Dear Zing,

     Occasionally, something happens in our lives that transcends the laws of nature, throwing us off balance. Such is the recent plight of a history teacher at DeKalb County High School.

     While dining in the school cafeteria last week, I was confronted by a sight that made me shrink in horror. A tall object, swathed in bandages, limped into the cafeteria and made its way toward our table with much moaning and groaning.

     “What is that?” I asked Jonell Fuqua.

     “It’s Drew Fedak,” she whispered. “He’s been like that since his fishing trip.” Jonell arose and placed a foam rubber cushion on the bench. Slowly, the victim lowered himself onto it.

     “What happened?” I asked boldly.

     The robot twisted his head toward me, mumbling, “I got ‘em…I got ‘em.” My eyes became question marks, and I turned to Tucker Hendrix on my right. “What’s he got?”

     Tucker shook his head sadly. “Poor fellow. He thinks he’s still on Center Hill Lake. Go along with anything he says. Drew has had a traumatic experience.” Noting the medical disaster before me, I had to agree. Only his Sigmund Freud beard was recognizable. “Is the experience too painful to relate?”

     Jonell’s smile was encouraging. “When he’s coherent, Drew talks about it freely. Getting it ‘off his chest’ seems to be therapeutic.”

     Tucker sighed deeply. “He’s gotten it off his chest at least 16 times today. He even announced it over the intercom this morning.”

     Drew revived his mumbling. “I got ‘em…I got ‘em.”

     “You certainly have,” I replied, fastening my eyes on the bruises. “How did this happen, Tucker?”

     “Drew was on Center Hill Lake fishing one night last week and fell asleep in his boat. A short time later, he was jolted by sudden movement and awoke to find himself water skiing.”

     “Great Sea Serpents!” I exclaimed.

     “A Shovel bill catfish to be exact,” he continued. “It was propelling Drew across the water.”

     I raised a doubtful brow. “Someone has ‘flaked out’.”

     “That’s Drew,” he said. “It was a life and death struggle between man and beast.”

     My eyes flew back to the giant Band-Aid before me. “Who won?”

     “It was hard to tell at first,” replied Jonell. “They were both washed up at Pates Ford Dock. Cordell, the operator, immediately applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it was too late. The fish never regained consciousness.”

     “Did anyone help Drew?”

     “Cordell helped him to the scales,” said Tucker. “Drew weighed in at 170 lbs.” I remained skeptical. “This sounds a little fishy.”

     “Not little,” mumbled Drew, “Big BIG fishy.”

     Jonell nodded. “He and Judy have been feasting all week on catfish….Shovel bill stew, Shovel  bill salad, Shovel bill sandwiches…

     At that moment, the dietician appeared from the kitchen with a piled plate. “Mr. Fedak, I’ve cooked your special dish. Shovel bill a la mode…Mr. Fedak!...Quick! Someone bring the paper towels.”