A woman friend of mine recently asked me, “Why do men seem to enjoy sending pictures of themselves holding large fish to everyone?” Now, I have fished pretty much all over the world and I have sent my fair share of such photos and I don’t have any reason for doing it. I guess there’s the obligatory bicep and deltoid shots that always are helpful? (At least I think it is a turn-on for women.) Then there’s the, “I can provide food” idea? I was wondering if you have any ideas?
— What’s That Smell?
It’s your shorts, man. Did you microwave them in fermented herring?
With Silverfish’s inquiry to my inbox, he attached photos of himself holding his sea friends after a trip to Fiji, including walu walu, tuna, trevally, barracuda and mackerel varieties.
That’s what he called them.
I called them sushi with eyeballs, tacos with a chin, chowder with genitals, ceviche with gills, gumbo with an asshole, paella with ovaries, etc.
The photos were neat, but it didn’t cross my mind to download them, flip through them and rub one out during a midnight snack of canned sardines and warm church wine. The fantasizing was more along the lines of rolling them in seaweed and rice. Deep-frying catfish nuggets. Making it rain roe. Searing tuna in ponzu sauce. Soaking lobster in I Can’t Believe It’s Not Lemon Garlic Butter. Tartar sauce. Shrimp. Cod. Crab. Shrimp. Lobster. Shrimp. Lobster. Shrimp. ROE.
Exhaling cigarette smoke.
Congratulations on your catches? I don’t know. I’m not a golfer.
I will say the size of your fish are impressive, pal, but I’m sad to report that arm muscles don’t soak my granny panties.
It’s what’s behind that dead fish carcass — rather, what kind of staying power does the floppy piece of river pork behind that dead fish carcass sustain? Can it set sail without busting a leak three minutes into the journey?
Also, “I am man, I get food” doesn’t work. The best of us can hit up the grocery store or stumble into 7-Eleven and order everything on the grill: “I’ll have all the thingssss, including that ground pig asssshole.”
“Ma’am, that hot dog has been rotating since yesterday morning.”
“Ssssh. Do you take Cressst White Stripss?”
There is no harm in showing off your trophies. You worked hard to hook, line and sinker that fat piece of sea meat, unhook your line from its jaw and give it a quick rub and tug.
Plus, you like fishing.
Now, will you skin and de-bone those fuckers so I can glaze them with ginger already?
Let’s wrap this advice with some seaweed and a PETA PSA: Don’t red-paint me. I only have like three outfits that I rotate and I can’t afford to look like I used my tops for tampons.
God. Whose tuna salad do I have to toss around here?