For Par

I'm not even joking.
I know that it would likely seem, after my saying "I'm a natural golfer", that I would be joking.
I got par on a hole. Aparantly that doesn't happen the first time that you hit the links.
Why do they call them links? I can't understand that.
Topless picture to the first person to tell me.
I was outrightly disturbed and unsettled at how much fun I had.

Which is why I went again a few days later.
It is 11 in the morning. I am awake, despite being awake until 5 in the morning some hours prior.
Due to Bioshock. Going to get game of the year. Mark my words. And the words of thousands of other shmucks.
My parents are to come into St. John's because my brother and I have to move from our upstairs apartment to the downstairs apartment in the same house.
My brother is very passionate about seclusion.
I move my entire room by myself rather than waiting for them to get here.
Because our tee time is 2:57. And I do not want my mother to attempt to stop me from golfing.
So, I move an entire bedroom in the span of two hours on my own.
There is a dresser. And a shelf. All that is left at the end is my bed.
That sticky tac shit that I use to paste photos to my wall? I'm scraping it off with a butter knife.
I just want to play golf that desperately.
My parents show as I finish moving our frozen goods. They start as Peter shows up.
I make us late.

Winds are 30km/h, gusting to 50.
There are few people on the links on this particular day.

My thoughts on golf, if you're waiting for them:
It makes me sweaty enough, and stiff enough to be considered a sport.
However, we choose to walk, and my first round is on a very hot day.
If you golf with a cart, and it's overcast outside, the game qualifies as a passtime, at best.
Alcohol is allowed on the course.
Come on.
As a general rule, sports will restrict the consumption of alcohol to spectators rather than participants.

Shandera calls it "whack-fuck" because that's what he says when he plays. My brother laughs every time I use the term.

It's the only instance I have encountered in which a light (or 'lite') beer is the better avenue. Because a heavier beer would make you bloaty during your drives, and you don't want to get too tipsy before the last few holes.
The eighth is a doozy, and the ninth is a real bastard.
Peter usually throws a club on the ninth.

I once finished a round of sex with a girl, and immediately said "That was a doozy" afterwards.
I may and will say random things after intercourse. I feel obliged to be immediately entertaining because the girl in question has to put up with my feeble lovemaking attempts.
And she didn't know what 'doozy' meant. So, naked, hovering over her, somewhat sweaty, I explain the expression to her.

If you have someone shooting in front of you, you're supposed to lean on your club and look impatient as you wait.
Because that is what all of our predecessors do. ...Our golf predecessors.

I have meant to exercise a little. And I have been trying to at least run into nature in passing, from time to time.
I am lining up a putt, with my cheek to the green, and I have my three idiot childhood friends cursing and mocking in a circle around me.
I am laying on the ground. It's manicured, but it's very real.
And I decide that golf isn't so bad.

Don't worry. I washed the butter knife.