A client of my company actually fixed me up on this blind date. Same old story. This person thinks I'm great, this guy is great, we will have a great effin time together blah. She gives him my number, there is some texting that isn't exactly inspiring but we decide to meet. Sunday afternoon at 5:30pm. Clearly, this guy is rolling with a different crowd then I am, because at 5:30 I like to be pregaming my night, but whatever. So I drive out to the Roadhouse Grill to meet Asshat FisherMan (AFM) in the bar. I get there, he's the only person sitting in the bar. Walk over, introduce myself, he doesn't get up. What the fuck is that? ON YOUR FEET, BOY! I sit. He's a couple drinks ahead of me. This retard pregamed the date. He looks, and kinda smells, like he's been drinking all day. AFM is an electrician, owns his own electrical company. And by company, I mean one motherfucking van with his name vinyl sticker'ed to the side. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I sit, we talk about work, he tells me his business is terrible, he fired his secretary, so he's doing everything. Continues to bash every other electrician in town, for "taking up my business". It's hell. My ears were bleeding. I do some cheerleader pep talk about having a job he loves and he launches into a story about how being an electrician isn't his real job. I bite. "Oh, really, what is". He says he's a professional fisherman. Now it's making sense. There is a big truck with a logo of some sort in the parking lot, this fine speciman of a man clearly rolls in that thing. AFM goes on to tell me he spent all day fishing on Cottage Grove Lake. I ask the obvious question - how many fish did you catch? He says 22. I say that's a lot of fish, what are you going to do with them all? He replies "I threw them back"...............um.....huh? What? You threw them back? In the water? AFM launches into a diatribe about catch and release fishing blah blah yada. That's when the tourette's kicks in. I ask the obvious question "How the fuck do you know that you didn't catch the same damn fish, 22 times?" He actually has a story about how a fish will only bite once every 3 days or something. Then he launches into the whole "fishing like this is a sport". Now, I will let you catch fish all day and throw them back, you retard. If you want to spend a whole day on a lake drinking beer, getting fatter and smelling like bait, rock out with your cock out, I could care less. But I know a "sport" when I see one. And that ain't it. Now we are going to have an argument. He keeps going on about his sport "And see, when I took up this sport.....blah blah sport...." I finally interrupt. I lay out the obvious "Fishing isn't a sport". Crickets. I've stumped AFM. He replies "It's on tv, and I have a sponsor, it's a sport". RG "No, it most certainly is NOT A SPORT! If you there was cardio involved, possibly it could be a sport. Say you, AFM, jumped in the fucking lake and outswam the fish, then it would be a sport. Sitting on your ass pulling a dumb animal out of a lake all day while kicking back PBR's, not a sport. How do you train for that? Extra time at the tavern?"
At this point, things are going downhill at a rapid pace. I pull out the big guns and text my 14 year old son the following: You want a laptop for christmas, I want out of this date. Mommy needs a 911 call right now. Feel free to improvise the emergency, but no kidding, CALL NOW. Beloved son makes the call, I answer the phone and do my best impression of oh no, we have an emergency "What? The dog got out? Oh no, where is Moose now? Dammit, I'm on my way"
I bail. AFM sends me a text saying I should come over after I deal with the dog and sit in his hot tub. Probably with a beer. I text back that I'm unavailable to help with his "training" in the hot tub with brews, but best of luck in the future....
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