TR: Small boy, smallmouth (long)

On Aug 11, 7:51*pm, Ken Fortenberry
wrote:
wrote:
notbob wrote:
The kid's retarded or has premature alzheimers.

Thought I´d seen just about everything on low life stupidity here, but
you just lowered the bar again.

The anonymous racist calling itself notbob is certainly
a piece of low life white trash but you've already set
the bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

--
Ken Fortenberry

You still here Kenny boy? Thought you would be in the men´s room
( sorry, boy´s room) with the Vice President?

Can´t you at least restrict your rubbish to nonsense threads, and not
ruin perfectly pleasant ones?

Mike Connor

http://www.mike1.bplaced.net/Wikka/HomePage

On 11-Aug-2008, wrote:

he bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

--
Ken Fortenberry

You still here Kenny boy? Thought you would be in the men´s room
( sorry, boy´s room) with the Vice President?

Can´t you at least restrict your rubbish to nonsense threads, and not
ruin perfectly pleasant ones?

Mike Connor


Here we go again

wrote:
Ken Fortenberry wrote:
wrote:
notbob wrote:
The kid's retarded or has premature alzheimers.
Thought I´d seen just about everything on low life stupidity here, but
you just lowered the bar again.
The anonymous racist calling itself notbob is certainly
a piece of low life white trash but you've already set
the bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

You still here Kenny boy? ...

Oh yeah, Your Loony Mikeness. I've been here all along.
I don't stomp off in a swishy hissy fit and vow never to
return like you have on too many occasions to count. It's
behavior like that which has me convinced you are indeed
as queer as a three dollar bill. I mean that shoe fits you
perfectly. That and photos of yourself. LOL !!

--
Ken Fortenberry

On 2008-08-11, Ken Fortenberry wrote:

The anonymous racist calling itself notbob is certainly
a piece of low life white trash but you've already set
the bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

Well, lookee thar! Frothy and the nutbag relating to one another in
complete agreement. You all dance to the fiddler with the right song.

(Watching Scotty Grow, Honey, or some other insipid cloying Bobby
Goldsboro tripe softly quavering in the background)

nb

"notbob" wrote in message
...
On 2008-08-11, Ken Fortenberry wrote:

The anonymous racist calling itself notbob is certainly
a piece of low life white trash but you've already set
the bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

Well, lookee thar! Frothy and the nutbag relating to one another in
complete agreement. You all dance to the fiddler with the right song.

(Watching Scotty Grow, Honey, or some other insipid cloying Bobby
Goldsboro tripe softly quavering in the background)

Well, it took a while but I, for one, never doubted that if you stayed here
long enough you'd find something to look back on with great pride and
satisfaction. Your accomplishments thus far in this thread beggar
description. I mean, dissing a two year old was bold and ambitious
enough.....but who'da thunk that someone of such modest moral and
intellectual means could actually get kennie and mikie wound up......all by
himself!?

Wolfgang
who sits patiently and admiringly at the master's feet awaiting further
enlightenment......and doubts not that it will be worth the time.

On Aug 11, 8:18*pm, notbob wrote:
On 2008-08-11, Ken Fortenberry wrote:

The anonymous racist calling itself notbob is certainly
a piece of low life white trash but you've already set
the bar beneath lower than low, Your Homophobic Looniness.

Well, lookee thar! *Frothy and the nutbag relating to one another in
complete agreement. *You all dance to the fiddler with the right song.

(Watching Scotty Grow, Honey, or some other insipid cloying Bobby
Goldsboro tripe softly quavering in the background) *

nb

Which nutbag, asshole?

On Aug 11, 12:57 pm, notbob wrote:
On 2008-08-11, Steve Cain wrote:



The kid's retarded or has premature alzheimers.


Nope. I asked the pediatrician. Apparently all two-year-olds do that.
Who knew?

On Mon, 11 Aug 2008 10:31:42 -0700 (PDT), Steve Cain
wrote:

On Aug 11, 12:57 pm, notbob wrote:
On 2008-08-11, Steve Cain wrote:



The kid's retarded or has premature alzheimers.


Nope. I asked the pediatrician. Apparently all two-year-olds do that.
Who knew?

I did...no, I didn't stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, but I did
read ROFF...

HTH,
R

Steve Cain wrote:
I took Henry fishing Sunday. ...

Sweet TR, thanks for sharing.

--
Ken Fortenberry

On Aug 11, 6:20*pm, Steve Cain wrote:
I took Henry fishing Sunday. It was the first time he and I have gone
out to fish together, alone. We've been out as a family where he and
his mother would play together while I stole a moment to fish, but
never where he and I went out with the express purpose of fishing.
He's two years old, and I feel anxious that I need to start fishing
with him, to start building a fishing buddy right away. My head knows
that he'll pick it up or not, depending on his personality. My hearts
thinks he's going to be a fishing prodigy if only we start right now.

We took the backpack and my four weight and set off in Daddy's Jeep.
He likes the Wrangler because he sits up high enough so he can see out
the windows. In Mommy's car, he can't see out, so het gets bored and
makes her play "The Wheels on the Bus" ad infinitum. On the ride, I
put on "Wish You Were Here" and sang along. When that was over, we
talked about choo choo trains, garbage trucks and fire house.

At the county parking lot, I put on my wading boots and strung my rod,
with running commentary from Henry about Daddy's boots, Daddy's
fishing pole, the river and his toy moving van. I have a nice solid
frame backpack made by Kelty with a mostly enclosed canopy. I buckled
him in and hoisted him up. We were an amphibious vehicle capable of
extended (well, two hours or until the apple juice runs out) forays
into the wilds.

"Daddy, that's the bridge!"

"Yes, Henry, that's the bridge over the creek. It has a six-ton weight
limit"

"Bridge over the creek with six tons?"

"Yes, Henry.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"We going fishing? On the bridge?"

"No, we're going fishing under the bridge."

"We going fishing on the creek?"

"Yes, Henry."

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

The Neshaminy is shallow and slow at the bridge, calf-deep mostly with
an occasional knee-deep hole. I hadn't tried the backpack wading, so I
made sure that at worst, all we'd get is wet. The backpack really does
a good job of putting his additional thirty-two pounds in manageable
places. We're top heavy, but not unbalanced.

The clouds were low and moving quickly, so I figured this would be
good - we'd have to go before he got bored and forced me to leave the
fishing. We stepped into the water.

"The water feels good, Henry."

"Water feels good?"

"Yes. Nice and cool."

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

The water is clean and clear, without much scum. The rocks on the
bottom have a little crud on them, not enough to make them slippery or
raise much of a mud cloud behind us, and you can clearly see them. I
showed him the bright yellow #8 cork popper, carefully explaining the
hook and the rubber legs and why it’s called a popper.

"Watch the popper, when I give it a tug, it makes a noise.”

“Popper makes noise in the water. Fish in the water.”

“That’s right, the fish are in the water.”

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

We flipped the popper towards the shore, floating it over rocks and
weeds. The clouds got a little lower and a little thicker and a little
darker. Henry had some juice.

“Watch the popper, Henry. The fish will come up to get it.”

“Fish in the water? Popper and fish in the water?”

“Yes. The fish and the popper are both in the water. The fish will try
to eat the popper, and then we’ll catch him.”

“Daddy catch fish in the water?”

“We’re going to try.”

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

Ahead, something breached. Never one to refuse a rise, I finished the
drift and sent a cast.

“Watch, Henry, I just saw a fish!”

Before he could say anything, a fish came out of the water as it took
the popper. It jumped and splashed and fought. I stripped line.

“Henry, we caught a fish! Look at the fish fighting in the water!”

“Fish in the water?”

“Yes!”

I brought it close and lipped the smallmouth. It was about a foot
long, hooked in the corner of its mouth. I slipped the popper out and
held it up for Henry to admire.

“We caught a fish, Henry, a smallmouth bass.”

“It a smallmouth bass?” He lisped the double ess.

“Yes.” I put the fish back in and started cleaning up the tangled
line. A big kersploosh right next to my leg: the toy moving van took a
dip.

“Daddy, get moving van.”

I drained it out and handed it back.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

We fished a little more, but the clouds got a little lower and a
little thicker and a little darker. Some thunder started to roll.

“We have to go home now, Henry. We’re getting a thunderstorm soon.”

“Thunderstorm? Fish in the water?”

“Yes, it is going to rain, but the fish don’t mind.”

“All done fishing?”

“Yes, we’re all done fishing.”

“Water nice and cool?

“Yes, it is.”

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I'm taking you fishing, Henry."

"Henry going fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right."

We waded back slowly to the Jeep.

At home, Mommy asked how we did.

“Mommy, Henry go fishing with Daddy.”

“Did you catch anything?” she asked.

“Daddy catch smallmouth bass in the water!”

Pause.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"I just took you fishing, Henry."

"Henry go fishing with Daddy?"

"That's right." Henry went fishing with Daddy.

Very very nice, an instant classic. Make sure you get some photos. I
cant remember anything that happened before I was about 5 or 6 years
old, but I have seen the photos of my dad fishing with me.

Treasures.

Mike Connor

http://www.mike1.bplaced.net/Wikka/HomePage