Hey, guys, wouldn’t you hate to be a male ladyfish? Or how about a boy titmouse? Even worse, you’d be a “tufted” titmouse. And wouldn’t that be just my luck? If I’d been born a wild creature, that’s probably what I’d be. Not buck, bull, stag, ram, or even drake. I’d be a ladyfish or a titmouse. I’ve been called jackass many times and, now, all things considered, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Then there’s the plant kingdom. How’d you like to be a pink lady’s slipper, or maybe a delicate specimen of queen anne’s lace?

Holy cow! What’s gotten into Kornegay? These musings are weird, even for him. Is it post-yuletide depression? Is he into his second glass of Jack Daniel’s already (it’s only noon)?

No, friends. I’m fishing. And they ain’t bitin’. Water’s muddy, it’s too cold, and rather than do the practical thing and just go on back to the truck, I’m just filling the void by philosophizing. I do that a lot, you know. More times than not, I have a lot of free time on my hands when I fish. Even when it’s not cold and they ARE bitin’.

The way I see it, I’m as much a world-class philosopher as Socrates, Plato, Voltaire, even Oprah or Dr. Phil. The only difference is, with me, the good stuff hasn’t come out yet.

I must keep trying; however. I’m getting no younger. Thus, I sit here, wet, muddy and cold, thinking and drawing conclusions about such important topics as the masculinity of titmice(?), ladyfish, and outdoor life in general.

Today, so far, I have concluded:

-The best deer lure on the market today is any moving vehicle proceeding down any road in Georgia, Florida, or Alabama.

-Fishermen who sit on riverbanks in late December are (1) exceedingly tough (2) exceedingly crazy or (3) aliens from an icy planet in the far reaches of the galaxy.

-Fishes that bite in late December are, more likely than not, mutant creatures that somehow defied natural evolution and should be wantonly exterminated as soon as possible.

-There are far too many outdoor shows on TV. There are only so many ways to shoot a duck or tie on a hook. Obviously, programmers are fast running out of video-worthy material. Case in point: I have actually been asked to appear on a number of such shows.

-Being finned by a catfish is just as painful now as when I was a child. The difference now is I have to hide from folks to do my crying.

-Honest hunters and fishermen are as rare as football bats. Their lies and excuses, however, rival the fleas on a stray mutt.

-Water is colder, miles are longer, and trees are harder to climb than they once were.

-Coonhounds and bird dogs will still lie to you.

-There is no fishing reel worth $200, unless it will cast, retrieve, and set the hook all by itself.

-Cletus Monroe’s squirrel goulash and a $3 bottle of wine make a lethal combination.

-Dressing like a colorblind NASCAR driver and owning a boat that breaks the sound barrier does not make one a bass fisherman.

-Despite PETA’s differing opinion, I do love animals. They’re delicious.

-Hornets, rattlesnakes, and fire ants should enroll in anger-management classes.

-God could not have been serious when, in the Old Testament, he forbade folks to eat catfish.

-‘Tis better to shoot a mess of squirrels with a borrowed .22 than spend $10,000 on an African safari for cape buffalo. I’ve never been gored or trampled by even the meanest squirrel in Early County.

-Fish-shaped neckties and “Kiss My Bass” baseball caps are not really appropriate gifts for the outdoorsman, despite how cute your great aunt thinks they are.

-Hunters and fishermen are still the world’s best conservationists. And don’t you forget it!

There, now. Should I legally change my name to Socrates or just go ahead and drink the poison?

By the way, they still ain’t bitin’.