#1: Not proud that - albeit only momentarily - I wish non-operable cancers on slap-happy pledge drive announcers for public radio stations to which I do not contribute [because they’ll just use my ‘geld', no doubt, to fund fancy lattes for staff of lay-about pseudo pinko’s].
#2: Yani Tseng is a very talented golfer, seemingly a decent person and … will be LPGA's death within 38 months. Nothing personal, but white dudes have no interest in her golf, Moms think Yani is too androgynous & Ms. T. has all the allure of Phyllis Diller @ a bachelor’s party.
#3: There is no real difference between 92 & 96 degrees [but, admittedly, there is in spread twixt 72 & 76 F]. Hence, in former case, move to No. Carolina from FLA poor choice because semi-comprehensible Spanish easier on ears than hayseed English, FLA has law re spot to smoke cigar in public every 10 km & 3 months of FLA year are utterly perfect.
#4: … #3 conclusion is instantly withdrawn whenever late summer conditions cause run on generators @ Home Depot. Water in tub not meant to stand for greater time than Sarah Palin trying to explain why Paul Revere really was warning Brits of upcoming ass-kickin’!
#5: … speaking of our fav Alaskan minx, have it on good authority her next Prez run to include line, in assorted hues, of ‘elephant stompin’-on mule’ pattern tights to be sold via QVC. Ad line: “Wrap your tootsies in my pretty pantyhose & power-kick pseudo-socialists in 'nads!”. So dig that wacky chick ... especially in 4" boots like these!
#6: One of my venture capital ideas is upscale QVC-type program airing on ‘Golf Channel’ & running under banner of “Cigar Aficionado” magazine. Other than knowing no one @ Orlando G.C. HQ, not getting reply to letter sent to M. Shanken (“C.A.” Publisher) & no real business plan for project, I’m totally green light city on this one, bud!
#7: Green lights – or, rather, lack of seeing many more of them – appears to be Jack Layton’s future. NDP leader gets his party into undisputed minority/#2 federal slot for 1st time in Canadian history & turns out month later he’s got a different/2nd cancer to beat. In recent pics makes young Jerry Lewis look like old Jerry Lewis, by weight comparison.
#8: Recently in news re original star of ‘Nutty Professor’, reported that Tiger Woods standing-in this Labor Day for France's fav American comedian during Muscular Dystrophy annual telethon. Mr. Woods reputedly to verbally admonish various M.D. tykes they need to “man-up” [ ... even girls] & points-out, as well, that parading across studio floor without crutches veritable day-in-friggin'-park to his winning U.S. Open on a broken leg, Buck-O! Must admit just imagining all LifeTime TV network/non-Y chromosome partisans positively swooning to this new/softer El Tigre, warms cockles of my kryptonite heart.
#9: Can’t determine if #8 more caustic than 13 year old me advising my Dad – after he had bitched for 2 minutes about all the taxes he had to pay – that general manager from Stradivarius USA had called & wanted back half dozen violins he had rented him recently?
#10: Dad’s stutter, it should be noted, got much worse after #9 …
Man, oh, Manischewitz, it’s gettin' thicker than congealed grease from Taco Bell fryer in your humble scribe's 'Land O' Schadenfreude'. Luv it!
Newest addition to jettisoned personnel list in Tiger's camp is none other than longtime 'muscle', Steve Williams. Must admit I thought Kiwi’s fate ultimately would be more akin to that of ‘Mr. French’ (loyal lieutenant of Nicholson’s ‘Costello’ in The Departed) who goes down with ship via self-inflicted pie-hole lead poisoning in final scene. Perhaps Steve would've, but El Tigre didn't afford him chance. In Woods-ian fashion, Mr. Williams informed his services no longer needed as fait accompli while Tiger on fly-by awarding trophy from his own tourney.
Seriously, who’s next? Is Tiger going to fire his Mom? Mark Steinberg, the agent, is not an original. Not even his Scotty Cameron flat stick has survived the cut. Hence the title of this missive & Tiger’s ultimate mindset: “They’re all expendable … except ME! MEEE ...!!”.
Said before & shall repeat: Tiger is a jerk. Would call him a douche, but that would insult the great work done by feminine hygiene products in comparison to Mr. Woods’ efforts. So freakin' fake ... personification of old saw that you can tell he's lyin' anytime you see his lips move.
People – not bright ones – have said, ‘Tiger’s a smart guy & eventually he’ll figure his way out of all this by … [fill-in insipid blanks]’. Really?
If El Tigre was so smart, why did he hand-out his # to those dozen plus bimbo’s rather than using disposable cell phones? If he was so smart & having tough time getting new sponsors post-scandal [e.g., still hasn’t attracted new logo with which to adorn golf bag], why does he sport now that sad-ass Samuel Jackson/Jack Shaft look [ ... because you just know the 'suits' in corporate America really "dig it"]? If he was so smart, why has he antagonized the press corps heedlessly while, in contrast, Phil Mickelson probably could pack pistachios in his jockey shorts during post-round interviews & all toothless golf correspondents gladly would claim it was just a new/organic arthritis treatment he was trialing for N.I.H? No, sir. Stanford, after all, makes mistakes too; look at Herbert Hoover. Your Honor, the prosecution rests.
Tiger has shown himself, intermittently, to be a jerk, a cheap skate & an unappreciative horndog (considering his wife's - see right - comeliness) ... but no Mensa candidate in intellectual horsepower dept. Now he’s flailing around wildly while still trying to appear calm. [Admittedly situation tastier to your humble scribe than Prime Rib on Thanksgiving, but I digress ... ]
Best example of this recent T.W. behavior, by the way, was TV chat answer to perpetual queries re state of his knee and/or possible comeback to previous levels of success? To former, stock K. Bacon/Animal House “All is well” line got trotted-out in hamster’s heartbeat. To latter, however, El Tigre got defensive: “Why would I want to go back to what I was? I want to be better. That’s the whole point, to always get better.”
T.W. said “better” like Quigg says “shark” in Jaws or Gecko elongating “greed” from Mr. O. Stone's Wall St. fill-um. Tiger doesn't want to just drink 'Egyptian De-Nile' Kool-Aid, he comes armed with his own XL swizel stick to make sure it goes down smoother!
Maybe the state regulators are safe to take Greek tragedies off the advanced students’ reading lists & substitute Mr. Woods’ plight as suitable parable. Regardless it is my constitutional role to prognosticate, so I shall, possible El Tigre paths:
1.) ‘Modified hang-out’ playing option: Appropriate Nixonian term - considering Tiger’s past dissembling of info - to generalize a limited playing schedule. Key is to emphasize Tiger's desire to still compete, but diminished physical skills to do so. Basically a grand rationalizing scheme for rapid descent to ordinary ability status & goal of limping past J. Nicklaus major record before Champions Tour in headlights.
2.) Bobby Jones’ walk-away: Put-out puff pieces that Tiger wants to focus on bigger things in life & use his fame to do more than seduce thongs off Shoney’s wait staff. Stop playing competitively as Bobby Jones did after Grand Slam & move onto weightier world matters. In Mr. Woods’ case, this would be funneled, no doubt, vis-à-vis his foundation & possible public office run in CA within next decade.
3.) Seppuku (in less than true rital manner): Grisly choice, but not outside realm for someone more mixed-up + nutty than a Planter’s club store party pack. This one has psychological ring of truth, too, because at core Tiger projects an indignation that any rules apply to himself. Although painful, this would be ultimate flip-off move from someone not confrontation comfortable. Imagine circumstances would be contrived by 'His Poutiness' to make it appear his hand was forced by all us bastards in world.
My guess is #2 least likely due to Tiger’s current monthly 'nut' & need for hard cash. If his winning again doesn’t come & a new pretty boy emerges on PGA, then I’d lay $ on #3 – especially as possible unpaid bills mount & this is most cowardly option.
Regardless, Tiger is now officially a loose cannon while systematically he cuts ties with anything from former life. As 'Det. William Somerset' in Seven finds vanity to be deadly sin sufficent to inspire murder, Mr. Eldrick W.'s combination of such with ongoing unwillingness to fess-up to personal truths, will be his ultimate ruination.
As one of my late father's favorite TV detectives used to say, "Who luvs ya, baby?".
It was the best of times and it was … the best of times, baby! That is if you happen to be a devotee to grisly god of Schadenfreude.
Oh my, how we were laid low (temporarily) as El Tigre resurrected the double-clutch fist pump after a Sunday eagle putt @ 8. His nifty par save on 9 appeared to grease the existential skids of redemption + kick-start something that might gladden hearts in multitudes of Shoney’s waitresses throughout this great ‘all-you-can-eat buffet’ nation of ours … but NO!!! The dark deity of delight from others’ misfortune played a trick on Mr. Woods meaner than arthritic Phil Mickelson forced to wolf a pile of tofu burgers.
Sunday 2011 Tiger = 36 (even par) on back 9 = no real ‘stones’ when reaching stated desire of “just being in the mix” coming down the stretch = “A big no-can do on that 1 year delayed comeback, Houston” = borderline snarky post-round interview (yet again) with CBS = his new monogram should be T4A3 for ‘Tied 4th Again At Augusta’. Yeah, baby!
“Oh, mighty Shiva (or insert here deity name of whomever you deem most appropriate as his obviously needed new religion’s top dog), how can you disappoint me so”, Tiger was heard to wail, no doubt, Sun. night back at his P.O.T.S. (Piece On The Side) compound just outside Augusta proper. To use Tiger’s own ad nauseam comment on state of his swing, yeah, you’re real close, buddy … to almost same degree that Col. Mohmar Gaddafi anytime soon will be tapping his 401K & additionally satisfying his reputed need for Ukrainian ‘side action’ by retiring to FL’s ‘The Villages’ – with, by the way, highest +65 STD rate in entire U.S. ... but, I needlessly digress.
Seriously, I'm sure Charl ‘I’m the So. African major winner not named Player, Els, Goosen nor Immelman’ will be a great champion. Look at how dominant last So. African to win the Masters has been ... Ahem. Nevertheless we’ll all be pouring cement around this hypothesis in not too distant future when, by sheer coincidence, gas is expected to return to to $2/gal., Egyptian Sandals resort slated to open & Pres. Trump tapped for NAACP's Medgar Evers Man-of-the-Year award.Those pinpoint prognostications aside, it was a great - best in years - Master’s. By the numbers: 8 different men held/shared lead on Sun., 5 tied simultaneously on back nine, 4 different hole web-cams available via Masters.org & 2 CBS commentators still believed Rory McIlroy could regroup before permanent ‘Shank City’ citizenship conferred to that mop-headed potato-meister.
Rory, Rory, boiled potatoes, Rory, Rory … Understood that you're just an innocent casualty of the toxic karma leaping about group ahead on Sunday, but … good God man, buck it up out there!Tom Watson still leaves, each Augusta round, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich on 13’s tee for his late Caddie, Bruce Edwards. [B.E. used to nibble on such there because of its isolation from galleries.] If wiley Kansan had made cut, old looper's ghost Sun. would have been munching on soggy bread thanks to Ulsterman’s personal waterworks following tee ball frolic with Rae’s Creek tributary.This is the Masters, young Mr. McIlroy, not the final scene from ‘Old Yeller’; get grip/act accordingly. If still weepy, rent copy of 'The Limey' & mimic main character - excepting accent - repeatedly. 
Sure, I'm a bit hard on the lad. One would think, however, his growing-up amidst paramilitary & perhaps seeing some relative parading around in camo + knit ski mask, might have done the trick in backbone area, eh? Guess Rory was at bar getting a round of Guiness pints for his mates when proverbial brass potatoes were handed-out. Oh well, never to fret as shaggy Rory's horizon of links dominance about as extended as John Ensign’s senatorial career. Very next week, new Euro hotshot – Matteo Manassero – waxed R.M. on final day to become first whipper-snapper to win 2x before 18th birthday.
Moving forward, expect Rory is reduced merely to cuttin’ sod for barely post-pubescent Itai’s roof (so to speak). Besides, at least younger of these ball-strikers knows how to get his hair trimmed properly and not look like ‘Spicoli’ audition material for No. Ireland cast of ‘Fast Times At Ridgemont High’. [River-dancing subs for surfing in this imaginative off-shoot]
Re youth's prospects in general, it should be noted that David Bowie 4-some of ‘Young Americans’ – 'Little Rickie' Fowler, Hunter 'Chipper' Mahan, Bubba (no nickname needed) Watson & Dustin 'Fuggly Face' Johnson - all failed to show-up competively at this year’s 1st major. Furthermore in post Magnolia Lane news, lattermost dude, Dustin Johnson, self-entered for yearly dumb-ass Tour Player competition with May ‘Golf’ magazine profile.
After admitting hands-on involvement - as a 16 year old – to help steal a gun, buy bullets for it & that gun later being used in a murder committed by someone else, lanky lad was asked about status of his longtime Caddie, Bobby Brown. Usually club-toters don’t come-up in such pieces, but his man on the bag still being blamed for not cautioning Dustin better during 2010 PGA Championship debacle and/or earlier failure to settle down So. Carolinan @ frightful US Open final 18. “His job is secure,” definitively stated Dustin ... until “deciding to part ways” announcement broke literally before magazine's next issue could hit stands.
What a tool! 'F. Face' DJ comes-off as punk in interview. F-bomb flies repeatedly as this intellectual lightweight’s catch-all adjective. Reminded of Donnie Brasco explaining myriad uses of fugetaboutit.Long-ball hitter didn't, suprisingly, decide to take talk show 'complete spilling-of-guts' approach in mag story. Instead Mr. Johnson neglected to reference his 2009 DUI shortly after 1st Tour win nor address indirect PR lynching of LPGA’s lovely (see left) Natalie Gulbis earlier in '11. [Blonde club-swinger said she was in relationship with D.J., but he later ducked claim when his main squeeze found-out].Excrement - pure + simple = Dustin Johnson. Shall we nominate this obvious & odious character midget as newest target for No. American Schadenfreude fan club? "Here, here!," says my best amigo below.
.jpg)
Pres. Obama today is in Mumbai to announce support for India’s bid to get a Security Council seat. Lead news picture shows American leader being greeted by current Prime Minister, Manmohan (surprise, surprise) Singh. Immediately I envision skit where Barack + Biden are ‘The Departed’ Eye-tai’s from “down Providence way” in shakedown of turban-wearing Southie luncheonette owner who finally retorts, “You say you’re my friends, but you don’t even know my name; it’s Singh, m*th@r-f&ck@r”. Sarah Palin as Billy Costigan then gets-up from counter, makes a little small talk paying tab, but subsequently pantyhose garrotes two Dems (while painfully breaking-off several nails in process) ...
Now that’s comedy. Much like my Geico-voiced [“Is a bird in the hand worth two in the bush?”] imagined public service announcement demanding cable’s ‘Sunrise Earth’ program be banned ASAP because suicide hotlines ring off hook during broadcast. While a California Condor (see handsome rascal right) prances in hi-def for 15 minutes building its precarious nest, some hapless/overly sensitive Latte-swiller no doubt watches from a lukewarm bath. Don’t need this kind of Crate & Barrel partisan voluntarily taking him/herself off tax rolls; too valuable vis-à-vis future fiscal outlays. Stack sides of the dock like cordwood with ex-Meth addicts if we must “thin the herd”, but keep quality disposable income dispensers away from programming prone to sharp implement wielding. At this point in bit, cut back to our annoucer walking off set in sheer disgust ... [What can I say? That Gandhi bit of my persona just refuses to be sublimated!]
Again, unlikely to ever receive (originally-dubbed) 'Not Ready For Prime Time' broadcast despite the rather attractive Maple Leaf tatted - take my word for it - on my posterior (underneath Tim Horton logo, of course). Sad … much like Debra Winger ‘New York Times’ magazine’s projectile-vomit inducing profile this past Sunday. Jeez! And I like the minx! ‘Forget Paris’ is one of my minor favs + I paid to see ‘Terms Of Endearment’ when going to fill-ums actually was enjoyable. Holy Peter, Paul & Mary, what the hell happened to this whacky gal? Gives Kathleen Turner certifiable run for fruitcake centerfold and now she pines for nothing less than a comeback? Oh yeah. About as much chance of that happening as Eliot Spitzer ever regaining any spot of prominence in a form of legitimate media ... Ahem. Back to wing nut at hand, so to speak, what I’d really like to see is Debra Wingy-dingy do a full-out ‘Urban Cowboy’ sequel.
Maybe such was referenced later in piece, but I had abandoned after 1st nine paragraphs as quickly as suitable latex protection jettisoned by (just referenced) NY ex-Atty. General during his various ‘Client 8’ non-connubial encounters. I envision that in 2nd installment – of ‘Urban Cowboy’, that is - Winger/Sissy could be ex-Enron employee, Travolta gets job on BP rig in the Gulf to get away from her (again) & final scene @ Gilley’s set amid a memorial service for Anna Nicole Smith, another Houston native. It has got to be green light city, buddy, on that script treatment … whoever gets me onto Cypress Point wins rights.
5 degrees of Kevin Bacon time for Winger: 1.) D.W. was “Wonder Girl” to Lynda Carter’s TV “Wonder Woman”; 2.) Carter is married to Robert A. (not Roger C./Whitewater) Altman; 3.) R.A.A. partner of Clark Clifford during BCCI scandal; 4.) Clifford was White House counsel to Harry S. Truman; 5.) Truman sold-out (rest of) Eastern Europe to “Papa Joe” Stalin @ Potsdam conference. Ergo Debra Winger is not only a Commie once removed, but next to only Paul Robeson in pantheon of those who willfully turned a blind-eye to Soviet atrocities!!
Quad erat demonstrandum, as we used to say “years ago when we had the church, which was just another way of saying we had each other … I don’t want to be a product of my environment, I want my environment to be a product of me!”. Sorry, I can’t get ‘The Departed’ Frank Costello voice out of my noggin. Sure that it has nothing to do with watching first 5 minutes on YouTube roughly 23x over past several months. Waffle House waitress last Tuesday asked if I’d like bacon or sausage patty with my scrambled cheesy eggs? I answered, “What I’m saying to you today is this: When you’re facing a loaded gun, what’s the difference?” Still somewhat shocked I was asked to leave.
Apologies, all, for my absentia during past 6 months. Some changes in my personal doings left less time than previously, skin grafts unfortunately didn’t take as well as anticipated but, most sadly, my FoodTV pilot – ‘Chuck Norris’ Iron Chef’ – didn’t get picked-up after all that hard work!
Concept was recipe-creation smoothly coupled with post-judges food presentation bout of full-body contact karate. Each competitor to get, too, kitchen tool of their choosing (excepting poultry cleaver) for close-quarter combat. Aggregated score or opponent's removal by ambulance determined winner, but network HQ panty-waists concerned sponsors might balk at “Kitchen Stadium” turning into quasi-gladiatorial pit of flying paring knives + roundhouse kicks for 5 minutes.
"Why is this world so slow to see such manifest brilliance?," I cry helplessly to heavens. :)
Recently my blushing bride has become a closer friend to a lady who prefers ladies. Of course your humble scribe has taken this development in the proper context – as possible welcome respite to his Caucasian mate’s seemingly near-jungle level libidinal drive. Ahem.
Hoping to fuel the possibility of a swerving of a sort, ever am I mindful now of data to support any potential crossover. Along those lines a recent TV show inadvertently provided manna to the proverbial gods when a young lass was evaluated in general for possible dating potential.
In the course of a rather saucy interview, the androgynous looking gal admitted that she was known to be a “Flipper”. This term – for the less than ‘Ellen Show’ hip amongst you – applies to a female switch-hitter who prefers prowling for prospective bedroom playmates in the opposing team’s locker room, so to speak. Apparently great relish is taken by said females from the act of “flipping” a heretofore straight lady to the Sapphic side of the ledger.
[Side note: Interestingly much of lingo used in TV show on subject was akin to describing how intelligence agents were “turned” back in Cold War's good old days. Of course in latter scenario the commentators were the ex-Ivy League boys from Langley. Hmmn.]
Based on above, your intrepid scribe has delved more deeply into this subject and can publish the 1st Top Ten list of well-known verbal reactions from the prey of “Flippers”. Below covers only those on U.S. continental shelf. I imagine inclusion of my former homeland to the north would necessitate at least one entry which referenced this year’s Y chromosome-less Canadian gold medal winning hockey team & threading a puck thru the pads with greater aplomb than Wayne Gretzky in his prime, but I needlessly digress.
#10 “Guess I shouldn't have made fun of my high school gym teacher.”
#9 “Do I have to like K.D. Lang now?”
#8 “I never knew it could be like this … ever!”
#7 “Death to the enslaving phallus!”
#6 “I still get to shave my armpits, right?”
#5 “If only my ex-boyfriend could see me!”
#4 “Will this improve my fashion sense?”
#3 “My God, what a cheap, cruel & meaningless lie I’ve been living!”
#2 “This won’t make me start buying Judy Garland CD’s, right?"..., and a drum roll please, ...#1 "Does this actually make me a lesbian?"
As pre-call girl D.A. Eliot Spitzer used to say in New York, "The Prosecution rests."
Because below will be deleted no doubt, I spotlight a soon-to-be fleeting post your scribe put upon a friend's FaceBook 'Wall' concerning her father's impending European trip to see her husband & herself plus a request of the Dad on my behalf. The picture of 'Eggs' B. was included in my effort for - at the very least - the sheer jauntiness of the Papal chapeau donned.
By the way, can you get Denny [Father] - whilst our fav Catholic Prof. is in Europe - to straighten-out current Archbishop of Rome - 'Eggs' B. - on his quixotic attempt to beatify Pope Pius XII.My pastrami pals from Carnegie Deli can't comprehend why someone who turned a blind eye to gas chamber deportation of +1K of their tribesmen right under Vatican's nose (literally), is now being coddled for canonization? Sholom.
#1: Not proud that - albeit only momentarily - I wish non-operable cancers on slap-happy pledge drive announcers for public radio stations to which I do not contribute [because they’ll just use my ‘geld', no doubt, to fund fancy lattes for staff of lay-about pseudo pinko’s].
#3: There is no real difference between 92 & 96 degrees [but, admittedly, there is in spread twixt 72 & 76 F]. Hence, in former case, move to No. Carolina from FLA poor choice because semi-comprehensible Spanish easier on ears than hayseed English, FLA has law re spot to smoke cigar in public every 10 km & 3 months of FLA year are utterly perfect.
#5: … speaking of our fav Alaskan minx, have it on good authority her next Prez run to include line, in assorted hues, of ‘elephant stompin’-on mule’ pattern tights to be sold via QVC. Ad line: “Wrap your tootsies in my pretty pantyhose & power-kick pseudo-socialists in 'nads!”. So dig that wacky chick ... especially in 4" boots like these!
#8: Recently in news re original star of ‘Nutty Professor’, reported that Tiger Woods standing-in this Labor Day for France's fav American comedian during Muscular Dystrophy annual telethon. Mr. Woods reputedly to verbally admonish various M.D. tykes they need to “man-up” [ ... even girls] & points-out, as well, that parading across studio floor without crutches veritable day-in-friggin'-park to his winning U.S. Open on a broken leg, Buck-O! Must admit just imagining all LifeTime TV network/non-Y chromosome partisans positively swooning to this new/softer El Tigre, warms cockles of my kryptonite heart.
.jpg)
