Golf is the Sport of Kings.

So, I was invited to go hit a bucket o’ balls today. The sun is out here in Denver, and there’s a nice breeze blowing out and away from the line.

It’s perfect.

So, we all pile into my buddy’s truck, and drive over, windows down, playing 80’s hair music all the way. This is the right kind of day for it. If you’ve never experienced a day like this, then I recommend you try.

We get a bucket, and head to the driving line. About ten minutes into the affair, I tee up.

This will be the longest drive anyone has ever witnessed. I’m stronger than these guys, I can crank a softball 350 feet. Surely I can crush this tiny white piece of whatever it is into the next zip code.

I address the ball. “How you doing, ball?”

My resolve is unfettered. Today is mine.

I begin my backswing. The club slowly arcs backward as I inhale. My feet are properly positioned, my grip perfect. Just when it may appear that I can draw the club back no further, I take it just a notch further, and then release like a loaded coil.

The club whistles through the air, and people snap their heads to see. I let loose a grunt, my primal scream. This ball is going to turn to dust. Each of my muscles works as hard as it can to swing this club. The torsion rocks me back on my heels.

I look downrange before I hit the ball.

This of course means that I did not hit the ball, but rather whiffed on it much like an elephant seal doesn’t whiff at a pie thrown by Carrot Top.

My right foot slings out from underneath me as I enter an uncontrollable, off-balance spin. The club, some forty yards downrange, sticks in the soil handle first.

The laughter is already beginning.

My pants legs, stressed my the unusual range of motion they’re being subjected to, decide that the time has come to say goodbye. With a sound like a wet fart under the bedclothes, they decide to part ways immediately, beginning at my crotch.

In an effort to arrest my fall, I reach out for the only thing that was near to me. The golf bag. I am promptly struck in the forehead by the putter, which then decides to continue following the rule of gravity, and plummets directly onto what I think was my left testicle.

I say that I think it was my left because I could not tell. The deafening howling was distracting me. When I finally shut up, the pain had generalized in the area, and it was nigh impossible to ascertain which of the boys had been thumped.

Golf is indeed the sport of kings. Today, I was the jester.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! :smiley:

Oh, dear. That’s priceless. I wish there was video of that! [sub]There isn’t, is there?[/sub]

HAHAHAHAHA! That made my day…sorry but that is FUNNY.

Also Let me say Kudos on the nick! KITH KICKS ASS.

[sub]EVIL EVIL IMPOLITE AND EVIL!!! DIRTY DIRTY WHITE BOY!!![/SUB]

Since you’re a doper, I imagine you said this, “How YOU doing, ball?”

I must point out that you did manage to hit “a” ball. Was it a wood or an iron?

8-year old humor (I’ve only heard this one 20 times this week): “Why does a golfer wear two pairs of pants? Because he got a hole in one.”

You should consider submitting the OP to BadGolfMonthly.

Right now, I’d say it may have started out as an iron, and I don’t see wood in my near future.

OMG that was hilarious. Reminds me of my first time at a driving range. I’m still no good at it, but isn’t it fun.

I much prefer Mario Golf on my N64 now. At least that way I can pretend like I know what I"m doing.

To add insult to injury, I also got sunburned.

Today, I am feeling the after-effects. I’ve got sore muscles where I thought I only had beerfat. Weird.

dude. how are you gonna score with the chicks if you don’t have no beerfat?