A fishing story

It's Thursday morning and my eyes are bleary.

They're bloodshot.

And frankly, not worth a damn.

Last week, the proof of my manuscript came back from the publisher and to no one's surprise, particularly my wife, there were typos. This, despite the fact that I paid a proofreader to pick apart the document and spot the many errors. Every time I fixed a typo I found a place to tweak the wording. And every time I tweaked the wording I created more typos.

My back now has a permanent arch because of all the hours hunched over the computer fixing, tweaking and re-fixing this damn book. I've gone through the stories so many times they don't even seem funny or entertaining anymore. I'm convinced you'll agree.

So today, as I have done so many times in the past, I am going to give myself a little break.

No essay.
No rant.
No diatribe about advertising, parenting, God, Islamic terrorism or hairy, unwashed people in the swimming pool.

Just a snapshot I took (see above) of Jean Phillippe Paris, an eau de toilette I spotted on the shelves of a bait shop in Independence, California.

You might be wondering about the ethics of a copycat product like this, but the manufacturers of Jean Phillippe Paris have no such qualms. After all, they went out of their way to inform the educated eau de toilette consumer.

And they're absolutely right. For my money ($1.99) this smells nothing like Polo from Ralph Lauren.

But rubbed on an earthworm, it sure did catch a lot of trout.