Hey dudes, it’s me, Gilbert P. Bigfish. You might know me as the massive sport fish you caught while crushing White Claws over the Fourth. I’ve been noticing a lot of you fellas catching us, snapping a quick pic of us as our heads are bleeding out on your deck, and then tossing us back.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you remembered the DNR’s minimum weight requirements. But I couldn’t help but see that your Tinder game blows chum, son! Lemme let you in on a couple of things I’ve learned out in the big blue. It’s the least I can do before you stuff my stomach with a speaker that just blasts Sirius XM: Escape to Margaritaville.
First up, wardrobe. You holding a salmon while wearing Nantucket salmon is a nope. Same with any shirt you picked up at a bait shop. Those boat shoes may say “rich seaman,” but they also say rich amateur seaman – I could knock you into the drink with one tail flip, college boy! Women appreciate safety first. Get a fluorescent life jacket on because chances are the dolphins won’t want to save you after you just dumped your Cubano ashes into their backyard.
On a related note, do a little grooming before taking the pic. Maybe even do some techie touch-ups in post so you don’t look like a roasted lobster. Don’t shoot from a low angle unless you want to look like a white-meat flounder. I realize the neck beard, the beer gut, and the overall influence of toxic masculinity has driven you to never take a picture of yourself outside of a blurry selfie or a family portrait, but come on, champ! Are we out to get some hot roe or what?
Is having your Uncle Doug in the shot really selling you? At best, it attracts women who see a connection to their alcoholic father whose lukewarm emotions they’ll never fully experience. At worst, it’s a sign of what you’re likely to become if you spend any more time on this pontoon.
Though I think we can all agree I’m a real beaut, kissing me does not inspire ladies to think of you as an overly hygienic person. Don’t stand next to the chum bucket or crab box – they invite an unattractive inference. And hey, maybe show yourself putting me back in the water. You realize I can’t breathe up here, right? Women want to know if you’re the sort of gentleman who knows when to stop and let something go.
In your bio, think about mentioning another show besides The Office and Game of Thrones. When people see you and me together, they think of me as Big Tuna and you as Andy Bernard, which is not ideal for you, Vineyard Vines. And the ladies can tell you’re a big fan of gratuitous violence by the way you’re letting my blood leak into my gills.
But hey, maybe you aren’t like the other guys. Maybe you’re that dude, that one true Broseidon with an iron will like Ahab and a mean thirst like Hemingway. You’re tired of bedding mermaids and are on the hunt for some real salt wives. You need to let all the prospective nereids know you’re a sailor and you’ll probably be out on the high seas with nobody but ol’ Gorton Fish Sticks for half the year.
To be with you is to be with the sea – the wild, untamable, virile realm of true men. In that case, keep doing what you’re doing, Aquaman. But don’t bring up Aquaman, because let’s face it, we’d all swim up through a gauntlet of ten thousand grizzlies to spawn with Jason Momoa before we ever did anything with you.