The hole-in-one gaffe is simultaneously the most thoughtful and fucked up thing you can do to an old guy. Because when you hit 50 years old, your idea of a fantasy isn’t having massive orgies with sorority sisters, it’s hitting a small round ball into a hole in the ground and telling your clubhouse buddies about it until you’re blue in the face. The future is bright, my friends. And I sure as hell won’t be the one to tell them what really happened because I know a thing or two about the living the Ignorance is Bliss lifestyle. That’s why I don’t check my credit score or ask past lovers how I am in the sack. So I’ll let these old hackers keep their dreams about making the PGA tour and I’ll continue to be the sexual specimen with impeccable credit. Chalk that one up on the score card.
And if a dude in a spandex Satan outfit picked up my ball and floated it into the stratosphere, I wouldn’t be too upset because I’ve hit it further from the pin before. Unless it was my last ball, then he’d taste my three wood.