We didn't get more than three holes in when a group of the most insidious nature started to "throw us off our game," pun intended. We were constantly being bombarded by the sounds of several fat, loud and annoying individuals. In all fairness one of them wasn't fat but he was equally obnoxious so I don't feel particularly bad lumping him in with the rest of the swine.
Just before we eclipsed the half-way point, hole 9, we'd noticed that the aforementioned group was constantly on our tails. It's worth noting that even Helen Keller couldn't have missed this group coming. I have no issue with people playing quickly - just getting up to the tee and chucking without a second thought. However that usually means you're either really slick or really terrible, oblivious and/or apathetic. Given the placement of the swine party's discs I noticed, terrible and oblivious are the superlatives that best apply. Big Play and I had talked about letting these guys play through just so we wouldn't have to hear their every stupid word with every terrible shot they took, however we both decided that in principle they didn't deserve any special treatment. Ironically enough, one of them would later receive some anyhow.
Around hole 13 one of them finally decided to halt his ongoing nuisance of a soliloquy to ask us if they could play through. The verbal exchange that proceeded probably didn't go as he had expected...
Annoying guy: "Hey, would y'all mind if we played through?"
I immediately shouted back a fairly curt "YES!"
"Yes we can play through?" the annoying faggot asked.
"No!" I shouted back. "Yes I mind if you play through you dumb fuck."
"What the heck man there's no need for that kind of language," he retorted.
Said idiot and his swine brigade began to talk amongst themselves, clearly trying to formulate some kind of plan of action. Big Play and I took the opposite route and continued to play in the most nonchalant manner we could muster whilst totally ignoring them. I notice the one non-fat guy emerge from the group and start walking toward us, near the end of the hole. We of course continued to ignore him, never once turning our backs to acknowledge his presence until he was within touching distance. My favorite part of his impending approach was that just as he had finally reached us I made a fairly bad-ass long range putt. The chains rattled as my disc hit the disc-catcher utterly perfect - in trajectory and timing - and interrupted his initial attempt to open his maw. Afterward I turned around like it hadn't been the best shot I'd made all day to face him.
"So what's your problem man?" asked the swine party representative.
"My problem is that you faggots have been loud and annoying the entire fucking time you've been here," I immediately replied.
"Wow man, who uses that kind of language, think about the integrity of the game," he said.
"I do." I instantly replied, with a smirk. It was already abundantly clear that my totally unnecessary normal level of rage had intimidated him.
"Well whatever man, I'm not trying to get the police involved out here," implying that he was going to fight me.
"You wouldn't have to worry about them anyway, you'd be dealing with people in a hospital. Would you like me to remove my sunglasses so you can see my eyes?" I asked him with great anticipation. I, of course, had found the perfect opportunity to rip off my sunglasses - a la The Rock, the Great One, The People's Champ, the Most Electrifying Man in Sports Entertainment - and then deliver one of my own favorite trademarks: the stare-down. Unfortunately, he indicated that I should leave my glasses on and my heart subsequently sank. However when he proceeded to turn around to walk back to his group without saying another god-damn motherfucking word, I cheered up a little - and then burst into laughter with Big Play, who had been playing it cool as the silent, distant enforcer lurking in the shadows several yards away throughout this entire exchange.
As we continued to play through the rest of the course, we never heard nor saw the swine party again. Imagining what this guy said when he went back to his group of friends after venturing out so boldly pleases me in a way that can only be described as a Chasexual climax. Reality Checkmate.
Son of Anarchy Online
Earlier today I happened to be driving on a fairly high-traffic boulevard at probably the worst time of the day. There is no getting out onto this road without some give-and-take, to quote a skilled Nascar orator. Essentially unless you're a huge pussy and/or you feel like being an inconsiderate asshole and holding up anyone who may be behind you indefinitely, you're going to pull out in front of someone. This isn't to say that you have to cut someone off but if someone behind you doesn't lay off the gas a little or show the least bit of courtesy and perspective, you're going to have someone on your ass. And since apparently the Southern population of the United States is largely comprised of god fucking awful drivers, you're always going to have someone on your back-bumper. On this day the individual who felt I had cut him off was a fat black man on a hog. The word hog describing his motorcycle as opposed to who he probably spends his private-time with. It's pretty common knowledge that if you drive a motorcycle you're automatically hard and a total bad ass. Somehow this logic applies universally despite the fact that I could kill him at will with my '91 Tercel - from Hell.Clearly displeased he pulls up next to me and gives me a dirty look and waves his index finger, trying to tell me no, no, no you just don't do that to a biker. He is probably equally displeased at the fact that I'm wearing headphones, and those pseudo-clear douche-bag-esque sunglasses - but hey they're the ones I leave in my car for sunglass-less emergencies, so I wear them with pride - after I clean them off. Anyhow, I subsequently held a hand up and made a shrugging gesture toward him, trying to communicate that I couldn't care less, then drove away. As we approach the next red light, I notice he and a fellow biker bad-ass were sitting right behind me, clearly gesturing toward me and gossiping like a bunch of housewives desperate for Bojangles. So as I notice them looking at me through my rear-view mirror I begin to make nonsensical hand and arm gestures, attempting to indicate I am fully aware of their conversation and they can both go fuck themselves. To make sure my point wasn't lost on these two sons of appetite I concluded my performance by immediately stopping my frantic arm movements and giving both of them two very clear middle fingers. Apparently they got the message but weren't very happy about it. We're still sitting at the same red-light, so one of them pulls up beside my driver's side door. I had both windows up at the time and I briefly considered just leaving it up and acting like I couldn't hear what he was saying. However in the end I gave in to my temptation of a possible verbal sparring bout, in which I seem to have difficulty using self-restraint - and just frankly enjoy.
"Do you enjoy living?" the biker asks me. Little did he know how terrible of a target he had chosen for such a question. With my headphones still on, I replied "not particularly," half-way laughing in my delivery. The light had turned green by this point and cars were finally starting to move. He was clearly struggling with a reply to my light-hearted response so I simply quipped "See ya!" and drove off, never seeing the bikers again throughout the duration of my trip home and also feeling somewhat smug knowing that I had delivered some dimwitted bikers with a much needed... Reality Check.
