Dreaming of Dragons

I’ve been having this dream about fishing with McDougal

It's fall and most of the leaves are off the trees as we hike toward the stream. I'm not much of a fisherman, but McDougal is. Ties his own flies and shit. We get to the stream and wade out in the water. I never have any luck. My fly is hung in a branch again.

Then a dragon comes out of the water. He asks us who we are.

McDougal leans in close and whispers, "Pretend you're a bear."

His breath stinks of fried eggs, coffee, and tobacco.

"We're just bears," I say. "Fishing for trout."

"Very well," the dragon says. "Then I shall grant you three wishes."

McDougal leans in close again, "Tell him you wish you were a man. That's the first thing a bear would wish for."

He has a long, matted beard that hides infected red bumps on his face.

"Wait," I say. "Is that three wishes a piece, or do we have to split them?"

The dragon eats McDougal.

"Why did you do that, dragon?" I ask.

"Dragons don't understand math. That is to say, we don't do math. We understand the concept: adding and subtracting and dividing and whatnot."

Of course, I'm nervous now. "This is not a wish, but can we smoke cigarettes?"

"Are you a bear?"

"In the woods, I crap."

"Yes, you may smoke."

"Join me," I say.

And we fire up a couple of butts.

"This is good smoke," the dragon says.

"I wish I had a golden barrel of infinite fish."

"Done," the dragon says. He is finished with his cigarette and I have the barrel.

"I want to be a man," I say. "Only, I want to keep these bear hands."

"Done," the dragon says.

"So I'm finished?"

"Yes," the dragon says. And he eats me.

When I am in his stomach, I see McDougal’s head.

"Did you not tell him you are a bear?"

"I did indeed."

"Then why did he eat you?"

"He is a dragon."

Then the dragon is a whale.

"Can we climb out?"

"Did Jonah?"

"See if you can get three more wishes?"

"I have lost my golden barrel of infinite fish."

"Have you? Wish to be free."

"I wish I were free."

Then I am on the deck of a whaler and McDougal rides the dragon through the sea.

I harpoon him in the eye.

"May we have three wishes?" McDougal asks.

"Yes," I say. "I wish you were a bear, I was a dragon, and I had my golden barrel of fish back."

Then we are back in the woods. The dragon is sitting with the bear with a smug way about him. McDougal whispers something to him.

"Can we have three wishes?"

Then someone throws a harpoon in my eye, and I wish it didn't hurt so badly.

And I'm in my bed. And I fall asleep.

It's fall and most of the leaves are off the trees as we hike toward the stream. I'm not much of a fisherman, but McDougal is. Ties his own flies and shit. We get to the stream and wade out in the water. I never have any luck. My fly is hung in a branch again.

Fishing for Miracles

McDougal saved my life in Panama City in the late 70s. I was about 8. McDougal couldn't have been more than six. We were working a shrimp boat that ran up and down the Gulf Coast 20 hours a day. We worked cheap back then -- oblivious to child labor laws and to the doubts of our elderly caregivers.

About a year into our shrimping venture, I caught syphilis from a Tallahassee whore and slipped into a maniacal state. I'd knifed the first mate during a heated game of Go-Fish (the only game the captain permitted us to play aboard his vessel). I called for an eight, and the first mate denied ownership of such a card. We were playing with a marked deck, so I knew he was lying. At first, I let it slide. But when on the very next turn, that bastard requested an eight from me, I lost it. Ran his belly with an 8" filet knife. He bled out over the period of about six hours, then I tossed him overboard.

When we pulled into port, the captain notified his widow, and she went into a rage. Attacked me with an aluminum bat she kept in her Dodge Omni. Beat me within an inch of my life. I was so blitzed on seafarer's moonshine and fevered delirium that I didn't even know who she was at the time. I thought she was a giant shrimp and the Omni was a vessel designed and built by aliens in the mythical city of Atlantis.

I put up no defense, and was resigned to accept my fate.

Thank God for McDougal, who upon seeing what was happening, charged the scorned widow and choked her to death with a 4-foot strand of 150-pound test fishing line.

I was severely wounded and had slipped into a state of shock. McDougal loaded me into the Omni and rushed me to an emergecny room ... in Atlantis. There, I was healed. Plus, I was given a third eye at the base of my spine.

God bless McDougal and the magical mermen surgeons of Atlantis.

Rocky Mountain High

In some ways it's not so bad to be eating sushi off John Denver's back, but in other ways, it's one of those things that in retrospect you know you wouldn't do if it wasn't for McDougal.

McDougal LOVED "Rocky Mountain High". He would play it over and over again, this was in the days before he could make a tape of the song back to back, or a cd of nothing but that song repeating over and over again, or fill an 80GB iPod with 16,000 320kbps mp3s of the exact same song. Back then he would just hit rewind on the 8-track and he got to where he could hit the beginning of the song to the second and yell FUCK YEAH at the top of his bong-ravaged lungs.

Most times it would make him cry, or shit himself, or blubber. If he saw it in a jukebox out somewhere he would destroy the jukebox, saying he was pulling the "essense of the song" from the machine or some late-70s horseshit like that. He claimed Fleetwood Mac as Mr. Denver's sworn enemy, and single-handedly caused the band to break up and impregnated that girl with the long black dress and would have impregnated Lindsay Buckingham except men cannot be impregnated.

So one day he hauls off and kidnaps John Fucking Denver. I was like, "McDougal, you can't do that." He tied Mr. Denver down to a table and we ate all our meals off him, and the poor guy had to pretty much sing that same song 24 hours a day. If McDougal fell asleep, Denver would beg and plead with me to set him free or feed him some food or blah blah blah, and of course McD would hear him and wake up and start blubbering and beating him about the torso. Then Denver would shut up and sing and we were pretty much like that til 1987.

Summer of 87 I let John Denver free mainly because I was so Goddamned Sick of that song. McDougal I don't think even noticed, he was heavy into Nordic Metal and was busy with graduate school.

The day John Denver died, McDougal called me up and said "Sally, want to go down to Mexitown and get some cheap ponchos?" I did, and that led to the icefishing incident I told you about in July.

Bass Boat

McDougal borrowed my bass boat, took it out and caught the biggest catfish in Oklahoma state history. Got his picture in the paper.

Then my boat was seized in a crystal meth sting operation that McDougal ends up pinning on me. I went to jail for 8 years.

When I get out, McDougal's married my wife, moved into my house, and my kids call him dad. But I couldn't be mad. Little Billy was on the honor roll, my wife had dropped 40 pounds, and I'd never seend McDougal happier.

He gave me $11,000. He said that was for my troubles. I used the money to actually start a meth lab and turned that 11 grand into a small fortune of nearly 270 thousand dollars.

Long live McDougal!

Ice Flounder

Me and McDougal and some old college buddies were ice fishing up in Maine a few years ago. We used to go every year after McDougal lost his job at the steel mill. He'd been out of work for about four and a half years at that point, and McDougal said that was going to be the last trip he was going to be able to take, so we wanted to make it a big one.

Anyway, the fourth night we were up there, me and McDougal were the only guys out on the pond. Everyone else had either already gone to bed, or McDougal and stabbed and eaten them in the previous days.

McDougal looks over at me with those puppy dog eyes, and says to me,

"Harley," he always calls me that. "Harley," he says. "I need some money."

Now you all know how proud McDougal is. He wouldn't have asked if he didn't really need it.

So I say, "Sure thing, buddy. How much you need?"

Well, you know McDougal goes big when he goes.

He says to me, "Harley, I need three and a quarter million dollars."

"Jesus, McDougal," I say. "You know I don't have access to that kind of capital."

"Well," he says. "What kind of access do you have?"

I tell him I'm good for maybe six grand.

He says, "Six grand? I wipe my ass with that. Come on, Harley. I'll give it back to you ten-fold in two hours. But I need a significant investment here."

I say, "I don't know, McDougal. I can maybe scrub together like $20 grand if I know I'm getting it back."

"TIMES TEN" McDougal booms.

"Right," I say. Though I have to admit -- I'm doubtful.

"OK," I say. "Maybe $25,000."

"That's the spirit," McDougal says. Then he holds out his hand. No shit. He holds out his hand like I'm going to give it to him right there on the lake.

"I don't have it on me, McDougal."

"Well," he says. "How much do you have on you?"

I take out my wallet and count out $240 and another $200 in money orders.

He motions for me to give it to him.

I didn't want to, but I also didn't want to get stabbed and eaten. So I gave it to him.

That crazy bastard then takes all of it and dumps it in the lake. Right there in front of me. Dumps it in the lake and goes back to fishing.

I say, "McDougal -- that's my money for getting back home. What am I gonna do now?"

He doesn't say a word. Just keeps fishing.

Thirty minutes later, he reels in a massive flounder and says, "There. I told you I'd get your money back." He hands it to me and re-baits his line.

I say, "McDougal. I never seen anyone catch a flounder while ice fishing, and this is truly amazing. But I can't exactly pay for a hotel with this."

Well, McDougal's pissed at this point. He stands up and punches me dead in the face. Knocks out every one of my teeth. Then he yanks the flounder from my hands, cuts it open, and pulls out a gold brick and $3,200 in 100s and 20s.

He shoves the money in my mouth and puts the gold brick up my ass, then he walks off.

I couldn't find him for six months after that.

He didn't call me until he bought a house in Malibu and invited me and the kids out for a barbecue.