Shark River
Shark River
“I’m thinking of having Elmer Fudd tattooed on my ass. Seriously, the cartoon character. You know who I’m talking about? The chubby guy with the red hunting cap, the one with the shotgun.”
My eccentric, drug-modified friend Tomlinson.
I was lying in a hammock, leafing through a very old issue of Copeia, Journal of the American Society of Ichthyologists and Herpetologists. It contained an article on Gulf sturgeon, written back in the days when the occasional sturgeon was still caught in saltwater... south of Tampa Bay. I paused long enough to straighten my glasses and stare at him. “You’re kidding. From the Bugs Bunny cartoons? Even a regular tattoo, I’ve never understood the motivation. Something like you’re talking about, I just can’t comprehend.”
“I told you about the . . . difficulty I’ve been having.”
Yes, he had. Over and over he’d told me. Which is why I thought: Boy oh boy oh boy, here we go again.
“I did tell you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I don’t care to hear any more about your personal problems.MoreLess
My eccentric, drug-modified friend Tomlinson.
I was lying in a hammock, leafing through a very old issue of Copeia, Journal of the American Society of Ichthyologists and Herpetologists. It contained an article on Gulf sturgeon, written back in the days when the occasional sturgeon was still caught in saltwater... south of Tampa Bay. I paused long enough to straighten my glasses and stare at him. “You’re kidding. From the Bugs Bunny cartoons? Even a regular tattoo, I’ve never understood the motivation. Something like you’re talking about, I just can’t comprehend.”
“I told you about the . . . difficulty I’ve been having.”
Yes, he had. Over and over he’d told me. Which is why I thought: Boy oh boy oh boy, here we go again.
“I did tell you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I don’t care to hear any more about your personal problems.MoreLess
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