Ain’t no dun like a pale morning dun, dog!
Whadup, yo! Thought I’d drop in and give you a little lesson on His Paleness. I’m hatchin’ my ass off from now till Rocktober, so I’d suggest packin’ plenty of me into that gay chest pack of yours—‘specially out West. West is the best, beeyotch!
If you like sleepin’ in, I’m your bug. I don’t even hatch ‘til like, 11 a.m. on a lot of days—perfect for you forty-ounce pounders after a night with the bottle! And when yer looking at patterns to pick up at the flyshop fo sizzle, don’t forget that I can have a pink belly. You gots to get it right or the fish’ll pass me up faster than an Allen Iverson crossover.
And remember, it’s HARD for me to turn into an adult, brotha! I get all hung up in my nymphal shuck—can’t fly, can’t swim, can’t do shit, dog! They call it “hung in the shuck.” I love being hung, baby, but not like that—I’m one vulnerable bitch when that happens. That’s why you always gotta be packin’ some crippler—and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout Snoop’s weed stash!
You also gotta to know where to find me. Start by looking in slow water, ‘specially during a spinner fall, when the spinners mate, lay eggs, then die (sorry hos!). And I mean water that’s R E A L L Y slow, like them Winnebago-drivin’ white folks in Wyoming. Pack the 7X, bitches!
If it’s early in the day you don’t see me hatchin’ don’t be afraid to drop a nymph on their ass. Or a flymph (Got no idea what a “flymph” is, but it just passed S’mores as my new favorite white-guy word! Flymph! I love it!)
Be lookin’ in the riffles, too, yo—where a brotha can get his emergence on without havin’ to wiggle his way up through five feet of feeders. And pay attention to size—make me no bigger than 9mm, and usually more like a 16 or 18 hook.
I’m around all summer long—even during dog days, dog! So if you think it’s too hot for bugs, and you’re feeling like doin’ nothing except chillin’ at the crib with yer Playstation 2, think again. Power to the PMD, dog!