Some men will stick their poles into any old mud puddle they come across. It's all about convenience. That's how Harvey always comes home stinking like slimy fish. They say fish don't stink if they're fresh. Hmph. Fish stink if they come from mud puddles. Who wants to eat that?

Pam didn't want to, and she'd tell him so all the while she was cooking it, and all the while she was choking it down. She'd slather it in tartar sauce but that only partly worked to mask the flavor.

Harvey would look at her all squint eyed and say, "I like to eat fish just fine. Especially slimy fish. The smellier, the better."

Pam would roll her eyes, or say, "Hmph," or declare, "I don't stink," but the truth was, even if she did, he'd still love to eat it.

That was one thing, at least. He'd wag his erection at her and say, "Here fishie, fishie, fishie. I got a worm for you." Harvey liked to talk fishing. He'd make everything into fishing talk.

So Pam would nibble at the worm, and he'd set about making the fish as slimy as it could be, and when they were finished, Harvey would turn on bass fishing, and Pam would snap at him, "You're interfering with Calliope."

"My pipe organ's played out, honey."

"Not that kind of calliope," she'd tell him.

"Oh, the other one," he'd say, then he'd turn down the television.

"She's not so crazy about fishing."

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe she ought to try to inspire you a fishing poem instead of fighting it."

That's how Pam came to write the poem that won the blue ribbon at the Dexter County fair. She wrote it just to shut Harvey up, but the whole county raved about it.

A man and his pole
stuck down in a mud hole

On a beautiful day
all surrounded by hay

He ought to be bailing
Instead he's out whaling

At a mosquito he slaps
While the catfish does laps

He tugs at a nibble
It's all catfish kibble

Another worm is gone
That old fish pulled a con

Who's the brightest species?
The one that burps, farts, and pees

After that, Pam became somewhat of a celebrity, then there was nothing to be done for her. She'd primp and polish and head over to the Dexter County library to do poetry readings, and there was nothing for Harvey to do all those long lonely nights, so he took to going out dipping his pole in this mud puddle and that one. He became somewhat of a celebrity in his own right, fond of fish as he was.

That's how Harvey ended up with a bullet in his butt. Pam caught him dipping it into Belinda, the most low down skank in Ridgeville, so she shot him. She used a .22, though, so it'd teach him a lesson without killing him. He moaned and carried on and blubbered how sorry he was and Pam dressed his wound, taking special care to clean it with alcohol so it wouldn't get infected.

It made him cry, the alcohol did, and that made Pam feel like she'd been a little hard on him, but it also made her smile.

"I don't guess you'll be out fishing for awhile," she said, dabbing at it with the alcohol.

"I swear to God, honey, I'm staying in my own fishing hole from now on." Then, to prove his honest intentions, Harvey rolled over, and said, all short of breath and panting-like from the pain, "Here fishie, fishie, fishie."

Pam snuggled up atop his face, and Harvey forgot all about the bullet in his butt for a few minutes.