Hollywood has run out of ideas, so fly-fishing compadres are picking up the slack. As if competing against a bunch of gangsters during Carp Slam wasn’t enough, I am now forced to contend with bonafide monsters overtaking my humble abode just a few short weeks from now.
It’s a clash that is sure to wow theoretical physicists, the paparazzi, and dogs and cats alike:
I thought about buying a catastrophic insurance policy, but instead I’m just taking bets on who gets the sofa.
MG signing off (because the house is supposed to always win, although in this case it’s questionable)