Part SEVEN – continued from last week’s episode –


This was not the sort of media attention that either of them desired. None of it made sense.

Rusty attempted to relive the scene by putting the pieces of the puzzle together from the time he had left the fish house to take a wiz… To where he had heard the shout of “fish on”.

He had run back to the shack… Witnessed the house dismantled top to bottom… The floor was layered with excessive fish slime… And there in the corner trough laid Lefty Van Clutterbuck.

Ominously, his left arm was now gone. Serrated at the shoulder like someone had whacked a fillet from some tuna.

His face was contorted, jaw busted to the side, and lips pursed like a purana with an overbite… Rusty could not find a pulse on this man, who was piled up like a dead fish on ice.

From a distance Rusty could hear the faint beat of the helicopter. “Sally was enroute. Sally would know what to do. Sally could be trusted.” These thoughts were rapidly firing through his noggin.

Per the latter… Speaking of trust… Rusty’s father (Doobie Flathers) had repeatedly preached two things per chasing women during his pubescent teen years. “Son, you need to tread lightly around women that like cats or Stevie Nicks. If they like both then consider yourself doomed.” Sally had a cat named Cowboy. And one of Sally’s first gifts to Rusty was a playlist with a complete shuffle of Stevie Nicks greatest hits.

Conversely, Rusty had a pet cow named Catboy. And he also fell into a category with 21% of the males in rural America who considered themselves to be Swifties. So there was that…


–  To be continued –