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The Tarpon Wrangler (Mitchman)

Just thought it would be fair to warn you fellas that BK has spent the last few months at Fly Rod boot camp. The Fly rod has become an extension of him. BK is to his fly rod what Jimmy Hendrix was to his guitar, what Picasso was to his paint brush or what Shulkin is to the bedazzler rhinestone applicator. (
If BK, the Tarpon Assassin, has anything to say about it, you fellas are in for a world of hurt out there.

Lish Munchen

Scuse me Mister Tarpon wrangler... imagine if you will, a freezing cold Ithaca night, mid March... a tiny white orbs speeds up and away, out of control, not meant to be possessed by any civilized laxer... it seems destined for the fences perhaps thrown away by a freshman who just got leveled or perhaps by a Wiseman who thought it was appropriate to crank it from half field... when LO... the 6 ft long stick is extended by a salt n pepa defenseman on tippy toes... outstretched... and yes, the ball is caught through sheer wrist strength, coordination, and raw desire. He wanted it more. And he got it... when the mysterious laxer asked "Did you see that? Did anyone see that? Holy Shit I just made the sickest catch!" Nobody replied. The heartbroken salt n pepa laxer decided to "turn the page" as he says, and went into commercial real estate. Sad story really... that is, until he had his chance to go flyfishing. Those wrists... Good God man. Took in a 47 pounder, cried for days, and never returned to New York City again.

The Tarpon Wrangler (Mitchman)

'Lish, I think you are onto something. BK has been looking for a reason to move to the Sunshine State for years. The only thing he loves more than Phish Albums (he recently referred to "Picture of Nectar" as the best make out album of all time) is low rider trucks w/ a copious amount of neon. I think we all know where a vast majority of said trucks reside.

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