treated Fish Hack like a … friend.
And the people of Who Dat Nation are Fish Hack’s kinda people.
Drank enough whiskey and slurred enough English while there that the locals dubbed me an Honorary Cajun.
Who Dat? Dat’s Fish Hack./Cajun life: Goal-less, just like Hack’s./Enjoy this moment.
THREE-WORD THURSDAY: Toxic. Phlegm. Donor.
Welcome back to Three-Word Thursday, where Fish Hack is busy polluting the cyber-Fish Wrap with what has disaffectionately been called The Medford Crud by those who are sick with this crap for a couple weeks at a time.
Toxic. Phlegm. Donor.
Raspy cough. Rancid throat, a 45-psi buildup in the nostrils. These are symptoms Fish Wrappers have been handing off to each other like some toxic baton.
Germophobe Bill Kettler, the Fish Wrap’s medical reporter who squats next to Fish Hack, bathes in hand sanitizers just at the sight of me.
He’s not invited to my Phlegm Farm.
Been hacking enough greenery that I either need to get better soon or get an EPA permit for this, umm, discharge.
Lucky the Rogue is rising for a few days and winter steelhead fishing success will be like Fish Hack’s name on the dean’s list in college: non-existent.
Still, that gives Fish Hack plenty of time to reach out to The Donor on the day he leaves his 60s in the dust in favor of Septuagenarianism.
Dude was only 24 when he threw his DNA toward The Host Organism at just the inopportune time to create Fish Hack ‘lo these 46-plus years ago.
He survived Hack’s teen years, the midnight calls for bail, his own immaturity (wrestled my 19-year-old cousin when he was 62. Who woulda thunk he’d break his collarbone?) and 50-some years of sucking down Kools to make the big 7-0.
For his birthday, all Donor says he wants is to play three good games of basketball with his lunchtime buds at work and remember how to get home.
So, let us all raise a can of Ensure. To Donor.
Really, I never coulda done any of it without you.
In other words … It’s your fault, Dude.