New Year, New Fish!
OK, so I attended the traditional family Christmas celebration, where my lovely grandniece, through no fault of her own, apparently was the carrier that brought a special gift to a good portion of the extended family.
That is, the dreaded LEFT NOSTRIL CRUD.
That’s right, first it struck my brother-in-law. Then my oldest sister. Then me. Then my other brother-in-law. Yesterday, my son was showing the unmistakable signs. By the time New Years Eve rolled upon us, nearly half the family was afflicted by the insidious condition.
The strange thing is that it affected virtually each of us exactly the same way. It starts with a clogged left nostril. Not both nostrils, not the right nostril. No it starts with the left nostril. And soon the clog becomes a drip like a leaky faucet. And the drip becomes a run, more like a broken faucet. That lasts a day or so. Then it gets worse.
Eventually it hits every orifice known to drip, and a few that aren’t. Fevers, chills, sweats, hallucinations. Heck, if I was younger I might even enjoy the ride. Not now.
I have never seen such a strange phenomenon as the left nostril crud. Have any of you out there acquired it? I am not sure, but the foil in our hats may have lost the protective qualities it used to afford. Surely, this is something brought on by some subversive plot by a mega-pharmaceutical company, or, (gasp!) the GOVERNMENT!
Or maybe, just maybe, it is even more disturbing than that. Could it be that one of the teams in the upcoming ifish Sturgeon Derby, or even multiple teams, fearing the all powerful MOJO of team YakaWuWe, is planting sickness into the tribe? The Catchless and Eatless one knows where I live. The Nickleman and his crew fear the ground the Yakawuwe walk on. Get Bent knows he can’t hide from us. Could it be a coordinated offensive?
Just last night, I am fairly certain I saw the Black Choppers again, and this morning as I put the dog out in back, I saw tracks in the snow. The untrained eye might have thought they were raccoon prints, but were they really made by a herd of very small elk?
Ahh, but I digress. The point of this is not to uncover the conspiracy to prevent team YakaWuWe from being in top form for the upcoming ifish Sturgeon Derby by creating havoc for the team anchor, AKA SturgeonMaster. No, the point of this is much deeper than that. I am going to catch a fish!
New Years Eve, I planned to get up near first light, walk out to the Willie, place the gear in, hook up to the rig, and go catch a couple of Clackamas, errrr Tualatin, Steelies, to round out 2003.
And that is how things started. Right up to the point where I pulled the boat out from its special storage spot. All would have been fine had the magnetically attached cable alarm system that allows the wrapping around the boat, trailer and kicker not been still attached.
Ooooops. As soon as I pulled the boat forward, the neighbors immediately knew the alarm works splendidly well, as the siren inside the house rang out in its full 135-decible splendor for everyone’s great enjoyment.
Couple hundred ought to cover the cable replacement. Do not ask me how I know this.
The phone was ringing from the alarm company before I could even get in the door, let alone disable the alarm. Seems not much is going on in the way of high crime on mornings that it is so slick and icy out that the perps would have to wear golf spikes just to run away. As I answered the phone, I remembered they were going to ask for an alarm code. Alarm code. Hmmmmm…
“What is the code word?” a youthful voice asked.
“Hmmmm… rutabegga?” (weak chuckle), I said.
“What?”
“Guess not. How about you notice I turned the alarm off and leave me alone. Thanks for checking”
“We’ll dispatch immediately. You sound like you have a hell of a cold, Mamm”
“Gee, thanks. That’s Mr. Mamm to you, Butterball.”
It seems the police had not much in the way of high crime to be investigating either because by the time I thought I had finally convinced the alarm company I really was the sap who writes a damned check every month just to take the abuse they were giving me, two patrol cars and an unmarked were already blocking the driveway.
It was then I noticed the uniformed officer unsnapping the leather safety holding his sidearm in the holster as he got out of the car. And right then I knew this was going to be another yet another situation requiring tactful grace. Not my forte’.
Great.
“Good Morning, Officers,” I said, hopefully, as I ermerged from the house.
“You live here?” the biggest, oldest and obviously most in charge person asked.
“Yes I do,” I answered in my most professional voice, while thinking, Whaddya think, dude? You think I am a perp trying to steal this boat, but I just hung out to say hello to you guys after the caper went awry by waking every person within 2 square miles of here?
I noticed that the three officers had slowly surrounded me, with my back against the closed garage door.
“Wow! You sound and look like Hell. Are you all out of breath from running? You tellin’ us that you were going to take that boat out fishing while you look like that? In fact, sir, have you been drinking?”
“Yes. I mean no! I mean yes and no. Look, I didn’t know that having bleary, bloodshot eyes, a red nose and a septum that is rubbed horribly raw constituted grounds for suspicion of drinking.” As these words came out of my mouth, I realized how I had really blown it when I I made the fateful decision to get out of bed that morning.
“Yes and no? Hmmmm.... Do you have any identification, sir?”
“Yes I do. It is right here. Oh Oh, I mean it was right here. It is in the house now because I got my wallet out to get the alarm code word for the alarm company. I left it in there. I’ll go get it for you.”
“NO! YOU STAY RIGHT THERE!”
OOOOPS again. I realized the next question was coming before it ever left the officer’s mouth…
“If you dug into your wallet to get the special alarm code word out, why didn’t the woman talking on the phone to the alarm technician say what it was?”
“There was no woman! That was me.” (coughing phlegm now all over my sweatshirt)
“Whoa, you got emphysema or something there, sport? So what is the code, and why were you impersonating a woman?”
“I WASN’T!!”
"That is not the code, sir."
I then made the mistake of sneezing on the officer’s shirt.
“Sir, did you know that you could be charged with assaulting a police officer and you are responsible for damages to an officer’s apparel?”
Why do they always refer to themselves in the third person, I wondered?
“Sorry, officer.” I was feeling exhausted and nauseated now, weakened by fever and emotional turmoil. “Can we go inside and sit down to work this out?”
“NO! YOU STAY RIGHT THERE!”
I realized that the officers were all now in their “ready” positions. Two had hands on their nightsticks, while the lead officer had his hand on his handheld mic and was talking back to HQ.
This was not going well.
As it turned out, the entire neighborhood was now gathered in the street, watching with typical, morbid train-wreck curiosity, when I got my first break. Sammy, my next door neighbor, walked up to us, and asked me why the hell I woke her dogs up. She cursed me, then promptly walked her malamute over to my front porch, and placidly watched, as he deposited the rather large remains of what was obviously a full spaghetti dinner, right on the doormat.
“Good Gus,” she cooed.
When the officers saw her actions, it became clear that I must actually live at the house.
They gave me a stern warning about drinking and driving, told me I had better not be covering for the woman in the house, said that I would be getting a dry cleaning bill and gave me a parting shot by mentioning that it would be tough to go fishing with a flat tire on my trailer anyway.
Huh? It wasn’t flat before they got there…
Sweating profusely. I took the tire off and ran it to Lester’s place, where they found no leak but cheerfully refilled it for me, though they gave me the “Hair in the soup look,” as I wheezed and sneezed my way through the waiting area.
By the time I got it back on the trailer it was time for a nap.
I woke up about ten minutes later. At least I thought so at first. I meant to go at 7. It was 9. AM, PM, what the heck? 14 hours and darkness had returned.
But by golly, Gas Jockey called me in the middle of my stupor today. He wants to go tomorrow. His boat. I can (cough cough) hardly wait!
Watch out, Yaka, and Wu-Man. They may be coming for you next!
2004 is going to be a great year!
[ 01-01-2004, 10:36 PM: Message edited by: Hogmaster ]
New Year, New Fish! (And/or, how I closed out the old)
skrimmy
Now that had to be your finest story yet Hogmassa!
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