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We have our own "Catfish Hole" here in SW Ark

Started by labb, December 11, 2017, 10:43:48 am

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BallHog1

Quote from: HoopS on December 15, 2017, 08:49:02 am
I don't have the words.

How did you get to this point?

You have an olive branch, an exceptional one, being handed to you from Skandar, but you'd rather throw hands at him rather than apologize, accept the branch, and allow us all to heal over this mess. I don't get it.
Hoop, I can sense the frustration in your post and I want you to know I'm right there with you. A simple apology and the sun comes out. I've never seen a more stubborn approach to making things right than Good Guy (Tex).

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: hassettsportsman on December 15, 2017, 09:46:01 am
I like this thread minus some petty differences.  It showcases some forgotten towns and foodies.  I'm OK with those who won't or haven't travelled south of the I 30/I 40 interchange....ever.  Besides, what are we to discuss until the new DC is named.  On another note, how many of you ate at the original Mexico Chiquito or it's neighbor Tak a Taco?  The Mexican spiced catfish was fantastic!

Mexican spiced is great!

 

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: BallHog1 on December 15, 2017, 10:04:31 am
Hoop, I can sense the frustration in your post and I want you to know I'm right there with you. A simple apology and the sun comes out. I've never seen a more stubborn approach to making things right than Good Guy (Tex).


Good Guy (Tex), I don't like him!

The OTR

I've seen guys like goodguytex before on this message board. The best comparisons I have for him are VBRazorback and Vangage8, two stubborn cusses if there was ever stubborn cusses.

I guess him dousing me with a milk shake is going to make him feel better about himself. Who knows what his deep problems are.  Maybe he's eating catfish out of the red river too often that are full of pollution or mercury and it's warped his brain. That would be my best guess about a guy who clearly has had the opportunity to apologize and ballhog and hoops and the new Baylor kid are here encouraging him to man up and apologize to me and this board.

I ain't known for fighting. I get into less than 10 fist fights/bar fights on average per year so I'm no expert on the subject.  And a lot of those are just one sucker punch or roundhouse kick or maybe tripping someone down some stairs or something or cracking a beer bottle over their head.  Just your average stuff. Nothing where a guy loses teeth or needs to go to the hospital or anything.  And the last thing I need right now is to get into it with a guy over which restaurant has the best catfish. That's the absolute last thing I need. 

In the spirit of Christmas I'm going to withdraw my previous apology until Tex apologizes to me.  Can't ask for much more than that.


hawgon

Speaking of Yankees and catfish.  One time when I was living in Missouri I went to some sort of function where they advertised a fish dinner.  I was intrigued because good fish was hard to find up there and I suddenly had a craving.  So I went...I think it was some sort of historical lecture at a local restaurant.

Well, imagine my disappointment to find a soggy catfish fillet about an inch thick served with.........


















mashed potatoes!   What kind of hillbilly Yankee crap is that?  Who ever heard of such?

Johnny Bobo

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 15, 2017, 11:58:12 am

I am asking for forgiveness.  My penance has been posting as Pillowhead Jackson and Skandar this football season.  I hope one day goodguytex can forgive me for my many, many sins. Maybe Gus himself can absolve me when he comes here.


you're being too hard on yourself

labb

Ya'll can argue Catfish Hole vrs. Fishbowl vrs. any other catfish place but the best catfish comes from a little convenience store know as the Boll Weevil right off of old highway 67 outside of Fulton, Arkansas. Right next door to the Cotton Patch liquor store.

The OTR

Quote from: labb on December 15, 2017, 12:53:39 pm
Ya'll can argue Catfish Hole vrs. Fishbowl vrs. any other catfish place but the best catfish comes from a little convenience store know as the Boll Weevil right off of old highway 67 outside of Fulton, Arkansas. Right next door to the Cotton Patch liquor store.

Now here comes the gas station catfish guys. Knew they'd show up like flies at a picnic.

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 15, 2017, 01:03:38 pm
Now here comes the gas station catfish guys. Knew they'd show up like flies at a picnic.

the Conoco Station in Rosebud! best catfish! I love it!

goodguytex

Quote from: BallHog1 on December 14, 2017, 10:02:21 am
Look, an olive branch was extended. Do the right thing here. Make the apology and move on so we all can put this behind us. It will never go away if you don't face it and deal with it.
You know what I'll do with your little olive branch?? Take it and whip skandars ugly butt and make him butt uglier than he already is. That's what I think of your olive branch!! >:( 8)

goodguytex

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 15, 2017, 11:58:12 am
I've seen guys like goodguytex before on this message board. The best comparisons I have for him are VBRazorback and Vangage8, two stubborn cusses if there was ever stubborn cusses.

I guess him dousing me with a milk shake is going to make him feel better about himself. Who knows what his deep problems are.  Maybe he's eating catfish out of the red river too often that are full of pollution or mercury and it's warped his brain. That would be my best guess about a guy who clearly has had the opportunity to apologize and ballhog and hoops and the new Baylor kid are here encouraging him to man up and apologize to me and this board.

I ain't known for fighting. I get into less than 10 fist fights/bar fights on average per year so I'm no expert on the subject.  And a lot of those are just one sucker punch or roundhouse kick or maybe tripping someone down some stairs or something or cracking a beer bottle over their head.  Just your average stuff. Nothing where a guy loses teeth or needs to go to the hospital or anything.  And the last thing I need right now is to get into it with a guy over which restaurant has the best catfish. That's the absolute last thing I need. 

In the spirit of Christmas I'm going to withdraw my previous apology until Tex apologizes to me.  Can't ask for much more than that.
I don't want no kind of apology from bottom feedin trollers like you son! You so butt ugly no wonder you can't tell what a good catfish tastes like. You so butt ugly all the catfish get away from you. Your only chance to get a cat is to put a bag over your ugly head and beg them fish to give your butt ugly self a chance.

Now you and Brett can take y'all's catfish hole ugly butts back up thar to wishconsin or iower or wherever y'all come from and stay thar!  >:( :-\ :puke:

hawgon

Skandar strikes me more as a buffalo ribs or gar balls kind of guy.

Boardon Hamsay

Quote from: Chorizo Hogriguez on December 15, 2017, 01:36:27 pm
the Conoco Station in Rosebud! best catfish! I love it!

I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!
Quote from: Pillowhead Jackson on October 16, 2017, 07:51:05 pmDo nursing homes buy a lot of lobsters for their residents or are you back behind the trash dumpster selling hot lobsters ito Uncle Dewey for his social security money?
Quote from: Rudy Baylor on March 26, 2019, 08:33:58 pmBill Self seriously just jogged by my front yard. I almost accidentally sprayed him with Weed&Feed
Quote from: thebignasty on April 03, 2019, 12:07:41 pmExploitation of quantum mechanics pretty much has to be addressed in the NCAA handbook.
Quote from: theFlyingHog on June 09, 2021, 10:50:01 amYou certainly keep the waters well chummed.
Quote from: PonderinHog on October 22, 2021, 10:03:28 amI'm no longer drinking yet.

 

HoopS


LZH

Better than any ol 'Twas the Night Before Christmas '.....

Aunt_Razorback

It is funny yet tragic cause in one way or another whether it be needing a place for peeing (guys dont have this problem like we ladies) or shatting...we have all been in the middle of nowhere someplace between here and there. To avoid gastro upset as Darrell described I have formed two rules in my life 1) never take your mom's colon cleanse herbal meds then head 40 minutes out of town for Chinese 2) never eat any type of gas station fare that has spent time naked in a display case under a heat lamp

😘

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: Darrell Royal's Floating Flaming Fulminating Spectral Head on December 15, 2017, 07:38:43 pm
I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!

No bueno I am sorry! I done like it! I hope you are ok!

The OTR

Tip of the hat to the Ugly Uncle and Darrell's flaming head and hoops and ballhog for trying to keep this thread out of the gutter.  Good work, gentlemen. Too bad one person can't just apologize and admit south Arkansas and red river catfish sucks so we can move on.

theFlyingHog

Quote from: swinemaster on December 11, 2017, 12:54:30 pm
Catfish is Catfish. Period.
You shall be executed at sunrise! Dilly Dilly!


River fish > farm fish. Come to SE AR and tell people all catfish is the same and duck when you say it

theFlyingHog

Damn. I can't decide if I should fire up the fryer or get the poles out when I get home.

goodguytex

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 16, 2017, 12:18:18 pm
Tip of the hat to the Ugly Uncle and Darrell's flaming head and hoops and ballhog for trying to keep this thread out of the gutter.  Good work, gentlemen. Too bad one person can't just apologize and admit south Arkansas and red river catfish sucks so we can move on.
How would you know son? You already said you'd never eaten any. You just talking out your butt ugly ***.

dirtdobber

Lol!  Anybody who has ever had good fried catfish knows that the catfish served at the Catfish Hole in NW Arkansas is substandard to say the least.  The hushpuppies are great, but the catfish is not very good.

Johnny Bobo

Quote from: dirtdobber on December 16, 2017, 06:57:12 pm
Lol!  Anybody who has ever had good fried catfish knows that the catfish served at the Catfish Hole in NW Arkansas is substandard to say the least.  The hushpuppies are great, but the catfish is not very good.

it's sliced up thin and we're not supposed to notice

it's like eating fried-catfish-flavored potato chips


BallHog1

Quote from: Darrell Royal's Floating Flaming Fulminating Spectral Head on December 15, 2017, 07:38:43 pm
I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!

gold

 

hawgon

Some of the best catfish around right now is actually at EZ Mart.  Give it a try.  If your sensibilities are hurt by gas station catfish, get it at one of the new huge EZ Marts.

Michael D Huff AIA

Quote from: Darrell Royal's Floating Flaming Fulminating Spectral Head on December 15, 2017, 07:38:43 pm
I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!

I've been reading this board since about 2002.  Favorite post of all time right here.

AirWarren

Quote from: Darrell Royal's Floating Flaming Fulminating Spectral Head on December 15, 2017, 07:38:43 pm
I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!

Did not read.

AirWarren

Quote from: hawgon on December 15, 2017, 12:03:51 pm
Speaking of Yankees and catfish.  One time when I was living in Missouri I went to some sort of function where they advertised a fish dinner.  I was intrigued because good fish was hard to find up there and I suddenly had a craving.  So I went...I think it was some sort of historical lecture at a local restaurant.

Well, imagine my disappointment to find a soggy catfish fillet about an inch thick served with.........


















mashed potatoes!   What kind of hillbilly Yankee crap is that?  Who ever heard of such?

Freaking Yankees and their ideas of "catfish".....

The OTR

Quote from: Michael D Huff AIA on December 18, 2017, 12:57:59 pm
I've been reading this board since about 2002.  Favorite post of all time right here.

There's a lot of real dummies on this board. Darrel ain't one of them. He can spin a tale with style and tell it like no one else can.  This has my vote for post of the decade.  It should be required reading for everyone on the board.   

This needs to be in the smithsonian since they are covering up the story about giants they need something like this to give them some credibility. If there is a more dishonest business than the museum business in this country I've yet to see it. Putting some of Darrell's best work in there would go a long way to restoring their credibility in my book.


PonderinHog

Admitting that the best catfish can only be found in NEA (Dairy King, Portia to be precise) would go a long way to restoring any credibility that you may have thought you had, Skandotr Akbotr.   >:(

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: hawgon on December 18, 2017, 08:01:17 am
Some of the best catfish around right now is actually at EZ Mart.  Give it a try.  If your sensibilities are hurt by gas station catfish, get it at one of the new huge EZ Marts.

the gas station catfish is good!

Chorizo Hogriguez

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 18, 2017, 01:16:54 pm
There's a lot of real dummies on this board. Darrel ain't one of them. He can spin a tale with style and tell it like no one else can.  This has my vote for post of the decade.  It should be required reading for everyone on the board.   

This needs to be in the smithsonian since they are covering up the story about giants they need something like this to give them some credibility. If there is a more dishonest business than the museum business in this country I've yet to see it. Putting some of Darrell's best work in there would go a long way to restoring their credibility in my book.


is a great post!

hoginla

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 11, 2017, 12:32:59 pm
I don't know much but I do know that the catfish down there isn't as good as the catfish at the catfish hole. I don't want to get into a big debate about it as I have debated this topic at length with such stubborn members as ricepig. 

But let's not start comparing the Fish Bowl to the catfish hole.

Thanks in advance for your cooperation on this matter.

I live on the coast so I don't have a dog in the fight but why in the world would you bring it up if you didn't want to start an argument?
September 8, 2023 19 years w/Hogville!

theFlyingHog


The OTR

Quote from: hoginla on December 18, 2017, 04:06:32 pm
I live on the coast so I don't have a dog in the fight but why in the world would you bring it up if you didn't want to start an argument?

Good question.  I guess because I know more about eating catfish than football.  And i'd say that's true for most in here except for one who shall remain nameless but his initials are goodguytex and he doesn't know anything about football or catfish. 

goodguytex

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 19, 2017, 05:24:08 pm
Good question.  I guess because I know more about eating catfish than football.  And i'd say that's true for most in here except for one who shall remain nameless but his initials are goodguytex and he doesn't know anything about football or catfish.
I'll remember not to take you seriously on anything related to football, because you don't know squat about catfish. Other than running your trap about a places catfish you never even tried.

The OTR

Quote from: goodguytex on December 19, 2017, 10:13:38 pm
I'll remember not to take you seriously on anything related to football, because you don't know squat about catfish. Other than running your trap about a places catfish you never even tried.

I've probably seen bigger sourpusses on here in my time but I can't remember when. 

If I had to list out your strengths here would be my list:

1.  Takes all things related to catfish and catfish restaurants deadly serious.  Don't cross him about catfish.  Don't try to fool him about restaurants you haven't been to.

Unfortunately your lists of strengths isn't very long.  That's all I got.  If anyone else wants to add to this list be my guest.

goodguytex

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 19, 2017, 10:20:46 pm
I've probably seen bigger sourpusses on here in my time but I can't remember when. 

If I had to list out your strengths here would be my list:

1.  Takes all things related to catfish and catfish restaurants deadly serious.  Don't cross him about catfish.  Don't try to fool him about restaurants you haven't been to.

Unfortunately your lists of strengths isn't very long.  That's all I got.  If anyone else wants to add to this list be my guest.
Only strength of yours I can list is talking out your butt. About all you got.

BorderPatrol

Quote from: goodguytex on December 19, 2017, 10:26:57 pm
Only strength of yours I can list is talking out your butt. About all you got.

Damn dude, you need to get laid or something.

bp

Sooiepride

Quote from: Darrell Royal's Floating Flaming Fulminating Spectral Head on December 15, 2017, 07:38:43 pm
I left El Dorado for Fayetteville one day over 10 years ago and just north of Hampton, it hit. It started with an innocent breakage of wind but soon thereafter, my arse was a fully functioning woodwind section of the highest orchestral order. My resolution held steady but over then next ten minutes or so, my pace quickened. 65 then 70.....then 75 mph. As I surpassed 80 mph on highway 167 North, the pine trees were a mere blur and the sun cresting over the tree tops couldn't surpress the enemy within.

I was in no mans land, friends. My will started to fail! Where could I manage to divest this gastrointestinal beast that would require a clean up of epic proportions?  This wasn't gonna be something that nature would provide sufficient wiping material for.  Could I use and discard my t-shirt? Would that be enough? Is there a chance I could find some large banana leaves in this otherwise pine laden monotony? If I drop this deuce roadside, what in the hell am I gonna do once my limited clean up options run out? Could I clean my clothing turned soiled wiping aids at the next car wash? Could I really stop at the next house and explain my situation before my puckered arsehole exploded with such force that it could scar their children? Why the hell was Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing on the radio now?

I should mention now that my road deuce strategy usually follows a "find the closest thing to a home field advantage" approach. You know, a "brand" hotel is typically the closest equivalent of a home deuce in that any reputable hotel should offer a clean environment with ample rollage and stalls that instill a peaceful solitude that personifies the joy of a good home deuce.  If any one here has been on highway 167 between Hampton and Fordyce though, you know nothing fits that description.

As I hit 90 mph, the fear of getting pulled over took my mind off the waning pressures from within. I remember thinking at one point, "well, they're gonna have to lay down spike strips to get me to stop and if that happens at least the fact that I will also have shat myself could disturb them enough that they'll let me go to avoid having to power wash the inside of the cop car".

As I passed the turn off for highway 274, I threw in the Rocky IV CD. Four seconds into Robert Tepper's "There's No Easy Way Out" I realized I was playing for keeps. Then I realized that my song choice could accidentally trigger the human waste holocaust I was desperately fighting against. I chuckled at the irony of Rocky driving while mourning the loss of Apollo Creed while I was driving 95 mph in mourning of the passing of the previous nights dinner. In that moment, I hit the random button on my stereo and found the ray of hope I needed; Rocky IV's "Training Montage".

I chuckled again at the visual irony of Rocky pushing himself through the snow while carrying a log while I hit 100 mph to push out a log of my own. A few minutes later, I merged onto highway 79, which takes you into Fordyce. I had already decided miles before that Walmart was gonna be the battleground for my ever brewing bowel atrocity. I barely let off the gas as I merged onto 79. I began to plan my strategy for making my way to the can. Am I so pinched up that I should just jump in a cart and have someone push me in? If they happen to hit a bump with the cart, would that trigger my septic avalanche?

My tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I got out of the car so quick I accidentally farted with a violence that I was sure echoed across the parking lot and probably lead to some hot seepage. I regained my composure and walked in like I was trying to open a jar of pickles with my arsehole.

I scanned the front of the store! &$#%}*^!!!! The }%{*# bathroom is in the back of the %}*#+{= store! I pressed onward to the back of the store in such a disheveled manner, I was certain I would be stopped by security under the suspicion of shoplifting Midge, the door greeter, in my pants. I could no longer focus my eyes. I accidentally farted again next to the baby food aisle. It smelled like a rotten hot dog slathered in hot liquid sulfur. It was so bad, I wanted to wipe my arse with a snow cone or possibly some clay bars from automotive.

I finally made it to the bathroom and sat down with such an anger, I think it jarred the sink away from the wall and forced the faucet on. The next 30 seconds or so are a bit blurry but I swear I may or may not have given birth to a baby rhino that ate 40 lbs of applesauce and toxic waste. I also may or may not have ripped the handicap hand rail out of the wall for leverage and unknowingly kicked off a shoe. At one point, the lights flickered and I panicked over whether I needed to bite down on my wallet or one of the toilet paper rolls to avoid sharing my gastric saga with the rest of the store.  I wanted to get out of the stall halfway through and dunk my arse in a homemade ice bath in the sink or possibly just use the half full, stagnant mop bucket that appeared to have been parked in the corner since Nixon was in office but I was afraid of getting some tepid drippage on my boxers and jeans. I also debated whether I should sneak out of the stall pants down to grab some paper towels in the event the four rolls didn't put a dent in cleaning up from such a putrid undertaking. I was thankful to a degree that the toilet was a water conservation model so the backsplash potential was kept to a minimum. I flushed so much that the city of Fordyce must have thought half the town was filling their swimming pools that morning. The waste treatment plant probably wondered why there was an anomalous, lunar driven, high tide as well. Despite feeling renewed, I did feel a brief moment of guilt for not trying to chisel off the bowl residue with a garden trowel but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible since I felt confident an audience and some local EMTs might have been gathering just outside the bathroom door. I'll spare any further sordid embellishments but it was the best and worst deuce of my life. I may have even teared up from the emotion of making it through the drive from Hampton to Fordyce under such derisive conditions.

Looking back, I imagine the backroom associates of the Fordyce Walmart thought that bathroom was part of a Jean Claude Van Damm movie set in a sewage treatment plant. I made it through unscathed though and give credit to that Rocky IV soundtrack for keeping me motivated along the way. I suppose though the true motivation for that harrowing experience lies in the previous nights dinner: gas. station. catfish!

I am pretty sure this is the longest post I've ever read whilst keeping totally engaged.  I was on the edge of my seat!  Thanks!!
God, Family, Country, Razorbacks.

The OTR


PonderinHog

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 20, 2017, 08:16:20 am
Isn't he cranky?
Nothing like a three piece catfish dinner from the Dairy King in Portia to cheer a man up.  NOTHING!

Michael D Huff AIA

This thread has managed to last longer than thousands of others on this board.  It has managed to contain discussion about the various locations of some of the finer fried cuisine Arkansas has to offer, while at the same time it has contained a minor civil war.

Nobody can say we aren't versatile here at Hogville.

goodguytex

Quote from: Sooiepride on December 20, 2017, 07:20:18 am
I am pretty sure this is the longest post I've ever read whilst keeping totally engaged.  I was on the edge of my seat!  Thanks!!
Benny would be proud at the length of that.

goodguytex

Quote from: BorderPatrol on December 20, 2017, 06:31:15 am
Damn dude, you need to get laid or something.

bp
BP... Dude was trying to troll me from the first time he posted in the thread. So I trolled him back. If you actually are taking this that serious enough to not be able to figure that out, you're not as bright as I thought you were.

goodguytex

Quote from: Skandar Jackson on December 20, 2017, 08:16:20 am
Isn't he cranky?
Don't make me drive up there and drop you in the catfish hole deep fryer son!!

BorderPatrol

Quote from: goodguytex on December 20, 2017, 08:52:38 am
BP... Dude was trying to troll me from the first time he posted in the thread. So I trolled him back. If you actually are taking this that serious enough to not be able to figure that out, you're not as bright as I thought you were.

If that was your attempt at trolling, you suck at it. All you come across is defensive and pissy. Kinda like the last sentence above.

bp

BallHog1

Quote from: goodguytex on December 20, 2017, 08:52:38 am
BP... Dude was trying to troll me from the first time he posted in the thread. So I trolled him back. If you actually are taking this that serious enough to not be able to figure that out, you're not as bright as I thought you were.
I don't know about trolling...don't want to know. I would like to see more civility on this board. You could be part of the solution with a semi-sincere apology but you refuse. You've ruined Christmas

goodguytex

Quote from: BorderPatrol on December 20, 2017, 09:23:42 am
If that was your attempt at trolling, you suck at it. All you come across is defensive and pissy. Kinda like the last sentence above.

bp
I don't remember seeking your input, since you have an axe to grind anyway. So...

goodguytex

Quote from: BallHog1 on December 20, 2017, 09:29:04 am
I don't know about trolling...don't want to know. I would like to see more civility on this board. You could be part of the solution with a semi-sincere apology but you refuse. You've ruined Christmas
I'm sure there's room in that catfish hole deep fryer....