The Gone Fishin' Principle

The "Gone Fishing" principle is as old as time itself. It's what a Transylvania Gentleman does, that undisclosed place he goes, when he can't be reached for comment for the foreseeable future. You see, I've been absent from posting missives here as of late, but this reporter had to see a man about a mule. I was gone fishing in Berea, and it seems I was gone a long while. Maybe I went to Rockcastle County with a hunk of meat in my hand. And, as I always say, the blues ain't nothing but a hunk of meat duct-taped to my leg.

Perhaps, as the above photos intimate, I literally was gone fishing (yours unruly and Brian Manley, respectively, at an undisclosed fishing spot just a little southeast of Gnome, take a right at the Apocalypse Ranch). Maybe I just needed to yodel in private a while.

I surely speak now to you with new jargon, like marbles, in my mouth. See, maybe me & Manley was just doing research on our graphic novel in the works, Creekwater. And "creekwater," boys and girls, is the new ultra secret Old Order slang for whiskey, especially if it's made in Kentucky. Keep that one close to your vest, preferably in a flask.


Or, ya know, like dig pappy, maybe I've just been celebrating Christmas with Nat & Dean. Which, lately, is a phrase I've been employing simply to signify any state of drunken, tobacco partaking, good times (how else would one think of Xmas with Nat & Dino?). In other words, I've been having Christmas with Nat & Dean most of the year.

Open up the doghouse, a few Transylvania Gentlemen cats are coming in. Without spilling all the beans, those interested can discern more about my sojourn amongst the Philistines at the Covertly and by Snatches blog.

And if I still don't answer?

Gone fishing.

--JTD