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!

1058

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

tumblr_ncr0mpsvaB1sqsszco1_r1_400

flycandy

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

 

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Very Seriously!

The very possibly alien minds at Bentley’s Mulliner coachbuilding division have produced – no, I’m sorry, painstakingly handcrafted a fly-fishing edition of the Bentayga, which Bentley describes as “the fastest, most powerful, most luxurious SUV in the world,” and the world describes as “a middle finger to the people and their fish, built for obscenely rich asshats who purchase their investments from a coachbuilder because they couldn’t possibly do something as plebeian as shop for a fishing car.”

bentley-bentayga-bentley-bentayga-mulliner-fly-fishing-pic2-1024x1024

Argyle! Adjust my cap to a jaunty angle, and make this fly thing work.

My word, the excitement. Over at Autoblog, they’ve declared that “This Bentley Bentayga takes fly fishing very seriously”. Hmph. Bully. Indeed. Let’s see what Brandon Turkus has to say.

“Mulliner’s upholstery and trim expertise is on full display – everything in the kit is either covered in saddle leather with white contrast stitching or finished in Burr walnut.”

I don’t know. Is it Corinthian? If it’s not Corinthian leather, then you’re sure to get burrs in your walnuts.

“The four leather-wrapped tubes on the underside of the tonneau cover house the fishing rods, while the master tackle box, refreshment case, and a box for stowing waders and boots sit on the cargo floor.”

At least that’s what you can tell Pater so that he doesn’t discover that you’ve packed it with Peruvian blow for the weekend’s canned snow leopard hunt. Is this really what constitutes luxury? An insanely expensive Subaru Outback with some boxes in the back? WTF is a “master tackle box?”

“Mulliner loaded down the tackle box with tools, cotton, hooks, and feathers to tie flies, and it includes four reel cases milled from solid aluminum.”

A very seriously serious fishing coachbuilder would go on at great length about hook bends and hackle grades until I wandered off to get coffee. I’m fairly sure that “cotton” is thread, but not for the proles. And aluminum reel cases? To protect the Bogdan until Nigel drops it on a rock?

Syqga.gif

Nigel Incubator-Jones

Is that solid Corinthian al you minium?

“The best thing about this kit is the lengths Mulliner went to in order to keep the rear of the vehicle dry and fresh – the floor is waterproof and there’s an electronic dehumidifier to keep things from smelling funky.”

Oh heavens no, not funky, we’ve been splashing in water with fish, we must smell like flowers. Do the windows go down? Can they throw in a towel, or maybe a solid gold box of baking soda?

At Edmunds, they make a very clever “hook luxury buyers” joke, and go on to say…

“For the first time with Bentayga, the SUV features Mulliner “welcome lights” that project the Bentley and Mulliner logos on the ground when the doors are opened. But fussy buyers can also have any personal logo or graphic added as a custom option.”

IT COMES WITH A BAT SIGNAL FOR DOUCHEBAGS!

dit-segnale

Robb Report adds…

“With a 6-liter W-12 engine that allows a top speed of 187 mph, Bentley’s luxurious all-wheel-drive fish-finder will help ensure its owners are the first at their favorite spot while landing bragging rights to boot”

Atomic batteries to power! Turbines to speed! Blast off for Douche Planet fishing holiday!

jc

Yeah. Anyway, Bentley is taking fly fishing VERY VERY SERIOUSLY, YOU GUYS!

Bentley-Bentayga-Fly-Fishing-edition-specs-600x330

Good Wholesome Head Wounds

There was a day when some of us scampered at the rusty, toxic, helmetless edge of the void, turned out there by our parents with just a few instructions, most of which amounted to “shut up and don’t monkey around.” We formed feral bicycle gangs, waded in storm drains, blew up stumps, set things on fire, built tree forts and fell out of them. We were targeted by Mattel and the like with colorful happy diversions, some of which turned out to be highly flammable and/or bad if you swallowed them.

After a few squealers suffered Thingmaker burns and wrecked the fun, the grownups finished their drinks and put out their smokes and decided to look out for us. Let’s see where we are now, shall we?

Jarts

lawn-darts

The Danger: skull piercing, and your brains will squirt out and I’m not cleaning that up.

Result: BANNED

Clackers

clackersbig

The Danger: whacking yourself in the face or the crotch. Also sometimes they shattered and shrapnel went everywhere. Big whoop.

Result: BANNED

Sticks

3-Reasons-Why-A-Stick-Is-Better-Than-Your-Toothbrush1

The Danger: blunt force trauma, eye injury, gun/sword/lightsaber wound (true, ask any kid).

Result: not BANNED, but it might just be a matter of time and blood loss. Still the integral component of a game of Stick Quiz.

Rattling Around in the Back of a Pickup at Highway Speed with an Iron Rake and Some Loose Firewood

pickup

The Cordwoods head home after Family Fun Day at Broken Bottle Park

The Danger: occasionally a kid or two would bounce out and you might not find them again. Make some more.

Result: mostly ILLEGALED

Fishing

RockFishing-CapeByron-ZB2

The Danger: drowning, skin cancer, hypothermia, fire, dehydration, tetanus, unemployment, bottomless pits, lightning, shark attack, bear attack, tweaker attack, misanthropy, salmonella, choking, chafing, gunfire, stabbing, swamp ass, stank foot, alcohol poisoning, strangulation, blindness, marriage failure, road food, terrible coffee, Lyme disease, West Nile virus, leeches, lampreys, bats, rabies, rabid bats, poison ivy, potty mouth, criminal prosecution, lies, exaggerations, terminal smartassery, low self-esteem, butthurt, blogging, slack, and general sketchiness.

Result:

logo

WELP!

Hey Earl, What is Best in Life?

Big props for laughs to Montana Governor Brian Schweitzer today. Like in many other states, Montana’s tea-drunk conservo-muppets have been flailing around introducing tough-guy bills like SB-112 – “An Act Providing that a Hand-Thrown Spear Must be Considered a Lawful Means of Hunting.” AW YEAH OOGA BOOGA!

This morning on the radio Governor Schweitzer said that he’ll use an “amendatory veto” on it, which will send it back to the Montana State Houses with the provision that spear hunting must only be performed while wearing a small blaze orange loincloth (with maximum size requirements, you know, for the ladies), and nothing else. The Governor seemed anxious to put this matter behind him so that he could move on to another of their stack of Frodo-fantasy bills about seceding from the United States or something. Anyway, KILLIN STUFF CONAN-STYLE IN MONTANA!

montanaconan

TO CROSH YOU BEER CANZ, SEE DEM DRIVEN BEFOAH YOU, AND LOOGA DIS HOT CHICK!

Calling H.G. Wells

timemachine

It’s worth a shot.

The final couple of work days before a fishing trip are probably best used as an exercise in patience, something fisherfolk are supposed to have in voluminous reserve, but for me they’re mostly spent almost telling coworkers to go piss up a rope. My brain checked out a few days ago, so making time pass by being productive, while laudable and maybe even expected, is a joke. So instead I’m left searching for alternatives, like:

  • Chew off own face (not arms, I’ll be needing those)
  • Create ridiculous new fly designs, give them names like “spleen venter” and “jeebus fucking fuck”
  • Stand outside cafeteria window, grease ferrules while performing rod-section-up-the-nose trick
stevemartin

TA DAAAH!

  • Piss up a rope
  • Write self-evaluation, give self high marks for “not murdering you all in your sleep”
  • Tie on big pyramid sinker, practice double-hauling at lunchtime joggers
  • Get head start on three-days-in-wool-and-waders body funk, offer hugs to middle management
  • Attend status meeting, assign new names to coworkers like “Bait Bucket Joe,” “Pete the Pusillanimous Pinner” and “U. Barking Idiot”
  • Stabby-type foul-mouthed blog posts, try to make keys fly off
  • Take steroids, get huge, bend time and space

Any and all further suggestions are welcome in the comments. Well, they technically won’t be welcome until next week, but you get the idea.

Further Dave Appreciation

Since it’s some sort of unofficial last hurrah for summer’s mad knees-bent running about behavior, and also because part of the joy of this weird pursuit is in the characters you meet.

bongguitar850100

GIDORAH!

“We had just been invited to join an all day golf scramble and drinking bash hosted by a whole medly of fraternal lodge organizations. Elks, Moose, and Eagles strolled about the first tee. Most of the people were meeting for the first time; our identities seemed secure, but since you can’t be too careful we traded our fishing hats for the fezzes of three staggering-drunk Shriners from Anaconda, then filled out our name cards as Methyl, Ethyl, and Nitrate Blitz.

Not all of the Blitz Brothers were strangers to a golf course. One of them had even played in college. Ethyl had the distance, Methyl the hot irons, and Nitrate, to his bemused delight, found that he could putt. Just like lining up the eight ball for a bank shot, he said. The Brothers for as long as they could maintain their momentum atop the bell curve of enhanced perception were like besotted Jedi knights: the force was with them. The tournament was a scramble, a format ideally suited to their condition.

On the holes that ran with the wind the Brothers were absolutely splendid. They birdied the first and third, then Nitrate drained a thirty-foot putt for eagle from the fringe on the par five sixth. First prize was two hundred dollars, and the Blitz Brothers had already decided to spend it all in one place – like maybe Idaho. Then, on the eighth, Methyl was driving the cart in the rough searching for a hooked ball and lighting a cigar when he should have been watching where he was going. All three brothers hiked the tall weeds to the car, then stopped at a drug store, bought a postcard, drew a map to the cart and signed it with a sketch of a scuba diver, then continued fishing toward the Big Hole River, where it was deemed by popular acclaim to be cocktail hour, and time to switch to gin.”

-from True Love and the Woolly Bugger by Dave Ames, 1996

AMFF: Buster To The Rescue

So it seems that the American Museum of Fly Fishing has found itself in a public relations pickle. Invited Cheney to speak and everything went KABLOOM, and then the Dick didn’t even have the courtesy to turn them down. Hoisted with their own Boga. Bad days. Crazy days.

But jeez, it’s a gnurly little museum and we’d hate to see it consigned to the ever-filling dustbin of Things That Should Be Cool But…you know? So to offer a helpful hand the mad brains at Buster Labs (boiler room, left past the incinerator, put lotion in basket, ask for Epol) have schemed up a way for the AMFF to gracefully put down the Dick and back away with their reputations intact…by making them a donation they can’t refuse. And this way, they get a dinner speaker AND an exhibit in one neat package. Brilliant, no? AMFF, we give you

The Hideous Jabbering Head of Theodore Gordon

ted

Peanuts hyah!

Hello! The great charm of fly-fishing is that we are always learning! Hello! Thank you! The angling fever is a very real disease and can only be cured by the application of cold water and shooting your lawyer friend in the face! Hello! It is the constant – or inconstant – change, the infinite variety in fly-fishing that binds us fast, but it is not a sufficient basis for a sound, comprehensive energy policy! I think they’re in the last throes, if you will, of a sport that is never the same on any two days of the year. Thank You! Hello!

It, uh, just sorta goes on like that. Epol can certainly probably get that fixed up by the fall, at least long enough to deliver a speech. Then the AMFF can just put it under glass and presto, instant tourist attraction! Just imagine all the big fat Orvis customers students of our noble pursuit arriving to have a word with the reanimated jabbering head of the father of American dry fly fishing! They’ll have to hold another fundraiser just to afford all the new parking they’ll need!

Here’s the good and bad thing, though…to be perfectly honest, it’s a little bit unstable, and the quicker they get it under glass the better (and keep the fluids topped off). Which is why they really have no choice but to cancel the Dick. Really, what’ll it be, a once-in-a-lifetime procurement and a historic speech by a luminary of the sport and a marvel of mad science, or Dick Friggin Cheney?

That’s right.

Anyway, are we awesome or what? Buster is confident that we will, in fact, be greeted as liberators by the AMFF. And they are welcome.

And Now A Word From The Hideous Jabbering Head of Izaak Walton

Hiya Scamps!

ikexn8

Argy blargy blarg!

You know, being a disembodied jabbering head sorta limits my mobility, which leaves me lots of time to surf the web. And enjoy this Camelbak full of sweet mother bourbon (thanks guys). Anyway, I’ve been watching our stats, especially the search terms that people are using to find us with The Google and whatnot. Let’s have a look at the notables from the last 30 days and see just how weird you freaks really are:

how to fly fish
Oh man, uh oh. Really? Um. We don’t have bail money for you. Sorry. Would you like to buy some stickers?

bigfoot sighting
bigfoot sightings in pa
pa bigfoot sightings
sightings of bigfoot in pa
bigfoot in western pa
bigfoot sightings in pennsylvania
bigfoot of pa

Hey Wook! Your mom’s looking for you! Jeebvs, I think the bigfoot post was from our very first week of operation. I wonder how disappointed they are when they end up here. “AWW, I was SO CLOSE!”

chicks fishing
porn fish.com

No really. Stop. It’s just sad now.

donny beaver
Everybody loves the Donald.

fat boat
Corpulent Cruise Lines?

ass black buster
What?

rainbow bologna
Oh. That’s what.

fisheries in merde
You, anonymous internet person, are in the right place.

pictures of western pa trees
Where bigfoot might be hiding. We understand.

springer sluts
This is Bacon’s doing.

izaak walton animated gif
Is available for children’s parties. Rock on, mvthafvsticvs!

 

Propellerheads Discover Monkeys Fishing, Act Surprised

Scientists have found a bunch of long-tailed macaques (steady now, that’s the easy joke) in Indonesia that fish.

Film Title: King Kong.

We’re gonna be rich, boys!

Groups of long-tailed macaques were observed four times over the past eight years scooping up small fish with their hands and eating them along rivers in East Kalimantan and North Sumatra provinces, according to researchers from The Nature Conservancy and the Great Ape Trust.”

Four times in eight years? Why, that’s barely a dalliance. And no gear? What the hell do they have to argue about during all that downtime? I’m beginning to doubt their commitment to monkeydom.

Meijaard, a senior science adviser at The Nature Conservancy, said it was unclear what prompted the long-tailed macaques to go fishing.

Ahhhh, there we have it, they’re fishing writers. Welcome Bobo, Chim-Chim and Snowflake.

vonnegutfy0

Where have you gone, Kilgore Trout?