“Dave, its the great game! Are you drunk?” – Uncle Gandolf
So its been a while… umm… can you say awkward haha? So what have you been up to? Yeah, well I’ve been pretty good. You know just hangin around… um yea well… a yeah… (To reference anytime you have run into some one you haven’t seen in years and have nothing to say to them)
My Uncle Gandolf often spoke of it as the “great game”. I think that’s a little epic but there is nothing un-epic about Uncle Gandolf. So in the great tradition of Scottish culture three very non-Scottish people played a game of golf. Dr. L to the Enzo, J-Bro and I set our tee time for 1 or 2PM (didn’t know we even had a tee time but J-Bro set me straight on that one) to play the “great game” at Knickle Knoll.
The interesting thing about golf is that you can tell so much about a man or woman based on their approach. Dr. L to the Enzo’s approach was to try and say and do as many annoying things during tee-off as possible to screw over J-Bro. J-Bro’s approach was to buy golf shoes. As for me, my strategy was to keep my ADD under control enough to keep my head down and eye on the ball. This proves nearly impossible as there was a plethora of squirrels, geese and Dr. L to the Enzo to keep me distracted.
On top of ADD management, there was a group behind us and one before us of equal distraction. The team behind us consisted of “Leave to Beaver’s” friends. A foursome of punk-ass do-gooders who constantly waited on us to wrap up our holes. The three foot bastards were about 10 years old of fury… completely out of control. Then the AARP was ahead of us. Two old ladies that invested in a golf cart only to find out it was only 9 holes and you the longest hole was only 200 yards. J-Bro hates old ladies so he was seeking to sabotage them the whole time. I didn’t think they would live to the end of their game.
Knickle Knoll was nice enough to supply the three of us (courtesy of a very stoned club house attendant) with state of the art pull carts. They had cup holders and as I found out, the ability to run down hills at fast speeds. Dr. L to the Enzo named hers Ralphy after her teen crush on a Simpson’s character while J-Bro and I decided that pull carts were no ones friend. After catching wind to this his bag, twice in 9 holes, ejected his clubs from the pull cart completely. (The second time had nothing to do with me) My cart did one better by vomiting my clubs violently out of the golf bag when I hit a curb.
Despite old ladies, little bastards and evil pull carts (with the exception of Ralphy) we played quite well. J-Bro’s shoes were not only stylish but proved light weight as he happily frolicked up steep hills that Dr. L to the Enzo and I struggled up. Dr. L to the Enzo sat out an entire hole, a strategy that still earned her par… some how. Even I did well. I only lost one ball. J-Bro lost 3 balls, mostly due to the fact I only had one ball and needed to borrow three more from him.
Upon the finally of the “great game” we trudged up to the club house where J-bro beat some old ladies senseless and Dr. L to the Enzo and I kidnapped some small kids and deported them. The authorities have dropped the kidnapping case in light of a senior citizens desperate cry for help as some 22 year old followed her to her car.
I will try to keep the awkward hellos to a minimum and up date my blog more regularly. As for the diet, I quit it. Oat Bag dinners ended up messing with my bowels. I am trying to eat more healthy still I just added Oreo to the menu.
Thank you for your soda,