Artly There News and Blues : You won't read it or hear about it anywhere else.
(There's a reason for that.)
Greetings.
February, 2005 Edition
Callers, Waiters, and True Stories
July 20, 2002 Edition (and don't expect them that often)
Plyfoot, Himnoch , and Peeping
July 19, 2002 Edition
Boeing, Bin, Dear, Moral, and Bivalves
(Before and After, with grip texture added)
Horsus Hazzlo (shame on mama) recently had an incident where he was using a pneumatic hammer during a home construction project. Poor Horzzus (ah, whatever) managed to nail his foot to the piece of plywood he was standing on. Screaming in pain, but quite stuck, the situation was made worse in that quick extraction was made near impossible by the addition of a washer extension on this particular nail, which made it into the tarsus bone of his foot, and lodged quite comfortably.
Horsefus ( whatever) did what anyone trapped in his situation would do...he grabbed a saw, eying his painful foot. As he began to cut, he was surprised by the lack of blood. Continuing on, he was delighted to see that actual progress was being made. After a time, his foot came right on up, 'cause Horsefuss had clear cutted around that plywood sole.
Years later, still sporting the plywood sole, which he refitted annually with new, using fine wood glues, Horzas Hasslo would remark, "Some people say I am stupid. That I could just have cut the nail or something. Maybe gone to a doctor. I say I am not. [stupid] I haven't had to buy a new shoe for this foot since."
Some people.
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Himnoch Clatchen, a local fisherman to the these parts, by way of Croanitia, suffered a most embarassing of calamities recently. He was caught by a fish.
Poor Himnoch, Old Man and The inland Sea (reservoir). Using a mini-rod and reel, because it gave him good jigging technique, his day was going fine. At first. During a big swell caused by a bunch of enebriated houseboaters (good going, law enforcement) he was thrown off balance while baiting his hook, and got it stuck right through his head when trying to catch his balance. (Catch.. Haha) . That would have been bad enough for most people. We are, however dealing with Some People. :)
Himnoch also dropped his rod into the water during this excursion from stability, and it went down to the depths, leaving a fine line tied to his head as the reel free-spun the line out, being that it was set to cast.
Normally, this isn't cause for worry. But again...
Hammock followed the tradition of the Croanitian people when fishing...that is, your bait bag is tied to the reel area of the rod for easy access. This practice evolved from the homeland huddles around the ice fishing holes there. Regardless of origin, it was soon to have dire unforeseen consequences.
Humnock's prey that day (Prey, haha, better pray) was Striped Bass. Which in this reservoir could grow way on up in the poundage dept. The biggest muckin' fish one could hope to avoid that particular day came upon that bait bag, and was not spared the rod.
The act of swallowing also knocked the rod from cast mode to reel-it-in mode. And it begain to swim like it never had before.
Hymnott was tied tight now. He looked up in horror as he saw that line tighten up. The water bubbled ominously. It swelled erotically. He feared Godzilla was coming up from the depths. As that line tightened, so did the knot in his stomach. It started as a square type, but soon became a half-hitch.
That Fish, as it would come to be known, was about to get in some Big Fish Revenge for the brethen. Years of Hookworm affliction were about to be redeemed.
Horsecow was being towed around by his head! And it hurt! Hoosnok was being dragged mercilessly. Weaved around. Tow'ed si'do'ed all around the water.
As he was thrashed around all over wave-swelldom, he cussed and cussed that fish. The fish just laughed in that bubbly way they can do. It flipped a finn-ger at him. It enjoyed itself. This was high living. Fillet of Kharma. And as that fish came around for one last pass, and Hosnock screamed in fear...an evil idea came into it's head...one that would leave another lasting impression. Not the Creme De Le Creme, he would save that for his fish hussies...No, Himmot deserved Something Better.
Fishnock was at this point swearing up a blue streak. His head hurt, his boat was beaten, and he wondered what new career he would have to take up if his head was lost to Fish. Just as Fish pulled hardest, he felt the line slack...it was coming toward him! "Oh crud", he thought. "That thing is going to dive deep and take me with it!".
But just as it got to the boat, there was a mighty leap, and that big ol' fish puked up the rod, and bait, and spewed it all over Himnoch. It also left him one other gift, one which managed to make its way right into Himnock's mouth like fish bait on a good day does to a fish. One which would deliver, and keep on delivering.
Baitmouth was now...Number 2 in the world. Filled of Dreams. Fish dreams in this case. It smelled horrible. It was chewy disgusting. It reeeked of ickiness. And it was in his mouth, and going down.
Poor Himpnock, now captain of the poop deck, let out a mighty bellow, hoping for one last fish curse that would really cleanse him of his embarassment in the finest literal sense...but all that came out was "BASS TURD!"
Be careful for what you fish for. You just might get it.
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Chuzz Nockrin was recently arrested for peeping through his neighbors window. He is fighting the charge, because being that it was out on the street, having recently been replaced by a dual-pane, he can't really understand the problem with what he did.
(It's the law dude! It ain't about intelligence. Be glad you weren't nabbing recycle bin stuff! )
Artly There News and Blues is Copyright 2002 Artly There.com and Robert Covington. Names weren't changed to protect anyone. Any resemblance to real or actual stories is purely good luck on our part.
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Transmogrified July 20, 2002
Updated July 22, 2002
