“It is. A. Little. Confusing,” the medium-sized perch admitted between gasps and involuntary convulsions on the wooden dock, as the man who had just waited three hours to pull it out of the lake by a very sharp piece of metal repeatedly apologized while extracting the hook with a pair of needle-nose pliers, his son looking worriedly on.
“Sorry little buddy. Real sorry about this. Almost there. Just another little, oh shit, that musta hurt. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Through his death throes the fish managed to roll his eyes a number of times, and gasped to a watching bystander: “He’s thinks he’s sorry? What the hell did he think was going to happen if he left a sharp object wrapped in a worm dangling under the water?”