My Dad Is A Serial Killer

It's true.

He has a compulsion he cannot resist.

It started at an early age. Some would say a learned behavior.

Don't these photos look like they belong in the opening sequence for Seven, complete with Nine Inch Nails soundtrack and someone x-acto knifing off their fingerprints? No? Hmmm. Just me then.

He has documented it well.

Some keep baby photos. His keepsakes are his babies, too. Six pounds, five ounces indeed.

His obsession has not waned through the years.

It has only grown stronger with time. Though this moment was probably the pinnacle of it's swankiness factor.

This addiction is the constant through the decades. That, and the mustache.

He has tasted true bliss and will not betray it.

Behind the wheel of his bass boat he is a god. The deity... "Scott."

Uncle Bill, Uncle Larry, Uncle Pete. Only one of these men is actually our real uncle. But spilling some blood makes you blood... that, and marrying our aunt.

He has lured many a co-conspirator into his dark undertaking.

He even caught our mom.

Some might say his greatest catch.

Growing up his trophies lined our living room walls.

His handiwork filled our bellies (and our sinks.)

Seriously. WTF?

But like his love for the catch, our love for him is also unwavering.

We see his truth and do not flinch.

This is the moment where Kathleen became a vegetarian. Oh, wait, a vegetarian who eats fish. Nevermind.

Which leaves only one question unanswered...

...can social services still take you away if you're thirty-five?

Um, yeah. Our dad also has a blog. No surprise there. If you go to Old Fish & Such you can see his "Play Bait" of the month. For real.