Greetings fellow brownlining pimps. You had your chance to GTFO - now you’re stuck with us. So sit back, take ten shots of Jäger (to relax, of course) and enjoy the show.
Allow me to introduce…myself…
I’m James Snyder
As the founder of this borderline psychotic debacle, I’ll take the floor as king bitch. We’re talking Bitch Numero Uno. See that picture of me on the Primal Fly Fishing home page? With that inflatable lacquered carp I tote around in my chest pack? If you’re gonna roll, you gotta’ roll big, and my mom always said I had a knack for hookin’ up with slobs. “One for the team!” I’m the dusher who always catches more fish than the other guys and my “yo momma” jokes are way cooler too. It’s my moral duty as bitch number one to roast the shit out of everyone I fish with, cuz they just can’t hang:). Much love and respect to my verbal sensei, George Carlin.
When I am not out dodging hobos, turds (or ditching work) I can usually be found breaking sound barriers, inhaling 111 Octane, and generally wreaking havoc at the nearest sand dunes on my pimp flux-capacitated YFZ and/or 3 MIL TRX Stroker. What up Duners! (insert rock and roll hand gestures here my brethren)?!
I have been known to frequent the towns dirtiest jazz bars with the likes of my outlaw funk band Broken Holmes - we bring some nasty urban funk to any dirty hippie who’ll listen. I’m also a huge MMA fan and sometimes practice my latest moves on unsuspecting trout snobs and otherwise over-opinionated cyber-fishermen - we know who you are and we’re watching.
So when the 6 ft., 240 lb., tattooed gun-slingin’ bourbon-swillin’ trash-talkin’ hooligan from Primalfly comes your way on the water….be nice, show some brotherly love (or suffer a slimy bitch slap from the butt end of a carp). Yeah, I’m the bully of the bunch, but I’m still good for humor, porn o’ plenty, and Percocet holidays.
I’m Tom Teasdale
My official title is Bitch in [Trailer Park] Residence but you can just call me Wall Street. Or if you’re the diehard environmentalist type…the Destroyer. Either way, I’m famous - a general all-around badass whose name gets pasted all over business publications, because I’m all business on the water.
My daddy dropped me head first on a boulder in Cheesman Canyon when I was like two months old, and roughly three weeks later I caught my first 20+ inch brown from behind the very same rock. It’s been all downhill since. I’ve fished every slipstream, seam, and pocket o’ soft water in the Rocky Mountain west, and spent years sleeping in the back of my truck while commuting between Mosquito Lagoon and Florida Bay in the Summer of ‘69. In other words, I can catch trout as well as the dirty golden beasties, but unlike most of the mountain men I can actually cast a fly line more than 13 feet. Don’t like the idea of that? Doesn’t matter, because a day on the water with me as your guide is the closest thing to guaranteed fly flinging goodness you’ll ever get on planet Earth. I’m just that damn important.
When I’m not kicking everyone’s angling ass in like a 25,000 square mile area surrounding my completely and utterly sentient being, I can be found training my Welsh Corgi to jump through rings of fire, usually created with a home brew of tweed fly fishing jacket remnants…and napalm. We’re going on Letterman soon, but if Letterman doesn’t stop pestering me I might hit Oprah instead. I know where you’ll be running to when the zombies come, so book your reservation for my pad as soon as possible.
I’m David Luna
Yeah, I’m the minority of the bunch, but no I wasn’t born in East LA. What up holmes! I run a secret league of rather ordinary Latino fly fisherman cartel who hunt down illegals (that means no fishing license, jackass) and pepper them with spicy pinon nuts shot from a stolen paintball gun. James and the guys paid for my safe trafficking over the border so I agreed to sign up as contract fly tier (as well as derogatory spanish grammar tutor). That means if you say anything derogatory about my patterns (in Spanish or otherwise) there will be a contract out on you. When I’m not fishing or tying I spend my time scheming ways to overthrow La Migra-Ordale Vatos!
I have the tendency to hang my huevos out with the boys,…challenging big carp on a 4 wt. - Chale Holmes! I’ve broken at least three rods since. I already take enough racial abuse from these gueros pendejos, and I’m not cool with the nickname Butters, Panchito, or Gordita. Anyway, these latte sippers can’t handle the hot sauce like I can! “Don’t look at me little puppet”!
My birthday is May 5th. My crew and I drink free that day…comprende? Blood in, blood out - La Familia!
I’m Aaron Seymour
Everyone needs a token out-of-town bitch, and I’m it. Those canker sores from Colorado know I’m the shit, so they recruited me from a faraway place called Michigan. I once had delusions of becoming a prestigious (read: famous and highly paid) trout fisherman, but these Primal Fly delinquents shattered that dream by getting me hooked into a thirty-pound pile of goldfish stinking. I mean c’mon, who doesn’t like porn and stinky fingers?
Back in my home town I was labeled an outcast, venturing out at night to steal neighbors chickens and tie big flies with fresh feathers. Shit man…there are no fly shops in the Upper P. I’ve been known to hook huge browns at night in the Manastee, but my most treasured catch was a 38 lb. beaver on my 5 wt. - what a fight (and man it tasted great on the grill)! I’ll admit I might not catch as many fish as the rest of the boys, but they didn’t teach Carp fishing 101 at Sweetwater. It’s ok - I’m still referred to as one of those “casting fags” due to my autistic double haul, but these other bitches are really just jealous. They’d say I’m the mild one of the bunch - my vices are straight Cope, Bushmills, corn-fed Oklahoma girls, and anything produced by Renzetti.
I’m Erin Sessanna
I’m the brains of this outfit and don’t you forget it - my job is to keep all the bitches in line. I hack websites and cook a mean breakfast burrito. I’m an avid duner, backcountry boarder, and ride waves whenever and wherever I can find a swell. And every once in a blue moon (assuming someone else is buying the Blue Moon), I even catch a few fish. Don’t let the pearly whites and the baby blues fool ya, I roll gangsta style. I’m drama free, prefer dude rather than miss, and favor Jack Daniels over Cosmos any given Sunday. It’s all about showing the boys…I mean bitches who’s boss - they need constant reminders, and since they’ll be spending a lot of time in front of the camera I can’t have their faces permanently wrapped in bloody gauze.
Yeah bitches, grow a sack and man up! Capiche?
