Oh hi. You were searching for porn, but now you’re here. Ha.

It’s time again for Fun With Buster’s Search Stats, which is nearly as lazy as posting YouTube videos but without the additional effort necessary to type something even marginally related to fly fishing.

Honestly, we were just checking the stats following the most recent western PA bigfoot story, because we inadvertently became a destination for precisely those searches back in 2008 or so, which we found hilarious. It appears that letting the place go dark and then moving to WordPress has eliminated that particular comedy vector, which MAKES US VERY SAD, GOOGLE!


Graham Roumieu – http://www.roumieu.com/ – buy book!

So the search stats are now dominated by the word “fuck,” which, ok, isn’t terribly surprising to anyone who knows us. Sorry Mom. Some of the more entertaining examples include:

fish time fucking
fishing for as to fuck full
fucking is right or wrong
wrong way fucking
fuck after fish work
new fishing fuck american
wwwfuck me buster

OK so you were looking for weird porn and landed here because you’re desperate and will click on anything. We’re only sort of sorry for disappointing you, and not at all for missing an opportunity to get these new readers. We hope you kept trying. Fortune favors the bold, and all that.

aboy stands at river and off with finger fucks wally

Dear Wally: Google responds best when you close with “warmest regards” or “love always.”

big hackles fuck

I’ve said this very thing before tossing the fly in the bluegill box. Those fuckers will eat anything.

fuck you bat signal

I could never understand why the Penguin was such a fearsome villain. I mean, he’s not at all physically imposing, and who’s not going to recognize him and call Commissioner Gordon before he waddles away with the big heavy gold bird statue or whatever? Testify, Oswald.

real fucking recreation area

Someone was very frustrated by all of the fake ones?

fuck me while i pollute the air while it stinks x

I’ve got nothing here, but it’s included for, um, posteriorerity. You’re welcome. Now for the rest:

limitations associated with marginal cotton

While I’m sure there are some, or even many, I can’t imagine needing to Google for them, or being presented with a link to this place and thinking “THAT is just what I need right there!”

light sabre wound stickers

Fly fishers have a thing for stickers. Normally they’re from gear manufacturers, but we’re not here to pass judgement on your particular nerdflavor (looking at you, spey geeks).

spey o rama tumblr



Ok, got it. More Fly Candy photos. We can do that. On it.



Wrung Out and Hung Up

Since ice-out the whole world’s brimful of water and overflows with each passing blow, it seems. Down low the trillium are blooming with wet feet, but nobody can tell whether the Hendricksons have read the memo, and we’re all standing around at the pull-offs looking sideways at each other and not daring to complain about too much water. When the sun finally emerges it’s instantly warm, and we groan and stretch and make note of the fattening buds on the branches, and oh did you see the stickjam blew out up there by the Wall Pool. Yeah, the pool that’s had a standing wave in it for weeks, right, and we’re off to have a look at this meadow or that little feeder, splash-crashing through widening potholes full of the same caramel-colored water that’s now carving off the oxbow up by Bill’s place. It’s enough to make a guy quit drinking just so he can start again.


Still no biscuit?

On the way home there’s a guy in red-checkered flannel way out in his yard, reclining in a lawn chair next to his burn pile and smoking a cigar. Damned if he isn’t going to burn something. Viking points for hanging tough, flannel man, might not rain tonight.