FORE! (left, and right)

To those of you now finding my humble blog through Facebook -- you should have been trying harder to find it. We discuss life-altering shit here.

(NOTE: The REAL life-altering shit will be found, effective 45 minutes from now, on the Texas Overseer -- txoverseer.blogspot.com. I just haven't posted there in...well, Rudy Guiliani was going to be president the last time I did.)

Anyway, back to life-altering shit. Like golf! Some of you on Facebook (Tajon, if you read this; Wade, if you bother to add me AND read this) may remember that I could hack a little back in the day in Saudi. Since my golfing partners from A&M haven't shown up yet, they can't attest to the fact that I hacked there too -- and, basically, royally sucked.

So I went on hiatus.

For a decade.

See, I know why I suck at golf. My equipment's lousy (dad and I made the clubs when I was still in Saudi -- we've literally had them half my life), I can't hit behind a ball because I learned to try to lift it hitting off of Astroturf and I play wearing my baseball batting gloves.

And there's the real issue. You can't play golf wearing baseball gloves. It just isn't done. It's like...trying to hit a baseball with golf gloves on. Tiger Woods aint Albert Pujols and vice versa. But Lance Berkman does look like a golfer, don't he (PUMA!)?

But I digress.

Last weekend, I got an offer to play some golf. Since I felt like hitting something (not someone, unless it were SHB), I figured, why not? It hasn't been that long, has it?

Uh, yeah. It was long enough that they don't even use the same type of golf shoes I have anymore. Everyone else is tooling in HD, and I'm Betamax.

After hitting at the range for 45 minutes (and having a blister start on my left thumb, in spite of my glove), it was time to start. Time was 12:07, which, in Houston time, means REALLY FUCKING HOT AND HUMID IN AUGUST. The first hole went as expected--triple bogey. For those unfamiliar with golf, that's not good. I could have gotten out my putter and hit it the whole way and been just as good.

On the second hole, magic. Pull out the driver -- crush it, 300 yards, dead center of the fairway. Get out the 7 iron for the second shot, hit it dead with in 6 feet.

Tiger, you're my bitch. Of course, it's only because you have a busted knee and can't walk, but you're still my bitch. I parred the hole.

Yes, that's right, gentle reader -- second hole since Bill Clinton was getting sucked off by fat jewish interns, GWB was running for re-election as governor and I was trying to get laid at A&M, and I parred that bitch!

In fact, I parred three of the first nine holes. The other ones were varying degrees of disgrace, amusement and sheer suckdom, but three of the first nine holes were parred!

Golf, I fear, is like chasing hot chicks. You fail, fail, REALLY FUCKING FAIL, then...you score. And you're hooked and can take more failure. But I have an advantage -- I'm married now, and there will be no chasing of hot chicks unless my wife is taken into consideration. I will not attempt to chase any other hot chick because Momma Pug will drop my ass with a .22 from 200 yards.

But I will also not attempt to golf again until it gets cooler. It took four days to recover and I still can't grip a club because my hands are torn up. But I will be back, golf course -- and this time, I will not only crush with the 2 iron, I WILL BE HUGE WITH THE DRIVER MORE THAN ONCE!

That means, I will stop popping the fucking thing up in the air and not have to hit my second shot from just in front of the ladies' tee.