19 October 2005


So the boss wants me to take some clients golfing. Not mini-golf mind you, that I can do since you are supposed to be drunk, but real golf.

Now I’ve been golfing before, and I put up a damned good score, if I happened to be bowling. This sad experience leads me to believe that golf was invented by a group of drunken, sadistic Scotsmen who would whack a wee ball, walk a lot, drink some whisky, repeat the process until they were all well sozzled and firmly ensconced in Whitehall.

This, and the youth of today, explains the sorry state of the Empire which can barely hold on to a few sorry bits of foreign soil. (N.B. Should you Brits want New Jersey back, we can make a deal.)

Think I’m full of it? Consider the golfing nomenclature:

Irons and woods: An S&M loving Scotsman’s dream.

Wedge: Painful life lesson involving elder sibling and one’s underwear.

Sand-trap: See “Wedge” and add a handful of grit.

Water hazard: Painful life lesson involving elder sibling, commode and one’s head. (See “Swirlie”.)

Hole-in-one: Yikes!

Replacing the divot: Well, you get the picture.

If we don’t stop these mad Scotsmen they’ll take over the world, mark my words!

Do you really want to see statues of this
fellow in every city?

And that's the way I likes it.