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Harry ‘N’ Charlie’s Lure Company

From the looks of things, it had been a right good tournament  day for the boys of the  Swamp Gas Corners  Bass Club. They was all gathered at the weighin'-in scales, anxiously awaitin' the rest of the members to come in and plop their bigmouth catches in the basket. Dead-Eye Dingle, our tournament director and vice- president-in-charge of gettin' brew for after-the-weigh-in celebrations, shifted his greasy ceegar aroun' in his mouth as Mouse Mozzarella approached the scales totin' a mighty fine string. 

"Attaboy, Mouse!" someone called out as the miniature Italian BASSer heaved 10 floppin' basses in the bucket. All eyeballs focused on the needle of the scales as it bounced in a crazy dance, then finally came to rest. "Twenty pounds, fifteen ounces," grunted Dead-Eye. "Guess that gives you the lead, Mouse!"

But ever'body knew it was far from over, on accounta Crusty Popodopolus was a-hangin' back and a-waitin' to weigh-in towards the end. From the sneaky way Crusty kept crackin' open the lid on his Hydro-Blaster's livewell, we knew that rascal musta got him. some great ol' big 'uns.

But where was me 'n' Harry through all this? Wellsir, lemme tell you, folks, we was a-layin' low. We wanted this here tournyment to be one them Bass Clubbers would never forget!

"OK, Crusty, you is next,” Dead-Eye said. The itinerant Greek billionaire BASSer adjusted the gold braid on his double-knit fishin' cap and put him on a pair of white gloves so's he wouldn't get that ol' fishy smell on his pinkies. Then he reached down 'n grabbed the genuine lizard-covered grip on his Abercrombie & Fitch double- duty lunker stringer with gold-plated hawg clips and gived it the ol' heave-ho. The gasp what went up from the crowd, includin' as- sorted wives, curious crappie-jerkin' onlookers, and various chil- dren with runny noses, meant that Crusty had taken the lead.

Crusty had him a limit of the fattest, sassiest hawgs you ever did see. The smallest looked to go around fo' pounds 'n they went all the way up to just over seven. "You is fo' sho' the shoo-in BASSer for the first-place trophy!" Mouse said, fightin' back the disappoint- ment. Clearly the ex-Greek sponge diver had pulled victory's rug from under the little pizza-chomper's Keds.