Hillbillies Hate Gay Golfing Couples
Ah, not quite a revisit to the alligator arms day, but a whole new set of jerkfaces. They were pretty seething by the time we got up to the putting green on the first hole; they were waiting for us, not quite ready to tackle the second hole before they marked their territory, the words barely able to be contained in their stupid, dumb, blubbering mouths, and they seemed to actually accuse me of almost killing them. As if. I can barely hit the ball a hundred yards, let alone faster than 10 mph. The only person that almost died that day was Mr. Squirrel, but he skittered around to the other side of the tree trunk when he saw Sean was up to swing and practiced some zen-like positions.
I wonder who we’ll meet on our next outing. I hope it’s Bob Barker.
Can we take the next hour
And talk about me
Talk about me, and we’ll talk about me
Talk about me, and we’ll only talk about me
– “I’m Actual” by The Format