Earl was a fisherman with a particular ambition once upon a time: to reel in the largest bass in Loch Lumpy. On Sundays, Earl would assemble his flimsy boat, rod, and an overflowing tackle box and head out to the lake, where he would sit quietly contemplating the prospect of reeling in a prize. His modest request was for a bass of ten pounds or more - a size that would allow him to boast without being accused of being dishonest. Earl, on the other hand, had an issue: he couldn't seem to catch bass.

With the conviction that today would be his lucky day, Earl threw his line on a brisk morning. His patience was tested as he waited for something to nibble. He felt his pulse race. He was an expert at his craft, having mastered the nuanced moves of the flick and the yank. He was certain that he would finally get his bass this time.

He tugged the line with an amazing, exaggerated tug and began reeling in his treasure, his muscles tensing with expectation. Earl perceived a bass-like ferocity emanating from the beast as it writhed. Lifting it up, he could almost taste the triumph - until he met a five-pound catfish staring at him with the satisfaction of a horrible joke.

Whispering under his breath, he glanced around as if someone were pulling a practical joke. Not willing to give up just yet, he returned the catfish to the water and set his line once more.

Another tug a few moments after that. He reeled in with a new sense of optimism, only to be met with a garfish that had more teeth than his expensive dentures.

"Well, that's just rude," he moaned, returning the serpentine nightmare to the water.

Earl reeled in a slew of fish as the sunrose higher in the sky, including perch, crappie, a turtle he thought was making fun of him, and even a boot that looked strangely like his own. Earl started to wonder if he had offended some fish god or if the fish had a secret meeting and decided he was the punchline for the day's comic act.

Both Earl's patience and good fortune were wearing thin after hours of fruitless spinning. He released the line one final time, allowing it to travel far and wide. With his eyes closed, he muttered a prayer to the fishing deities, pleading for a single bass, if only for a single instance. I felt a tug. An enormous, forceful drag almost yanked him out of his boat.

He shouted out, "Yes!" as the rush of triumph surged through him. To him, this had to be the one, the legendary tale he would tell his pals until they pleaded with him to stop. The fish approached, its shape growing bigger and bigger beneath the water's surface as Earl used all the strength in his slender arms to pull. Because of how flawless it was, it could only have been a bass.

Just as he was about to take his reward, his phone rang.

His wife Betty was the one.

"Earl, dinner's ready," she remarked with that deadly sweet tone he couldn't help but notice.

As he glared at the shadow under the water, he spoke with the anguish of a man who must decide between his beloved and a satisfying dinner. "But honey," he said. "I believe I have finally found it."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to return next Sunday," she responded, as if he possessed infinite leisure while she was preoccupied with a cold plate of meatloaf.

The sight of Betty waiting on the shore, tapping her foot with the authorityof a small-town sheriff, caused Earl to sigh as his eyes darted from his trophy fish, which seemed both near and far away, to his little boat.

With a low growl, he let go of the fish he had never seen before. "You're lucky today, bass," he remarked to the monstrous being that had plagued his Sundays for no good reason. As it swam out into the depths, he was almost certain that this fish could roll its eyes, though he didn't know if fish could do that.

Betty, who had interrupted something, was waiting on shore with a grin on her face. Earl kissed her on the cheek and attempted to distract himself from the thought of the grand bass that had escaped his grasp. Indeed, he was powerless against Betty.

Thus, Earl continued to make the pilgrimage to Loch Lumpy on Sundays, doggedly pursuing the illusive bass while dodging turtles, catfish, and the occassional boot. Subtly, he was appreciative, even though he would complain and whine every time. For the simple reason that the prospect of next Sunday being the day finally stoked his obsession with fishing.