Jun 14 2010 12:01 am

dear big brown trout

I hear you in that corner, slurping big mayflies one after another.  I can’t get to you.  If I did get to you, I wouldn’t be able to tell anyway because it’s fucking dark.  So just eat my fly already.  I’m sure you don’t realize this, but you’re just another hum-drum cog in a hum-drum machine, eating one widget all day and shittin’ out another.  Big, noble brown trout.  Mr. Fancy pants. 

Blue blood fuck. 

Everything is a cog or a widget and most things are both, like loss and love and getting told by your new neighbors that you shouldn’t park on the side of the street facing the wrong way.  “It’s so you don’t have to drive the wrong way when you pull out.”  Thanks.  You’re a big help there Mrs. Little Urban Planner Achiever Award.  I imagine racially you’re pretty cool, but as far as where I park on this extremely not busy street with only a couple houses on one side, I think I can manage. 

(I do have a fishbeer sticker on my car so it’s possible my neighbor will read this)

For what’s it worth dear neighbor, I appreciate the fact that I am now much less likely to get a ticket. I also have a legitimate problem with people telling me what to do.  So despite my protestations, I appreciate the heads up and believe that over time you’ll find I’m not actually as difficult as some people may claim.

(Don’t shit where you eat my friends, all’s well that ends well, I truly believe this will have cleared things up and neighbors can’t read parenthetical asides either way, well known fact).  


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