If Tiger needs help transferring money from Nigeria, I’m up for it. In a manner of speaking.

December 15, 2009

Give a person a fish and they will eat today. Give a person a fishing rod and they will eat every day. Give a person a penis and they will act like an idiot. For. Frickin’. Ever.           — ancient bitemymoko proverb

I wasn’t going to bother adding my two cents’ worth to the controversy swirling around Tiger Woods but, hey, if you can’t kick a guy when he’s down, when can you kick him?

As Tiger is now discovering, nothing makes as much noise, nor is watched with such unbridled glee, as a hero tumbling from his pedestal. We build ’em up; we tear ’em down. Welcome to the human race.

There is a price to pay for stardom and it is this: Eventually we will eat you alive. That Tiger was the master of his own demise — by seeking to access every available hole with his putter even after leaving the course — just made this particular fall from grace all the more of a spectator sport. “Pass the popcorn, honey, someone else just cleaned Tiger’s balls.”

Another reason to chortle and point as Tiger’s ivory tower crumbles around him is his perceived aloofness, bordering on smug snobbery.

“I am the greatest golfer in history. I make billions of dollars and own a huge house filled with wonders. I am perfect and do not care what anyone thinks. So bugger the common people.”

Which is, apparently, exactly what he was doing.

But I’m not here to dredge up every golfing double entendre in the book. The actual purpose of this blog to point out a couple things that has left me stunned and amazed. More than usual, that is.

The first is why, when he has a smorgasbord waiting at home, Tiger would bother chewing on stale sandwiches.

I’m looking at all these slappers women now elbowing each other for the spotlight, claiming they too participated in Tiger’s short-stroke game, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the man not only lacks willpower, he may also be legally blind. I don’t claim to be the most discerning inhabitant of Planet Man, but not one of these star f*****s young ladies who gave Woods wood made me stand up and pay attention, if you catch my drift. In fact, I started itching just at the sight of them.

And then there was that strange code of silence. I don’t much follow golf (a game Mark Twain once described as “. . . a good walk spoiled.”) but I didn’t pick up even a whisper that Tiger Woods was straying.

And yet, within nano-seconds of his decision to engage in a bout of late-night, full-contact driving, the girlfriends were revealing themselves in droves.

And that’s what really scares me, the fact that not one of them had already been sniffed out by the dung beetles who work for the likes of TMZ and other assorted (and sordid) websites that have built their reputation on a foundation of fresh crap served daily.

If ladies of this ilk can keep a secret, who else is biting their tongue?

Remember the conspiracy theories over whether the moon landing was faked, or that there was more than one shooter involved in the JFK assassination? NASA and the government both pooh-poohed the respective theories, saying the truth would have eventually leaked out considering the number of people needed for such a coverup. The fact that no one has ever come forward with an alternative history is proof Armstrong and co. did indeed walk on the lunar surface and Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.

Uh, they may want to re-think that reasoning in the wake of this Tiger tale.

Wouldn’t it be terrible if everything you thought true were simply lies covered up by, well, everyone. I mean, what’s next? I suppose now you’re going to tell me the Nigerian prince, whose fortune I am helping to transfer into my bank account before the rebel army claims it, is a fake.

Yeah, right. Nice one.


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