There's tall tales and then there's taaaall tales. 

Gather round, children, and hear the tale of yer grandpa veersus Ol' Bullywug, the meanest, slimiest, nastiest catfish this side of Weeoh Bay. Tweren't for ol' Sea Eagle 8 here, yer gramps wouldn't be here to tell the tale.

Was a night as still 'n clear as this'n. Crickets was a'-chirpin' and bullfrogs was a'-bullfroggin', and my pal Colby 'n I gandered to take a fishin' trip. So we took t' loadin' Fisherman's Dream, and Colby right inflamated the craft with'n the foot-pump thingamajig. We jumped in, yer gramps at the fore and Colby by the stern, seated comfortamably on the built-in benches, y'see?

We'm rowed out to the middle of the pond when the water began a-bubblin' and boilin', and me and Colby is lookin' at each other afeared, and I'm sayin' my prayers. Then Bullywug, that ol' angry catfish, leaps outta the water, straight up over our raft, and KERSPLOOSH, dives in the other side.

Colby and I is afeared, as I say, but were young an' chock full o' vainglory, so we set our lures right quick and cast, hopin' for a nibble from Ol' Bullywug. And sure nuff, no sooner has'n we cast then Bullywug himself chomps on both our lures at once. So Colby 'n me is reeling and tuggin', and a-sudden Colby's line gets jerked something cruel and he goes headfirst into Bullywug's maw and that catfish swallows Colby whole.

So, you see children, it's up to yer grampa now to set right the sitchermation, and save his friend. So instead o' reelin', I start paddlin' with the oars, pullin' Bullywug along. I pull 'im halfway round the lake and halfway round again, and sure nuff the sun starts a-risin' right when I pull Ol' Bullywug up on a sandbar. I jump outta my craft, cut open Bullywug's side with my knife, and give Colby a big kiss on the lips -- as men did those days.

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