Hey Larry, where in Florida?
Hey Peapod, wouldn’t that make you Peepod?
“Apathy is the Glove into Which Evil Slips It’s Hand”.
i apologize for that, i don’t know what gets in to me
quote:
Originally posted by PeaPodhave fun CL.
oh, and it’s dangerous to carry a weapon. I learned in that other thread to just surrender my guns and rollover and pee on myself if a thug confronts me, you know so I dont get hurt
Another zinger from peapod…
I forgot that everyone on the internet is a gun toting bada$$!
yeah,that assassin sure seems like some bad ass…what does he do again?
I was enjoying these stories so going for a thread revival here. When I was about 10 years old (my wife says all my stories start at age 10), my Grandpa Mac was my outdoor mentor. We had fine times together all throughout Horry County. He had a little two man boat and we bait and bobber fished with bream busters up and down the Waccamaw and PeeDee rivers at least once a week. By then, I’d begun getting Field and Stream, and had been reading all about casting artificial lures for big ol’ bass. So, I talked him into getting me a spincast reel and I dug an old devil horse lure from his rusted box and commenced sharpening hooks. Grandpa Mac didn’t say much about all this activity but I could tell he was a bit wary of these efforts. Still, I ignored it, and was determined to show him I’d learned how to catch the big ones.
It was the first trip with my new rig and we were easing through a little canal ditch off the waccamaw with Grandpa in the bow running the trolling motor. I picked a likely stump and promptly cast the Devils Horse into an over hanging tree limb. I yanked it out of the tree hard, determined not to get hung on my first cast and cause Grandpa to help me retrieve it. That Devil Horse rocket back directly at my gramps, the rear treble perfectly piercing his ear lobe!
I can see him now perched up in the front of the boat, the dead cigar he always chewed jammed in his jaw, and the lure hanging there like an earring, blood streaming down his neck.
Grandpa was pretty calm but I sensed he was a little upset with me. He handed me a pair of side cutters and insisted that I “just cut it out” so we could go back fishing. As a 10 year old boy, I was sitting there imagining how I could cut it out, and wondering if he was young enough to re-grow an ear lobe. I was hesitant or more like frozen in place, my grandfather getting mad now because “daylight is burning” and we’re “waisting the whole morning.”
Fortunately, a wisened old black man came paddling up in a little strip boat and agreed to do the honors. He cut