Doug didn’t feel any different and began to think the whole episode was nothing but a figment of his imagination. When he went home to get another load of junk, the telephone rang. It was the Governor who announced Doug had been appointed to fill the unexpired term of a Senator who had just been executed at the federal prison.
So Doug packed up and went to Washington, D.C. It was not a happy time for him. Doug wouldn’t take bribes, sell influence, cheat on his expense account, file phony election funding reports or take kick backs from his office staff. This was a terrible precedent and when the other members of Congress found out about it, Doug was ostracized. Some tried to have him impeached for conduct unbecoming of a Senator.
The folks back home liked Doug. He became popular. When he came up for reelection, they showed their esteem and appreciation by soundly defeating him. You see, political office is conferred upon people the voters don’t like. They give the bum a job on the condition that he leave town and live in the capitol. A defeat at the polls is like a pardon.
Back at home, Doug was in more trouble. The Internal Revenue Service wanted to know where he got the $1,000,000 that had been deposited in his name in the local bank. A review of his previous income tax returns gave no hint of how he could accumulate that amount of money. They wanted to know where it came from.
When Doug came forward with the story about the genie, the IRS didn’t hesitate for a moment. They charged him with perjury, trafficking in drugs, all unsolved bank robberies and defrauding the government. As a result of all this, the Democrat Party considered him qualified to run for Governor, but Doug declined the nomination.
When the dust had settled and Doug paid the fines levied by the judge and the unpaid state and federal income taxes, together with the interest and the penalties, he had just enough money left, after selling his homestead, to pay his attorney.
With his reputation ruined and his finances in shambles, Doug remembered his third wish, the cabin on the trout stream. He searched through the safe deposit box and, sure enough, there was the deed to property in an area known for its fine trout fishing. Having had enough of civilization, Doug grabbed his fly rod, jumped into the 4-wheel drive and headed for his fishing property. He left the highway and followed the two rutted road until he saw a new cabin appearing through the evergreens.
And he lived happily ever after?
Don’t be ridiculous.
As advertised, the genie had given him a cabin on a good trout stream. That was the problem. It wasn’t near a good trout stream, it was built on a good trout stream - right smack dab on top of it.
When Doug was unable to produce either a building permit or an Environmental Impact Study, the Department of Natural Recourses and the Environmental Protection Agency brought charges. Doug was forced to admit building in a flood plain and impeding the navigation of a stream. He was found guilty and sentenced to five years in Philadelphia, without time off for good behavior.
MORAL: Don’t clean out your garage.
The Will of Carmichael
I, Carl Carmichael, being of reasonably sound mind and knowing that eternity is long and life is short, especially if I keep hanging around that bunch of Wolf River trout fishermen, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament.
ARTICLE FIRST
Being of said sound mind, it is my intention to spend all of my money during my lifetime and be flat broke at the moment of my death, thereby cheating my doctor, my lawyer and the funeral director out of fat fees. However, it’s possible I may not live out my allotted three score and ten years and, instead, meet an untimely end before I can use up all of my assets.
If there is anything left over when I go, I direct my Personal Representative to vigorously resist payment of any claims against my Estate. Did it ever occur to you that the reason these debts haven’t been paid is because, during my lifetime, I considered them to be unjust, improper and/or outrageous? - like the debt I’m sure Jack Allord will try to collect.
Last November, I paid the farmer eight hundred dollars just because I shot his cow by mistake. Allord made me sign a note for the three hundred dollars I had to borrow in order to make the full payment.
Well, it was Allord who insisted we have a couple beers before heading back to deer camp and it was Allord who stopped the car when we saw those big eyes shining at us from over what turned out to be the manure pile next to the barn. Any right thinking person would know Allord was more to blame than I.
O.K. Allord, put this in your pipe and smoke it. I purposely misspelled my name when I signed that note. I direct my Personal Representative not only to resist any attempt you may make to secure payment of the note, but also to visit the District Attorney and swear out a Complaint charging you with forgery.
ARTICLE SECOND
I direct my Personal Representative to lay my split bamboo fly rod, Hardy reel, all of my flies, my fly boxes and leaders, a good supply of #12 Mustad hooks, my Lefevre 20 ga. shotgun and a couple cases of 7 ½ chill shells next to me in the casket.
I realize this will make their burden much heavier so apologize to my pall bearers for me. Tell them why I made the request. Just in case I’m wrong and there is an after life, I want to be properly prepared.
ARTICLE THIRD
I’d better leave a thousand dollars to the Catch and Release Society of America. Reincarnation is a possibility and I may come back as a Brown Trout.
ARTICLE FOURTH
Paul Eckert has been a good and faithful friend of long standing. We’ve hunted and fished and told lies together for a lot of years. Give him whatever .32 caliber cartridges are left in that cigar box in the bottom dresser drawer. They’re kinda old and green but they’ll still fire. Paul is one of the few deer slayers who still uses a .32 Special.
Come to think of it, Paul has been such a good buddy I should leave him more than half a box of old cartridges. Paul always wanted a new .308 but, what with the costs of college and a wife with access to a credit card, he’s had to put the purchase of a deer rifle low on the family list of priorities. I know how badly he wants one. He told me he’d do absolutely anything to get one.
Since gold is selling for a pretty good price, knock out my teeth and give them to him. He can sell the gold fillings for enough to buy a good rifle. However, to be on the safe side, if I’m shot in the back and the Coroner digs out a .32 caliber slug, don’t give him a damned thing.
ARTICLE FIFTH
In the national interest, I leave my graphite/boron fly rod to the youngest U S Senator representing my state of residence. I recommend all other trout fishermen make similar provisions in their wills.
Over time, the old Senators will die off and then all members of the Senate will have fishing rods. If we’re lucky, they’ll start trout fishing. If they do and we’re very lucky, they’ll become fanatics and spend all of their time fishing. Since the well-being of the United States is inversely proportional to the amount of time Senators spend in Washington D.C., we will save the country.
ARTICLE SIXTH
Dave Otto’s major joy in life is chasing the canny Ruffed Grouse. He has never disclosed the location of his favorite hunting spot to me. I’ve never told him where my secret grouse covert is hidden. If I told him, I know he’d keep the information completely confidential. I certainly wouldn’t divulge the location of my spot during my lifetime.
Though Dave is trustworthy, I’m not going to tell him where it is after my death, either. This one goes to the grave with me. Who says you can’t take it with you?