If you’re unfortunate enough to live in a cold weather climate and foolish enough not to leave for Christmas break, well then…sucks for you. I will enjoy my warm weather vacation destination for the month of December while half the country freezes their nads off.
Warm weather in December means one thing: lots of golf. Well that was the plan. But after the hungover/ drunken round I played on Tuesday I’m going to have to find another course.
8:30 A.M: Wake-up call
GAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! Why the fuck is my phone ringing? Kill it! Kill it with fire!
“Hello? Tee time? What tee time? No I don’t remember telling you that last night, goddamn tequila…. Nah, fuck it I’m up. I’ll see you there.”
How the fuck did my buddy remember that? And how’d he manage to wake up for it? Asshole.
9:00 A.M: Pre-game
30 minutes before we tee off. If I kill this pitcher of Bloody Mary’s maybe I’ll be able to see the sun without puking on the cart girl.
9:12 AM: Pre-game
Okay Bloody Mary’s finished. Now I’m gonna take off my sunglasses for just a second to see how the sunlight feels…OH GOD IT BURNS!!! IT HURTS SO MUCH! I CAN’T THINK! WHERE AM I!?! I CAN’T BREATHE!! I FORGOT HOW TO BREATHE!! STOP LAUGHING AT ME YOU ASSHOLE!
Where are my sunglasses!?! Where are they!!
(Blindly feels around the ground, finds sunglasses, puts them on)
So, yeah, these are staying on for the remainder of the day.
9:35 A.M: Hole 1
Should I start with bourbon or beer? If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right. Grab a Natty, we’re doing a shotgun start and saving the bourbon for the back nine.
10:23 A.M: Hole 4
Any beer left? No? How the fuck did that happen? I don’t want to get all introspective but even I think we’re alcoholics right now. Well let’s bust out the Makers, that’ll make me forget my problems.
A case down and busting out the whiskey before noon on a weekday, this day could end really well or waking-up-in-a-holding-cell-with-a-bunkmate-named-Greasy-Mike bad. But at least he’s greasy. Dry prison rape is THE.WORST.
11:40 A.M: Hole 9
I should’ve eaten 12 McGriddles along with all those Bloody Mary’s. I am REALLY paying for last night right now. Not to mention I’m about to commit a hate crime once we reach a bathroom. They’re seriously going to think a gaggle of wild grizzlies broke down the door and started explosively diarrhea-ing all over the walls.
Only 7 holes in and I’m hitting the wall. Unacceptable. Only one solution, two shots of whiskey and a Red Bull. Back nine’s gonna be my bitch…who am I kidding? I’m gonna die today. I’m surprised buzzards aren’t already circling over me.
12:18 P.M: Hole 12
Wow my friend is drunk. He should NOT be driving that golf cart.
“It’s called a cart path for a reason dipshit!”
Jesus Christ watch out for the fucking la….
12:19 P.M.: Hole 12
My buddy just drove the cart into a water hazard. How do you fuck up in an electric vehicle that tops out at 15mph? I really hope no one notices this.
1:00 P.M: Hole 14
Thanks to the accident this round is taking forever and the marshal has been eyeballing us ever since. He can’t PROVE why the front of the cart is covered in algae but I think he knows…
Shit. That was my last dip too. Wish the cart girl sold long cut. Or would give me a blowjob. I’d settle for a blowjob. Of course between the hangover and the heat my dick and balls probably smell like used gym socks filled with assorted rotten meats…but that’s HER problem damnit.
I haven’t seen my buddy in awhile either. Did he drown? No I saw him after the crash. Did I? I did. Totally did.
2:00 P.M: Hole 18
Thank god. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. That marshal has literally been staring at us for 2 straight hours. Okay, we get it, it’s your job to be angry at people who crash golf carts into lakes. Lighten up!
Just gotta putt out and get home without having to talk to the director about “behavior expected of members” again. Whatever the fuck that means.
I haven’t seen my buddy in like an hour, what the fuck happened to him? Did he go to pee in the woods and pass out. I’m not going to look for him. The fact that taking a drunk nap in the woods is a bad idea is a lesson that has to be learned the hard way. It’s not my fault he decided to be a retarded Rip Van Winkle.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”
Who was that? Oh goddamnit, the marshal. We were so close.
“Sir we are just gonna leave. I realize that we’re intoxicated and I’m sorry my friend referred to you as an ‘overpaid gardner’.”
Fuck me? No fuck you fucking fuck. I pay your goddamn salary you prick, well my dad does, but STILL! Go ahead and call the cops. What the fuck are you gonna tell them?
My friend drove into the terrace and demanded a valet receipt? Oh really…damn. Why couldn’t he have passed out in the woods?
(runs away with friend, receives phone call an hour later, apologizes, plays another round the next day)