Youtards

My fondest memories as a child are of my dad teaching me to flip the bird to Utah cars and gleefully yell, "Utah Fuckers." Before my somewhat unsucessful bout at aviation, I was an absolute fishing machine. Now that my legs don't quite work properly, I have decided to resume fishing. "When A River Runs Through It" hit the theaters years ago, it was the end for me. I was adequate with a flyrod, but by no means a fly fishing Nazi. The South Fork of the Snake River was my home water. I can remember sunny Fall days, nobody on the river, and catching over 100 fish using bait, Rapalas, or spinners and worms. Now, our rivers are packed with Orvis clad Utard boomers. Once into Idaho, they drink beer, wine, and refer to every insect in Latin.