national lampoon’s jones family vacation: die harder

Once a year, that’s how often I play golf.

It happens on this annual vacation to Destin. I have decided that my golf game has a purpose: to warn others of what their golf game would look like without practice. I enjoy it though… it’s an adventure. I have no idea what’s going to happen each time that I hit the ball. Last year I hit an incredible boomerang shot. I crushed the ball. I’m telling you I thumped it hard. It flew about 40 feet, resoundingly ricocheted off of the tree that was not so directly in front of me, then returned back in my direction with great force. But thankfully, the ball did not hit me… it flew over my shoulder and hit my father-in-law square in the chest leaving him with a nice swollen purple souvenir of our time together on the course.

Later in that same round, I again killed the ball on a monster drive. The ball flew 20 feet off the tee perpendicular to the direction that I was aiming, struck the front passenger-side tire on our golf cart, rebounded and nailed me right in the ankle. Fortunately I was allowed to hit another ball, because surely the same thing could not happen again… and it didn’t. This time I jumped out of the way before the speeding Dude-Magnet had a chance to inflict more harm on my sunburned legs.

I am out of words now.

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3 responses to “national lampoon’s jones family vacation: die harder

  1. It sounds like our golf games are very similar. Although I did find a municipal course to play on in my hood. So now at least I olny pay 12 bucks to loose a bunch of balls and curse a lot.

  2. SFK, I usually keep score based on the number of balls I have left at the end of the round. This year I was five-over, and I hit at least five into the water. That should tell you that this course was a pricey-joint where the players didn’t care to look for any balls hit out of bounds. I didn’t go hunting lost balls, I was hunting for my ball, and on the way I kept coming across these lost balls of lazy, rich dudes… I feel bad talking so much about balls.

  3. Pingback: the legend of baggy pants « whole brevity thing·

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