Hit Awl Duppinds on the Bate a Feller Yoozes

Not at All Coy

Thaze fellers hool tell yuh thet carp aint wurth aitin. Them foaks’ll say, “Em air fish liv in mud, an ay tace lack mud.”

Doant go lissnin tuh nun of at air nonscents. Carp is fan aitin, iffen a feller traits em rat. Hits moast kriticle tuh put jiss a spunefull of thuh ole hillbilly’s speshul rokkit fule mash in yore skillit hwin yuh frah em up. Hittle maik at air carp jist as smuthe as sikk an dee-lishus.

Ennywaze, wun aivnin a fyew daze ago, thuh ole hillbilly got hizzeff a hankrin fer sum carp. Thaze a hoal passle of em down in Laik Calhoon, so Ah got muh cane poal an sum corn fer bate an heddid off down tuh the laik.

Now, hwinnivver thish hyar ole hillbilly goze summers rown bowt, Ah moas jinrully hed thew the naibers’ bakyards. Ah go rown, maikin shore foaks’ back dores iz lockt an at air aint nuthin rown at a burgler mat stail. An iffen Ah dew fand ennythang lack at, Ah taik it back hoam fer saif-kaipin.

So Ah wuz stroallin thew the yards, an Ah spad a liddle pond. Ah stopt an lookt in, an hit wuz chock full of carp–big uns, long az muh arm an thick as thuh hed of a tawk-show hoast.

Now, thay wuz kanly odd lookin. Thay wuz awl kands of cullers. Sum wuz kanly orinj; sum wuz hwat; sum wuz awl mixt up, with orinj an hwat an aivin bloo.

But hit didden madder. They wuz carp, plane as plane kin be.

So Ah bated up muh hook an thoad it in. Purdy soon, Ah had ate er nan of em air funny-lookin carp land up sad me in the yard.

Ah wuz jiss taikin anuther offen the hook hwin thish hyar feller come tairin owt thuh howse, yellin his hed off.

Ah wuz tairbull confyoozed. Ah thot thay warnt nobawddy hoam.

But hyar he wuz, an ole ball-haided feller a-wairin sum plad pants, his faice a-turnin a nass shaid of cranbury.

Jiss hwat in tarnaishun dew ewe thank yore a-dewin? he shouted.

Ahm jist a-fishin, Ah sedd. Ah didden see no no-fishin sans.

No-fishin sans!

Izz air a ekko rown bowt? Ah axed.

Ewe dern fool! Ewe caint fish fer em air fish! Em air fish is coy!

Ah lookt at him an shook muh haid. Coy? Em air fish aint coy. Feller jist has tuh yooze thuh rat bate.

His ahz goggled owt, an he kummincet tuh turnin bloo an en purpull. Awl thuh vanes wuzz standin owt on his haid. Then he fell on thuh grownd an startid twitchin an kanly barkin, lack he wuz a sick dog.

Bowt then hiz waff come a-runnin owt of the howse, a-yellin her hed off. Ah dissaddid then thet hit wuzz gittin a bit lowd. So Ah thoad the carp in muh tow sack, slung it oaver muh shoulder, and slipt away.

Yawl let me no iffen yore intrestid in commin tuh muh fish frah . . .

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