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Pick up your Trash!!!

910 Views 8 Replies 9 Participants Last post by  Burnsie
Was fishing the Saginaw River Saturday...2 locations one in the morning and one at night. Both places there were empty beer bottles and those small propane cylinders used for heaters and lanters. And there were remains of chicken bones scattered on the ice by Hooters. Wish I had a trash bag with me. PEOPLE, PLEASE PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF! :mad: :mad:
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Those are the same people who complain that the water is just "not as clean as it used to be" Those people should be ashamed. That type of behavior ruins it for all of us! If you can take the time to get out of bed and go fishing you can take the time to clean up after yourself. The same goes for cigarett butts take along a can to discard those cig butts please. A cofee can with a lid works just fine, then take it with you.
Ditto on that.......I go fishing to relax and have fun.
Not too relaxing or fun seeing all the trash laying around.
That's depressing.
It is disappointing to see what people are comfortable leaving out on the ice - as well as in the woods, ect. But I do believe the majority of members on this site are likely to be the ones carrying an extra trash bag or leaving some room in their sleds to pick up their trash and usually what they come across.
Amen on all counts!!!!!!!
It's really disgusting to see some slobs leaving all sorts of junk out on the ice. I'm sure those that do won't even be on this site since I sue they are barely able to read.
On the ice is bad enough, it really pisses me off when people drop thier trash down the hole. A number of times I have fished out of other peoples holes to find trash under the ice or sitting at the bottom!:mad:
Herei the ultimate cure for that. RB1

Slob Hunter's Surprise Visitor
I got this out of the latest Woods-n-Waters and though it was pretty good...Authour
We pull up in front of this brick house, which looks like so many others in this residential
neighborhood of my hometown. Parked in the driveway is a brown and white Chevy 4 x
4. “This must be the place,” I say.
My wife looks down at a small index card in her hand, then at the license plate on the
truck. “Let’s see, license number S-L-O-B 1.” she says, “Yep, this is it.”
We turn into the driveway, get out and start unloading the car. We are about finished
when the front door of the house opens.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I think we can handle it, “I reply.
He looks puzzled. “What I meant was, what are you doing here?” “We’re going on a
picnic.” “You’re what? Do I know you?” “Well, we’ve never been formally introduced,” I
say, “but you and your buddies have been out to our farm a couple of times and since you
never seem to have the time to introduce yourself, we thought we would stop by for a
visit, Slick. Where’s your barbecue pit?”
I let my cigarette drop out of my mouth and onto the driveway, then make an exaggerated
show of stamping it out.

He looks at me in disbelief. I reach into my pocket and pull out the rest of the pack.

“Want one?” I start to offer him the pack, then pull it back. “Oh, that’s right. You and
your friends smoke cigars, don’t you. I found a couple of stogies butted out right where
the grass fire started last year. Boy, that was some kind of fire, Slick. You should have
seen it...”
“Look,” he interrupts, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but...”
It was my turn to interrupt. “Well, Slick ol’ buddy, it’s been nice chatting with you, but
we’re losing daylight here and we’ve got some picnicking to do. Just point us to the
I crush my empty soda can and toss it over my shoulder into a rose bush. “Hey,” he says,
“What do you think you are doing?” He runs over to pick up the can. My wife, the kids
and I grab our gear and head around the house.
My wife shrugs, reaches into her purse and pulls out a quarter. “Heads we use the gate
and tails we climb the fence.” The coin lands on heads. “Cheer up dear,” she says, “We
can climb the fence on the way out.” She always did know the right thing to say.
Slick comes stomping around the corner, my soda can in his hand, just as I open the gate.
“Look out,” he yells. Too late. A big Irish Setter bolts through the gate and does a couple
of complete circles in Slick’s front yard. Then the dog dashes across the street, cuts
through the neighbor’s yard and disappears behind a house.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Slick shouts. “That dog will run for hours. Who
knows what kind of trouble he’ll get into?”
“Aw. Slick I’m really sorry,” I say, gently knocking my palm on my forehead. “I just
wasn’t thinking. I never suspected you had a dog fenced up back here.”
He clenches his fist. “You idiot! Why would I have a fence here if I didn’t have
something penned up?”
“Calm down, Slick. Look, it was just an oversight. Probably the same kind of goof you
and your buddies made last fall out at our place when you left that gate open and 15 of
our steers got out.
He starts to say something, then turns around suddenly and takes off running in the
direction of the dog.
“Excitable fella,” I say.
“Definite Type A personality,” my wife answers.

Slick reappears about 45 minutes later. “Hey Slick,” I call. “Couldn’t find the dog, huh?
Oh well, don’t worry, he’ll probably be back in a week or so.”
His mouth drops open, as though he is looking at us for the first time. He screams, “Hey
get off, that’s my new grass seeding. See the sign?”
“What sign?” I ask innocently. He walks over to a small signpost and turns it around so it
faces my wife and me. “Can’t you read?” he bellows.
“Sure I can, Slick. It says: ‘Keep off the grass.
He clenches his fists again. “Well?”
I pause for a second or two before speaking. “Aw, Slick. I thought if anybody would
realize that signs are just for decoration, it would be you."
I walk over to my gear and pull out a .22 pistol. Before Slick can say anything, I level the
gun at the sign and fire off six quick shots. My wife runs over to the sign and calls back:
“Six out of six! Great shooting, dear.”
I puff out my chest a bit, then push the gun toward Slick. “Still three rounds left in the
clip, want to give it a go?” He backs away. “Slick I’m surprised at you. If it weren’t for
you and your buddies, I never would realize what great sport shooting holes in signs can
be. C’mon let’s see what you can do.”
He doesn’t move. “Oh, .1 get it, Slick. You only shoot holes in no-trespassing signs, huh?
Oh well, nothing wrong with a purist, I always say.”
Just then I hear a noise behind me. I wheel around to see a squirrel scurrying across the
roof of Slick’s garden shed. I level the gun again. “No don’t...” Slick yells.

I fire off the last three rounds. “Missed! doggone it Slick, you startled me when you
yelled.” Slick runs to the shed. “Look at this,” he says, pointing to three small holes, two
in the siding and one in the window pane. “You’ll pay for this.”
“Okay Slick, just send me a bill, then I’ll send you a bill for the 11 holes that you put in
my barn with a 30-06.”
“Are you through?” he faintly asks.
“We’ve got to get a fire started. Where’s your ax?” I inquire. “What?”

“Well, a chainsaw will do. We need some firewood. How about that oak over there? And
since you don’t have a barbeque pit, we’ll have to dig a fire pit.” I turn to my wife, “Dear,
would you run back to the. car and get the shovel? And see if I left the ax in the trunk.”
“Now see here,” Slick says, reddening. “I’m getting...
I rudely interrupt again. “Hey what happened to your chainsaw anyway, Slick? I know
you have one.” He glares at me. “Aw come on, Slick, you remember last November.
After you left, I found three little pine trees missing from my windbreak. By the way did
you have a good Christmas?”
My wife returns with the shovel and a small hatchet. She speaks to Slick first. “I think
you’d better get over to the neighbors right away,” she says. “Your dog is over there and
there’s a little boy crying and well, I don’t think it’s a big bite, but his mother went into
hysterics and started screaming. I couldn’t make it all out, but one of the words sounded
like lawsuit or lawyer or something like that.”
“Oh my gosh,” Slick yells. We watch him dart across the yard. My wife shakes her head.
“Most definitely a Type A.”

Slick shows up about two hours later, just as we finish supper. “Aw shoot,” I say. “I
didn’t know you’d be back so soon, Slick. We could have saved you a bite to eat.”
“I want you people off my property now.” he says in quivering anger, “or I’m calling the
“Well, you can if you want to Slick, but you’d probably be wasting your time. I’ve called
the sheriff just
about every time you’ve been out to my place, but he just sighs and says there isn’t a
whole lot he can do.”
“We’ll see about that.” He turns toward the house, then turns back toward us in
hesitation. My wife starts to pick up the assorted garbage scattered around our picnic area.
I stop her. “Dear, I’m surprised at you. When we’re guests at someone else’s home, we’re
supposed to follow their customs.” She looks puzzled. “Don’t you remember how Slick
and his friends always leave us some nice souvenirs like empty beer cans and spent shell
casings whenever they come to visit? When in Rome...”
She smiles sheepishly, then turns to Slick. “I don’t mean to be impolite.”
The muscles in his neck tighten. “Just get!” he yells.

“You’re right, Slick,” I say. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve got a long walk back to the
car - and that fence of yours to climb.” I turn to my wife, “By the way dear, did you bring
those wire cutters? That’s another trick I learned from our buddy Slick here.”
“Get out!” he screams.
I hold out my hand. “We’re going, but let me thank you for the wonderful day. We’ll get
together more often.”
“I know,” my wife says, “every-time Slick and his buddies come out to our farm on the
weekend, we can return the favor and come back here sometime during the week.”
“Get out!” Slick repeats. “You’ll never see me out there again.” And then his babbling
becomes incoherent.
The last we see him, he is galloping down the street, snorting like a buck in the rutting
Thats a good story... I too subscribe to Woods & Water.
Along the same subject... a friend of mine was fishing off 11 Mile last week. He ran accros a pile of garbage from what looked like a party the previous night. When he started to pick up the trash he found a cell phone. He called the owner using the owners cell and demanded he come pick up the trash if he wanted his phone back....

Two days later the trash was gone and arangements were made to meet and pass the phone back. No apology or explaination.... If thats not bad enough the guy actually had an attitude about having to pick up his own trash....

Its a shame we have to share our great resouces with pigs like that.
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