This room is devoted to expressions of trout love, reverence, and eating.
Clyde Watson compiled this ditty from the contributions of Chris Holland-Tuve, Ron Ricketts, Bob Williams, Mark Newman, Mike W., and Henry Kanemoto. It resulted from an idiotic thread about C&R which sent Marty Wardius running for the "unsubscribe" command, which explains the last stanza.
Someone was supposed to put this to music so we could sing it around the campfire at NEC II, but it never happened. Pity! Regardless, I hope Kliban will forgive us all for taking liberties with his charming verse.
I lost all the original contributions and am using Clyde's compiled version instead, so I can't tell you who wrote which stanzas. There are different compilations floating about, I know Claude Freaner has one with slight differences as well.
The Eating Trout Song
I love to eat dem trouts;
Trouts is what I love to eat.
I bites they little heads off;
and nibble on they cheeks.
Dey am so slick and tasty;
Oily flavor so divine.
I sucks out dey little eyeballs;
an washes them down wid wine.
I fish em wid the dry
I fish em wid the wet
An when I catch em on the fly
I puts em in da net
I kiss em on da neck bone
I kiss em on the durst
dem lips I leave alone
Cause Jimmee bin der first
I chews on down the backbone;
an swallers it wid ease.
Eat 'em all way down to tailfin;
Buddy, pass a 'nuthern, please.
I bonk em on da head
I guts em wid my knife
By den de be real dead
So I cooks em till de red
I dips 'em in dat butter;
and chases wit' scotch--neat.
I do dis every fishin' trip,
and don' worry 'bout the PC elite.
Dere's nuttin left but troutgutz
and tears come to my eyez
Cause noone ob de flyfish yups
has posted more recipes!
dis poem, it be fo Marty
I hopes he hear me telI
It be not much of a party
since he said go to hell
From: Claude Freaner
Subject: Trout Poetry(?)
To think that I shall never shout
A poem lovely as a trout.
A trout whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the creek's sweet flowing crest;
A trout that looks at God all day,
And lifts her pearly fins to pray;
A trout that may in Winter sleep
With nests of nymphs down in the deep;
Upon whose side the stripe is red,
And pearl-green cheeks about the head.
Small trout are caught by folks like me,
While bad poems are read by thee.
(With apologies to Joyce Kilmer)
From: Chris Knight
Subject: Re: Trout Poetry(?)
With apologies to Richard Brautigan:
He swims alone in a stream
but nobody can see him.
He has been made invisible
by his own wounds.
Mr. Trout likes to sleep
through the long lazy summer afternoons.
So do his friends
with the sun reflecting
off them like tin cans.
Better Living through Trout Poetry.