i just don't know what say any more.
you think you know somebody for years and you find out they live a much more convoluted life than you ever thought possible.
i'm talking about tiger of course.
thank god his wife was swinging at him with a one iron.
any other club, and he'd be pushing up fairway rough sure as shootin'.
only god can swing a one iron.
dumb golf jokes aside, as the woodwork occupants continue to scurry out in numbers approaching the distance to venus, i have to wonder when did he have the time?
and how for chrissakes did he keep them under the covers—so to speak?
that's more astonishing than his golf game quite honestly.
in a weird way, okay?
and i said "almost", which means "not quite".
so i'm not singing his praises okay?
i'm just sayin', that's all.
hell. i backed the car into a tree when keaton found a dish i broke hidden in my underwear drawer.
under these kind of transgressions there's no telling what i'd do.
probably back it up clear to the pacific ocean.
from new jersey.
but then again that's why he's tiger and i'm bob i suppose.
well, if anything, he single handedly has put skepticism back into fashion.
no one is safe from the turned up brow of scrutiny.
and i'm not good with the brow turned up already.
i always feel guilty of everything.
even stuff i had nothing to do with.
it's what i do well.
so this scourge tiger has brought down upon us is going to be just swell for a couple of years.
swell like an eye smacked by a frozen pork chop.
is there no end to my miserable state?