Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


Your Fishing Report for Saturday, March 20.
This morning was the first this year warm enough for me to fish. I know this is the Diary of Indignities and not the Diary of Triumphs, but today I'm all a-flush with the glow of hard-won battle (kind of like Conan) and feel like bragging a little.

The path to fishing lies fraught with danger and flecked with adventure. Who knows what lies ahead? Maybe God.

It's quiet today... A little too quiet, if you ask me...

...AAARGH! And now I know why! The first cast brings up a poisonous Green Dragon fish, one of the most deadly creatures ever to swim the seven seas. Here you can see it bare its awful fangs as it tries to spray me with an incapacitating venom.

Here's a shot of my gear. I stride into battle wearing a utility belt that includes dozens of complex gadgets and items designed to meet whatever challenges may befall me, much like Batman. Only without the mask, cape, years of honing my combat skills, fat inheritance, night time, crime fighting, cool car, butler, fancy spotlight, secret cave or curious relationship with a much younger man.

Action strikes! It's Orca, the killer whale! Or, as many salty old sea dogs call him, "the great white shark of the sea."

Today is a good day to die.

And again, action! Another brutal battle. But it's all worth it, for the tribe will feast on my efforts for many moons.

Shrimpy? Shrimpy, are you OK? ...Shrimpy? No... No! Oh God, Shrimpy! What have they done to you?! Where's your head, Shrimpy?! Your fucking head! No! Noooooooo!

Here you can see me molesting a crab. Fear me, crab, for I am your lord and master! Ah hah hah hah hah haaaaah! ...Hmmm, "lord of the crabs." Wasn't that an Aerosmith song?

The bleached skeleton of a friendly dolphin, likely picked clean by a school of voracious pirhana. Nobody likes to see this kind of shit, but you gotta accept it — it's the law of the jungle. Or, uh, the ocean. Whatever.

Skill and patience are rewarded, as I catch a toothsome Frozen Hot Pocket fish. One of nature's tastiest animals, to be sure.

Here I peel back the creature's thorny carapace, the better to get at the delicious morsels of flesh inside.

This bird came up and was like, "Hey man, check it out, I got what you need." More than a little suspicious, I asked, "What are you talking about, crazy bird?" He replied, "Smack, man. Horse. White lady! Just a little pinch of sweet powdered sugar and all your cares and worries drift away in snowy dreams, baby!" Uh oh — I knew what this was all about. Drugs! "Get away, bird!" I yelled. "I don't need your crummy smack to have a good time! I can have fun in life without crutches, just by believing in myself!" Then I ran and told the nearest authority figure, in this case beloved TV anchorman Walter Cronkite.

Deploying my robot arm during a fight with a dangerous Albanian Fuckfish.

This was novel — a rare encounter with the mythical Kraken, a fearsome sea-beast responsible for turning many a sailor's wife into a poor, wretched widow.

The battle with this obscene monster rages. I hoot my chilling war cry while grasping the fiend's mighty jaws.

Can you taste the victory? I can.


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