Nolan Breslin
I love fishing I always have I think it’s dope as hell to sit by the water for 2 to 3 hours and just watch fish mindlessly grab your bait just to get fried up in a pan 3 hours later. Now while fishing is pretty fun on its own. Put in a bunch of 60 to 70-year rednecks fishing gets 10 times more entertaining. Let me set the scene for you last weekend at like 3 in the afternoon, I drove down to the river to fish for like 3 to 4 hours before I went on my weekend drunken bar push.
After an hour of being there, I see a man pull up in a beat-up elevated F-150. He looks exactly how u might expect a stained white shirt, dirty jeans, cowboy boots, and a Budweiser hat. As soon as he got out he screamed in a thick country accent “Any luck today their son”, I responded, “Nah not too much man”. As he proceeded to walk down with a cooler and case of buds. Let me tell you though while I love fishing I am an extremely poor fisherman and I can sometimes go a whole day without catching jack-shit. But let me tell you as soon as this old man slammed at least two to 3 beers, and put some of his “Secret Bait” on his rod, this motherfucker was catching everything.
While I was there for an hour and had no luck, within half an hour this motherfucker had already filled up half his cooler and my ass was stunned. This man was the literal embodiment of “women love me, fish fear me”, and I didn’t know what to say. After about an hour of witnessing this pure onslaught, I had to ask this old man how the hell he was catching so many damn fish. And he literally said 8 words to me that I’ll never forget “ I don’t know, im just too damn good”, after that he offered me a couple of his brews and he turned about to be a pretty damn cool guy who worked at the lumber mill five minutes from where I live.
After like 6 or 7 more beers the unnamed man got back in his car rightfully hammered, and drove off into hillbilly heaven never to be seen again. After this whole ordeal my night was forever changed, I didn’t even want to get drunk with my friends knowing how absolutely dickslapped I got fishing that day with a mid 60’s redneck who worked at the lumber mill. In conclusion, I haven’t been fishing since for fear of getting absolutely curb-stomped by the true fishing god.
