Sometimes an ex is musky

I’ve got plans for this summer. I’ve been itching for musky lately. There’s a pretty well known lake a few hours north and east of me that I used to fish musky in years ago. It’s still there, the lake hasn’t moved. I moved. I’m lazy. I’m the one who broke up with it. It was a love hate anyways. I loved fishing it. It hated coughing up fish. I got a massive fish boat side once only to lose it. I moved many large fish. I never got to steal home. I barely made it to second base. And yes, that’s a sexual reference. I’m a virgin on that lake.

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I’m going to call her back. I’ll wine and dine her. Put on that smooth Craig Mack Flava in ya ear type of pimpin’. She won’t be able to say no. She might fight, she might put up some fronts, but I got this. Hold my beer. I’ll be nicer this time. I swear.

I’ve got plans for a kayak, a me, a 10wgt fly rod, a box full of flies, and a camera. I’m getting me a musky in Indiana. Flying spaghetti monster be praised, I will succeed. Ramen.