Ice fishing

My Californian friend was telling how his PHG, who is now his one-time PHG or O-TPHG, had a yearning to go ice fishing.  Frankly, I think she must need her head examining.  I have never been ordinary fishing (as opposed to the frozen variety) but it always looks to me just about as boring as watching the grass grow.  Throw into the mixture the ice and snow, and... well, you can keep it!  The idea of just sitting on the ice for hours on end in the hope that some passing fish will show an interest in the poor worm one is drowning simply appalls me.

Anyway, it reminded me of a story about a blonde who fancied the idea of ice fishing.  She placed her little stool on the ice, assembled her rod, poured a cup of coffee from her flask, and was just about to start cutting a hole in the ice when a voice boomed out,

There are no fish under the ice!

Startled, she looked around her but could see nobody.  All the same, she threw away the undrunk coffee, dismantled her rod, picked up her little stool, and moved away.

Further down the ice she set up her little stool, reassembled her rod and poured another cup of coffee from her flask.  Then, just as she was about to start cutting a hole in the ice, the voice boomed out again,

There are no fish under the ice!

Startled again, she looked round but still could see nobody.  But reminding herself that discretion is

 the better part of valour, she once again threw away the undrunk coffee, dismantled her rod, picked up her little stool, and moved away.

Not to be beaten, once she had moved farther along the ice she set up her little stool, reassembled her rod and poured the dregs of coffee from her flask.  Then, just as she was about to start cutting a hole in the ice, the voice boomed out yet again,

There are no fish under the ice!

Still there was nobody in sight, and in a small voice she all but whispered, "Is that you, God?"

"No,"

replied the voice.

"It's the manager of the ice rink."