Kerry S thats hilarious; seems we had the same sort of history teacher. I tried really hard to keep myself together one time while watching the teacher turn into an ape. I left the room when the ape started to pound on my desk...
Mr. Rosiepalmer, I would like to disagree with your statement. Boot has not only gotten our support here on the board, but in the national fly fishing magazines as well. I still don't get what your problem is. Are you pissed because close to every regular member on this forum is entertained by Boots musings? It was about flyfishing, it was on of those stories we all experience on and off of the river which always seem to bring us back physically and/or emotionally to the running water. Just because he didn't tell you where the fish are right now, or what rock to stand on, or what fly to use doesn't mean it wasn't about fishing. Don't start off on this forum by being an asshole. Tight lines.
looks like you might be confused with the other goons thread.
actually you could use something like that (dope) to mellow out.
here is some advice, just let go.......... it's not so hard.
let it go. turn the computer off and go wet a line.
don't be such a dope, you're only comeback is to insult everyone on a generic basis.
i learned so much about the rasta pasta character when you mentioned the dread go in his hair. I want to point out, for reasons of defying stereotypes, that a proper and natural dreadlock uses no added products. anyone with wax in there hair needs to seriously think about motives and learn the lesson of patience. i always enjoy your work wade, and being a young artist i was wondering if you would be willing to critque a short story of mine.
Ok, so belive it or not i don't have a spell checker atm. I also dont really care. Im not a english major, im just putting ideas down. maybe this has some literary worth, maybe not. It is what it is. Enjoy.
As the sun gently illuminated the passing storm on the western horizon he waited. This isn't the first time he has, and it won't be the last. Not yet anyways, he was a warrior inside just like all his brothers and sisters. As the sun settled upon the ocean behind him the currents suddenly shifted. With calm gentle motion he made his way across the point bar as he sensed his home water calling to him. The world was thick with dangerous debris and thick muds, something he was not entirely used to ever since the rivers moved on and everyone started to die. Slow and steady he pushed through the delta weaving along the snake grasses and seeking current seams as he picked his way through the night. As the sun returned he seeked rest at the confluence of the creek that called to him. He wanted to move on, but he know that there would be great struggles ahead. He prepared his entire youthhood for this journey, storing muscle and energy, the earths raw power embodied in his flesh. What he didn't use on the trip upstream was his offering to his children and the forest in which whis world is confined in at the beging and the end of his life. That is when it happened, a small fish bumped into him, drawing his attention away from his ponderings. Intolerant to disturbence in such a spiritual moment of rest before his final duty he quickly attacked the small fish. A sharp pressure ran through his draw and he no longer felt peace with the currents, as the pulled and strained on his jaw he darted about and tried to find out what was happening. He was close he knew, so he decided to continue upstream and preform his rituals. He found it easy to swim agaisnt the pressure and surged upsteam leaping over the small cascades on his first try. The wild instinct in him surfaced as he made a primal rush to the spawning beds. As he arrived the pull went slack, he was again at peace with the currents as he preformed his ritual. Then, as he crept along above the gravel bed, the pull suddenly surged back to life as his tail was grabbed and he was hoisted out of the world. All he could make out was a unicorn, and a rock. The rock was heading right for his head.