Toilet Fish of Death
So I went running last night with Maren and her Dad. Maren is an easy blog entry all by herself, but throw her and her dad together and it is almost too easy. They started out the run by doing the military ‘left right left’ song, but they kept messing up and laughing so they gave up. Now, I cannot run and talk at the same time, but Maren does it quite well. When she talks to me during a run, the most she will get out of me is a grunt or two. But her dad can have a conversation with her. It went like this:
Maren(to me): Ooh, he’s cute! I love tattoos. Okay, maybe not all tattoos. A guy with a woman on fire on his back doesnt really do it for me.
Me: Ha! hgbphltsee (wheez, wheez)
Maren(to her dad): Okay, so should Lynne call Harry, or should Harry call Lynne?
Dad: Harry should call Lynne
Maren: Okay, I”ll tell him
As I stopped on the Hawthorne bridge to try and catch my breathe, I noticed a fisherman on a boat directly below me. First of all, ew. The Willamette is a yellow-green, slimy toilet river that you can literally smell from several yards away. I would never put my body in that water, let alone eat a fish from it.
I watched him pull in his empty line and grab another bait fish from his cooler thingy. He then whipped out a can of WD-40 and sprayed it all over his bait! WTF? If he actually ends up catching a diseased Willamette Toilet Fish and it, by some miracle has the appropriate number of fins and eyes and mouths, then it will have ingested WD-40 and therefore whoever is stupid enough to eat a nasty Willamette Tainted Death Fish will also consume WD-40. Is he trying to kill someone?
By the time I regained my composer and succesfully had stuffed my rage, it was dark and Maren and her dad were long gone. I had to ask the fisherman for a ride home.
Not really. But I could have because I live really close to the river.