I know what you’re like, international readership of this popular mind-blog. There you are, riding big boats and fishing for shark off the flats of Bermuda. But don’t scorn me for being a humble bank fisherman on Lake Whitney.
Little Fella
Speaking of which, the lake was up and restless this evening after Mass, with waves crashing against the limestone shore like breakers in the North Sea, or Aberystwyth pier. I didn’t have a boat so I cast off from the limestone, with a worm. Who knew what’d turn up? Maybe nothing, that’s the way I felt.
Yes Indeed
Wrong. Bass turned up, with the best of four plowing into my hook like Trump on Twitter after midnight. I didn’t even have a boat.
Head Home, Fool
Here’s the thing. You can sit or stand looking at the news in slack-jawed consternation, or you can get out and catch some fish. 
Be wise, readers, and chose the better option.