Jinx Dawson, lead singer of 60′s satanic-psych group Coven, and champion of the second person singular pronoun ‘thou’, is selling one of her many spell books on Ebay. How do I know? I’m friends with her on Bookface. That’s her on the left, way back when women knew how to be infernal aaand chic.

If you’re unfamiliar with Coven I recommend you get a copy of their 1969 album, Witchcraft (Destroys Minds and Reaps Souls), and lie on the floor in the dark until you can’t take it anymore.
I think I mentioned in a previous post that Witchcraft is my go-to LP for fishing trips. I have it on repeat the whole time I’m out. There’s nothing quite like hauling an indignant 450 Lb Marlin over the stern while ‘Dignitaries of Hell‘ howls away in the background.
I’m actually planning another angling jaunt in the Florida Keys with my good friend, and washed-up TV star Kirk Cameron. Kirk is a full-tilt, starry-eyed, Christian evangelist these days, but he also has a sweet-ass boat, so whatever. Generally he’s cool and keeps his Jesus talk to himself. However, last time we went out on the Keys he got a little preachy with me about my rum, coke, grass and Coven thing.
“Hey” he said, gingerly turning his reel three clicks. “They put satanic messages in rock music. Did you know that? They call it ‘backmasking’.” The noonday sun hammered down on us like a heavy bastard. A bead of sweat trickled into my left eye. Ash from my jazz-cigarette blew into my right. Kirk farted. I spilt my daiquiri. It was all too much. I leapt from my seat. “Backmasking? Are you fucking kidding me, Cameron? This song’s called ‘Pact With Lucifer’! No one’s hiding any messages there!”
“I was just sayin’ is all!” He countered.
“I’ve had it with your judgmental bullshit, Kirk!” I growled. “This time you’ve gone too far!” I stormed into the cabin and emerged seconds later with the flare gun, which I pointed directly at his face. “Say one more thing about Jesus! One more thing, Kirk, and I swear, I’ll send you off to meet him!”
Suddenly, as fate would have it, the boat pitched to starboard and I lost my footing. Kirk was up in a flash with his bowie knife against my throat, pushing me over the gunwale. “Jesus is Lord, brother.” He hissed. “Perhaps you forgot?”
“Don’t be a fool, Cameron!” I said. “You can’t kill me now! Not before I tell you where Alan Thicke and I hid the Diamond of Mumbahboo!” He blinked back at me suspiciously. “Yeah, that’s right.” I said. “Me an Alan have been hangin’ out, an we’ve got a giant diamond! How’d you like that?”
“You guys have been hanging without me? Really?” A sadness came all over him in hot wet blobs, and he let the knife fall to the deck. I instantly had him in a headlock. “You’re such a sucker, Kirk. As if I’d be caught dead with that knob-end Thicke!”
“What about the Diamond of Mumbahboo?” He grunted as his wind pipe crumpled. “Where did you hide it?”
“The Diamond of Mumbahboo?” I laughed. “Oh my God! I made that shit up, you stupid fucking twit!”
Just then my rod came to life! Wait, that sounds weird… At that moment I got an erection! Nah, that doesn’t sound right either…
Suddenly, as fate would have it once more, my reel jolted to life and began spinning madly! Oh yes, I had a big one.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I said, and released Kirk from my death-grip. “Holy shit!” said Kirk. “You’ve got something there!” He was right. Hours later, after a long and treacherous fight, I pulled in a 2700 LB Blue Marlin. It was the largest Blue Marlin ever caught in the history of sport fishing, and it was marvelous.
True story, mother-fucker. Thanks for stickin’ round.

You can relive this classic moment in fishing by watching the two videos below simultaneously. Turn the volume off the bottom one.