The Devil's Handicap
Golfed South Pointe Greene on Sat and let's just say my game was intermittent at best. Started strong with a bogey but on the 2nd hole, the wind took my ball into a slough or a horsepond, or any 18th Century-type term for a watery hole will do...
Then bogey again and I was back in business until I stepped on a snake. That freaked me out and yes, I hit the snake with my 9-iron. Sorry animal lovers, I know the snake is one of God's creatures and people should not wantonly harm animals but in my defense I was not in control of my actions. The snake surprised me, my instincts took over and I bopped him one with the most convenient club.
I think the snake was ok. Let's just say he was ok, ok? My 9-iron? On the following hole the head came off and went flying so I had to use my crap-backup 9-iron or overswing with the PW for the rest of the day.
I know, I know...poor fucking me. Haven't I suffered enough for my crime of non Whacking Day snake whacking? Don't judge me until a probably harmless, but still haughty snake rubs up against your ankle as you look for one of your balls lost in the tall grass.
Tallgrass Captains? That's a little later in the story...
Saw a giant hawk gliding around as I prepared my approach on 8. It was like vultures circling my golf game. They do that with dead and mutilated things.
Last three holes for the day were all 6's.
Trip 6's to close out the day of golfing??? That's got to be some sort of sign.
As if my golf game wasn't demonic enough.
DC sent a text right as I started. Told him I should have plenty of time to finish nine and meet him for dinner and drinks around 5pm.
I had to eat at 5pm because I realized that my Saturday consumption of things up to that point was...
Banking, beer, cut grass, beer, CD artwork shit, beer, golf, whiskey.
Uh oh.
If I drank Fieldcrest Beer and was a lot better looking I'd be Don Draper.
Made it to Twins on time. DC laughed at the trip 6's and chastised me for whomping the snake. Maybe DC is the good angel and Old Dog is the bad one. Aww who am I kidding, they're both the bad one.
Less than five minutes into our visit to the friendliest neighborhood tavern and we were offered the opportunity to get in on a horse racing pool.
So let's review...now Sat went like - - banking, beer, cut grass, beer, CD artwork shit, beer, golf, whiskey, GAMBLING.
Uh oh. Had the feeling that very little now stood in the way of me & DC waking up in Vegas with really crappy Vegas wives...or both claiming Bill Garver as our Vegas wife. Now that's an affront on the institution of marriage.
A full-frontal affront on the institution of...oh skip it.
The race went off and our yelling was most comical:
DC Liar: "Come on Lasty! You're going the wrong way. Dammit!"
Me: "Come on Future Glue! Ya gotta at least catch Lasty. By definition you must catch Lasty!"
Needless to say our two bucks plus tip for our bartender/bookie (I call her Booktender) ended up in someone else's pocket.
Namely hers. Yup, she had Big Brown and won the damn thing. We weren't drunk enough to justify being hustled by a DeKalb bartender but that's what happened so what're ya gonna do. My response to Big Brown winning?
Aye.
I had Hey Byrne and let's just say after a brief stint running third, the horse-faced former mayor of Chicago Jayne Byrne ran better.
Hell, Eddie Vrrrrrrrrrdolyak ran better.
When I realized that we were wallowing in our own crapulance well before dark, I decided to call PDawg, crash his house and do some more wholesome family drinking, consisting of building a fire and enjoying all that the Pointe has to offer.
Speaking of the Pointe, one of its newest denizens (Kim's dear friend John) just got a kick ass job during a time when many are happy just to keep a crap ass job. Well done John.
Brought a bottle of Templeton to PDawg 's. He rescued us by letting us hang out by the retained water and much mayhem was avoided. PDawg is the hero of this story.
We called Bill Garver to see if he'd be interested in all the rye whiskey-induced manly feelgoodery but he declined. It's possible he had a premonition that warned him the night was young enough, and still weird enough for him to end up Vegas-married to me, DC, PDawg or all three of us...
...thereby assailing the institution of polygamy.
Yes, we even give polygamy a bad name.
SUNDAY
Shook off the previous day's whiskey and beer, took the family (or they took me) to 8am Holy Mass...
Alex & I cruised out to Lockport and visited Grandma Marge.
We said goodbye to our friend Ace late Sunday afternoon. Alex found a nice spot by some tulips and we shared the sad duty of digging a final resting place for a good mouse. The boy and I sat quietly on the deck for a while and agreed that in spite of it all we had a beautiful and blessed weekend.
It's late. I am enjoying Gone the Bells from the Cotton Jones Basket Ride and thanking God for every sweet moment given to me.
Then bogey again and I was back in business until I stepped on a snake. That freaked me out and yes, I hit the snake with my 9-iron. Sorry animal lovers, I know the snake is one of God's creatures and people should not wantonly harm animals but in my defense I was not in control of my actions. The snake surprised me, my instincts took over and I bopped him one with the most convenient club.
I think the snake was ok. Let's just say he was ok, ok? My 9-iron? On the following hole the head came off and went flying so I had to use my crap-backup 9-iron or overswing with the PW for the rest of the day.
I know, I know...poor fucking me. Haven't I suffered enough for my crime of non Whacking Day snake whacking? Don't judge me until a probably harmless, but still haughty snake rubs up against your ankle as you look for one of your balls lost in the tall grass.
Tallgrass Captains? That's a little later in the story...
Saw a giant hawk gliding around as I prepared my approach on 8. It was like vultures circling my golf game. They do that with dead and mutilated things.
Last three holes for the day were all 6's.
Trip 6's to close out the day of golfing??? That's got to be some sort of sign.
As if my golf game wasn't demonic enough.
DC sent a text right as I started. Told him I should have plenty of time to finish nine and meet him for dinner and drinks around 5pm.
I had to eat at 5pm because I realized that my Saturday consumption of things up to that point was...
Banking, beer, cut grass, beer, CD artwork shit, beer, golf, whiskey.
Uh oh.
If I drank Fieldcrest Beer and was a lot better looking I'd be Don Draper.
Made it to Twins on time. DC laughed at the trip 6's and chastised me for whomping the snake. Maybe DC is the good angel and Old Dog is the bad one. Aww who am I kidding, they're both the bad one.
Less than five minutes into our visit to the friendliest neighborhood tavern and we were offered the opportunity to get in on a horse racing pool.
So let's review...now Sat went like - - banking, beer, cut grass, beer, CD artwork shit, beer, golf, whiskey, GAMBLING.
Uh oh. Had the feeling that very little now stood in the way of me & DC waking up in Vegas with really crappy Vegas wives...or both claiming Bill Garver as our Vegas wife. Now that's an affront on the institution of marriage.
A full-frontal affront on the institution of...oh skip it.
The race went off and our yelling was most comical:
DC Liar: "Come on Lasty! You're going the wrong way. Dammit!"
Me: "Come on Future Glue! Ya gotta at least catch Lasty. By definition you must catch Lasty!"
Needless to say our two bucks plus tip for our bartender/bookie (I call her Booktender) ended up in someone else's pocket.
Namely hers. Yup, she had Big Brown and won the damn thing. We weren't drunk enough to justify being hustled by a DeKalb bartender but that's what happened so what're ya gonna do. My response to Big Brown winning?
Aye.
I had Hey Byrne and let's just say after a brief stint running third, the horse-faced former mayor of Chicago Jayne Byrne ran better.
Hell, Eddie Vrrrrrrrrrdolyak ran better.
When I realized that we were wallowing in our own crapulance well before dark, I decided to call PDawg, crash his house and do some more wholesome family drinking, consisting of building a fire and enjoying all that the Pointe has to offer.
Speaking of the Pointe, one of its newest denizens (Kim's dear friend John) just got a kick ass job during a time when many are happy just to keep a crap ass job. Well done John.
Brought a bottle of Templeton to PDawg 's. He rescued us by letting us hang out by the retained water and much mayhem was avoided. PDawg is the hero of this story.
We called Bill Garver to see if he'd be interested in all the rye whiskey-induced manly feelgoodery but he declined. It's possible he had a premonition that warned him the night was young enough, and still weird enough for him to end up Vegas-married to me, DC, PDawg or all three of us...
...thereby assailing the institution of polygamy.
Yes, we even give polygamy a bad name.
SUNDAY
Shook off the previous day's whiskey and beer, took the family (or they took me) to 8am Holy Mass...
Alex & I cruised out to Lockport and visited Grandma Marge.
We said goodbye to our friend Ace late Sunday afternoon. Alex found a nice spot by some tulips and we shared the sad duty of digging a final resting place for a good mouse. The boy and I sat quietly on the deck for a while and agreed that in spite of it all we had a beautiful and blessed weekend.
It's late. I am enjoying Gone the Bells from the Cotton Jones Basket Ride and thanking God for every sweet moment given to me.
posted by edP | 4:27 PM
4 Comments:
I'd say you're lucky to have woken up in your own bed with both of your kidneys.
I'm pretty sure no one woke up with a liver left.
Great evening though!!
PDawg made it fun and safe. The only embarrassment/personal injury suffered by me was when our gracious host broke out the Peaches and Herb record (sans Peaches) and I tried to "play it backwards" if you know what I mean.
I hurt my lip.
Yup, We're awesome. We showed those Table 9 jerks who's boss.
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