08/05/2025
The Great Fishing Weekend That Went Off the Rails
Every summer, the crew made their pilgrimage to Pool 4—a legendary fishing spot nestled between pine-covered hills, bad cell service, and the promise of monster bass. It was a tradition held together by unspoken rules, fried food, and a whole lot of good-natured nonsense.
This year, the group chat had been blowing up for weeks, mostly thanks to Jesse, who wouldn’t shut up about JJ’s BBQ.
“I’m telling you,” Jesse messaged for the 47th time that week, “JJ’s brisket will change your soul. Better than therapy. Better than marriage. Better than winning a tournament on a frog bait.”
Which, by the way, was the only way Jesse ever caught fish.
“You caught one fish on a frog last year and now you think it’s the second coming,” groaned Josh Pingle, who, as always, was already packing five coolers of bait and sharpening hooks like he was going to war with the fish kingdom. He had a habit of overkilling—literally. Josh once fished so hard he wiped out an entire pond’s bass population in a day.
Then there was Zach, who was barely responding in the chat.
“Sorry guys,” he finally said. “Mittens is sick again. Taking him to the vet.”
Everyone respected Zach’s commitment to his cat, even if it meant he’d show up late with a fur-covered tackle box.
Meanwhile, Scott—the king of being “almost there”—was, predictably, late again.
“Leaving now!” he texted at 9:13 a.m. for the 8:00 a.m. meetup. That message was later followed by: “Anyone know if you can drive a trailer with 3 bolts missing?”
At the lake, Mykal was already there, rod in hand, chilling by the bank in basketball shorts and crocs.
“You bringing your boat this year, Myk?” someone asked.
“Man, why? I’m a bank trash angler. Less gas, more zen,” he said, casting under a willow tree with the confidence of a man who hadn’t seen a bass in weeks.
Drew and Kaden sat nearby, quiet as ever, sipping gas station coffee and side-eying a family of ducks that might’ve been nesting near their secret fishing hole. They weren’t much for talking, but when it came to pulling in weight, they let their rods do the talking.
Then there was Brent, casually spooning mustard from a jar like it was yogurt.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said through yellow-stained teeth.
Maggie, the lone woman in the group and clear voice of reason, watched the chaos unfold with her usual combination of amusement and barely disguised horror.
“How am I the only one here who remembered sunscreen, snacks, and a first-aid kit?” she muttered, dragging a cooler filled with actual food while the others debated whether beef jerky counted as a vegetable.
Suddenly, the sound of a motor ripped through the still morning.
Enter Josh Hauge, showing up like James Bond in a brand new, decked-out bass boat that looked like it had a NASA budget. It had sonar, radar, underwater drones, and probably satellite internet.
“Just picked her up,” he said, patting the hull. “Name’s Boat Haugey Boatface.”
Everyone groaned.
Out on the water, Jesse tossed his frog lure with the dramatic flair of someone entering a tournament. Sploosh. He grinned.
“Y’all fishing wrong,” he said. “Frog’s where it’s at. You ever seen a frog catch a 6-pounder in open water? I have. Yesterday. In my mind.”
Things were going great until they rolled up to the boat landing around sunset—and found a surprise waiting for them: cops.
“Evenin’,” said the officer. “We got reports of open containers and… uh… suspicious beer cans. You boys drinkin’?”
Everyone looked at each other.
“We’ve been fishing all day,” Brent said, dropping his mustard spoon like it was evidence.
“We found these near your trailer,” the cop said, pointing to a crate of exactly the same beers no one brought.
“That’s not ours!” Jesse shouted. “You planted those beers!”
The officer raised an eyebrow. “Why would we do that?”
“To keep me from talkin’ about JJ’s BBQ,” Jesse snapped.
It was chaos. No one got arrested, but they did get a warning and a lecture. Maggie handled it like a pro, probably saving the crew from jail time with a stern “Do you really think these idiots could plan anything?”
By the end of the trip, the scoreboard looked like this:
Jesse: 2 fish (both on frogs)
Josh Pingle: 14 fish, 1 pond ecosystem damaged
Mykal: 1 sunburn, 0 boats
Zach: 0 fish, 1 grateful cat
Scott: 0 fish, 1 loose trailer wheel
Drew & Kaden: 5 fish, 0 words spoken
Brent: 1 jar of mustard, still full
Maggie: 3 fish, 6 headaches
Josh Hauge: 8 fish, 1 ridiculous boat
Cops: 6 planted beers, 0 charges filed
And Jesse? He still wouldn’t shut up about JJ’s BBQ.
