Français
We just opened this letter sent by Mister Louis Daur, rue Pure Sinistre, Longwy (98)
Dear Mouching,
Whenever my wife (Jeanne) gives me permission to open your blog, it is a delight without equal. In spite of my sparse knowledge of fly fishing (just two weeks of practice), I find basic information the makes me a better man and lover without equal (according to Jeanne who only rarely fakes a much wished for orgasm).
When I go to my favorite river I am generally in the company of Gerard L., Raymond G., and Lucien T., all excellent fishermen. For them fly fishing is a diversion for perverse homosexuals from the sticks, in no case a means of putting food on the table to please the neighbors.
I have to admit that they pull fish out of the river in great quantity and of enormous variety. Each time that they see me entangled with one of the devilish flys and fucking leader they plead with me: “My dear Louis, stop fooling around with those fairy things! Use cheese like we do and you’ll see your sack fill with fish who drop their jaws in disbelief for having been duped. They love cheese and with their little fins will swim miles to chase an old chunk of munster or the end of a Livarot.
“It was on returning to my house on my Mobylette that the idea came to me. And, dear Mouching, you’ll have to agree that this idea qualifies as revolutionary.” In a way, one can say that it consists of the marriage of reason, between fly fishing and traditional cheese fishing.
After dinner and a desert that Jeanne had prepared (the details are censured by the blog’s service of vice control!), I went to work on my vise. You’ll see how simple it is. All I had to do was fix a morsel of cheese to my hook (Comte, Tomme de Savoie or another compact cheese!) add a few feathers of whatever fowl you chose, then add a few hairs of quadrupeds, equally of your choosing.
The following day, the results on the river buttoned up the mouths of all my friends.
The fish literally fought to gobble up this uncommon fly. To describe the pride that I felt would require the plume of a Beaumarchais or a harpsichord of the late Mozart. The FROMOUCHE was born and with the help of some of my chinese friends we shall put this discovery on the market, at an honest price rest assured!
Also, dear Mouching, if you can ask your loyal readers to send their old pieces of cheese that would be normally be headed for the garbage, without my creativity, that would be very considerate.
Dear Mister Daur,
In effect, your discovery opens unsuspected doors for our art. (Cyril, who often has difficulty understanding technical details, just returned from the supermarket with 75 boxes of “VACHE QUI RIT” ; unfortunately not usable to realize your FROMOUCHE. What a waste!)
