Aˈbout

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Why?

Pretty vague, eh? Why are you reading this? Why am I writing this? Why does it matter? First one is all you, last one is not very much and the middle one? Why not?

I like fly fishing, because its got traditions to randomly uphold, while throwing your own spin onto everything. It can be staggeringly overpriced, or as budget as you choose. The entire damned local fishing scene involves people acting aloof and asabiyah and better than you, which is easy for me to do; while at the same time essentially being a dick to them, too. I get to be obnoxious to everyone around me, claim I’m unique, and effectively get away with it.  Hell, yeah! 

It’s almost purposely made for pontification! Any “sport” where I could be an egotistical, blathering jackhole is my kind of thing.

So, I did what every blowhard does – I started a blog. 

Obstensitably, I did it to have a handy place to re-post the same stupid answer to the same stupid question a thousand and one Facebook posts over and over again; and also because I like to pay homage to my own greatness. Mostly the latter, really. If it helps just one newbie get past the intellectual bullshit attached to fly fishing, then I win. If one kid left my fly shop with an initial idea that he could only manage a small barb, whom then realizes he could effectively tackle an octa-headed hydra on monthly basis; then that’s a win. And if just a few of you people click on some banner links, I can use the procedes to buy a box of javanese premium tobacco. (Where?)

Anyways, Zenth Of Zango? Why? Because my moronic friends make fun of the fact that fly fishing is like a person who loathes to drive anywhere outside his/her comfort zone, which is in their eyes about 15 minutes from the driveway. They’re wrong, its actually 5 minutes, 10 with traffic. The actual thing is, fly fishing is deemed lazy, and won’t move until it’s too late to take in a “destination”; because people don’t know how to perceive it proper. These dumbfucks don’t want to risk time & resources on finding the inevitable knowledge, which is frankly, not much harder than deciding on what flavor of cookie to have on Sunday breakfast. So they’re left sitting on the other side of the road, with their so-called big cocks hanging down the side of the curb, waiting for a smartcar to run over.

To quote John Gierach, “I’d fish anyone St. Vrain’s.” Dont get him wrong. That’s a high-ranking, 1st-class sarcasm, folks. (And that’s why you have to learn English.) 

Riki Liskandarsyah, Oct 2011, Kuala Lumpur

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