As it reads, one could mistakenly think I was calling the guest a good-for-nothing, lazy, shiftless, “lounge-about”. Otherwise, I’m not sure how you would punctuate it to make it clearer…

You: “lounge about…”
Me?
I’ll: “Cast my rod…”

I live in a U.S. coastal State, and also REAL close to a large river. Ownership of even the smallest of boats seems to be a major rite-of-passage/acceptable proof of masculinity exhibit (…real men catch fish???).

So here, it’s common knowledge that the two happiest days in a boat-owner’s life are, the day he buys the boat, and the day he sells it…

Anyway, the model depicted above inspired me to write this poem:

I bought a boat, to take you out,
to scout a fishing hole.
So climb on deck, you lounge about,
I’ll cast my favorite pole.

Growing up, wise old grey financial heads in my family would tell me “a boat is just a hole in the water into which you pour money.” And that’s true.

Likewise, I learned by observation that most rich people get that way by making money, not by spending it in the manner of the proverbial drunken sailor.

So, the puzzle: why do rich men buy boats?

This is why rich men buy boats.