"A Tale of a BFT Poster," by PrinceFisher.
(Boy, I guess I had some extra time on my lunch break, didn't I? Make sure you firmly place your
in your cheek before you begin reading this. [
])
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After reading posts anonymously, quietly for months, he hesitantly registers and courageously writes his first report. "New Member," he reads. "Well, that's just fine, because the folks here at BFT sure are friendly and have welcomed me aboard with open arms," he concludes. "I feel appreciated," the voices inside reassure him.
Then, just as he starts feeling all warm and fuzzy after reading so many positive responses to his first few reports, his ego gets dinged a little once he realizes he's become nothing but a dirt eater.
That's right, for all his efforts at unabashedly taking the plunge, so to speak, in an attempt to initiate himself into the hallowed ranks of BFTdom, he finds that he's nothing more than "Bait." But, as Flying Fish says, being a worm is good for one's ego; it keeps one humble--good for the soul, that type of thing.
It isn't long though before Mr. Wriggling and Slimy crawls his way out of the muck of obscurity with a few more posts, onwards and upwards into the light of familiarity with fellow BFT friends. A "Shiner," he mutters to himself one day, "that can't be all bad!" Thus, he feels encouraged and begins to post with more confidence and vigor than ever before.
Eventually, as if life couldn't get any better, he one day sees the noble "Brookie" appear below his chosen handle. Now he's getting somewhere; he is somebody; he's going places--at least in the eyes of fellow BFTers, he confidently believes.
Never again will he feel squeamish about posting his reports of monster 36-inch lake trout he's wrestled from the depths of the Gorge. He's no longer baitfish, or even baitworm, HE IS "BROOK-IE!"
At this point, he cares very little about what species appears under his title. "Brookie" takes a backseat to no one, so what comes after can only be something spectacular, or so he believes.
Then it happens. One day he notices an interesting species has replaced his beloved salmonid. "What's this?" he mutters to himself. He's from Utah and unfamiliar with this grayish fish with the black fins. He decides to investigate by rolling his mouse over the miniature fishy icon. "WeakFish!" (Queue the horror music that usually accompanies such devastatingly frightening revelations.)
"WeakFish...WeakFish...WeakFish," he repeats the words over and over again. "Not WeakFish, anything but WeakFish." It takes all the strength he can muster to get the words past his lips. His heart sinks; his soul crumples in a heap on the floor like an old lady's hosiery around her ankles, and he vows to never return to BFT again out of pure, undefiled humiliation.
Minutes, hours, even days pass, and his longings to read BFT reports on local waters by his long-remembered friends at BFT draw him to the Utah Forum like a Utah Lake mud cat to a piece of sunken carp meat on a hook.
After clicking on the "Utah: General Discussion" thread with marked trepidation, his heart swells as he reads one post after another. "So that is how you catch 'eyes at Utah Lake," he speaks softly to himself, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I never knew what a circle hook was until now," he sobs, holding his face in his hands, his chest heaving with emotion.
Courageously, valiantly, he begins to frequent BFT once again with renewed vigor. Paying little attention to the fishies that grace his name, he eventually concludes, "It's all about the fishing, and fish, and friends, and..." well, you know.
Before long, the "Calico Bass," the "Barracuda," and the "Channel Catfish" icons of yesterdays are all distant memories. He's now a "Shark"--the apex predator of the sea.
If only there were some icon that he could shoot for now, something so noble and respected that it would cause even him to never aim for anything else ever again. "Yes," he eventually concludes, "there is something more. Somehow, someway, I'll make it happen. One day, if all the stars align themselves in the heavens and if there is one bright ray of hope in the universe that will shine down on me from above, I'll one day be...a TubeDude!"
(Queue the soap opera music that will put you to sleep if you listen to it long enough...and of course, queue the sunset.)
Thank you, and goodnight.
[signature]
] (I hated that name from the get go) 
]