Friday night, Memorial Day weekend, Mike D calls and says, "Let's play golf tomorrow." I'm exhausted from a week of school/work I can't even remember - so heck yeah, let's do it. We book a 12:30pm tee time. I tell Mike "You know what? I haven't played in a few weeks and I'm not going out tonight, so let's get there at 11:30am to warm up. In fact, I'll be there at 11am and we'll see if we can get an earlier start." Famous last words...
Saturday
12:00pm - I wake up. Uh-oh.
12:15pm - on the road, hauling ass
12:30pm -
Mike: "Where are you? They're calling your name over the speaker"
Me: "Meet in me in the parking lot with the cart."
12:45 - I sprint to the clubhouse to check in. We're up next - PHEW!
When checking in at the clubhouse, I end up behind these two guys that are insistent about having their own carts, even though they were playing as a pair. One is saying he's got his 5yr old son with him. This guy seemed pretty reasonable. The other guy claims that he's legally blind and needs his caretaker to come with him. Huh? This guy was a total piece of work too. Easily in his 40s and taken enough drugs to look in his 50s. He had flame tattoos covering his forearms and shins, big, dark, HD Vision sunglasses, and a brimmed hat with a 12" feather in it. His ratty T-Shirt and shorts were the least strange part of his look. I walked out thinking "please tell me we aren't playing with them."
We go the go to hit the teebox and at first it was looking like Mike D and I were playing on our own - sweet. We give the guys in front of us time to clear, I line up my shot, and - whack! - slice right into a flock of ducks and bounce into the water. Oh man, it's gonna be a rough day. Mike tees up and as he's warming up, Flame tats and his buddy pull up in their carts to join us. Oh man, it's really going to be a rough day.
Brian, the guy with the kid introduces himself first. Seems like a laid back guy just keeping an eye on his kid. Works for me. Fame tats introduces himself as Johnny. Or at least I think that's what he slurred. Accompanying him is his...ummmm..."caretaker." This girl doesn't look a day over 17 and her sheer top and mini-mini skirt. Her nipples are poking though her shirt and her ass is hanging below the skirt-line. I'm convinced she's a stripper.
Brian walks up and tees off fine. Mike and I look towards Johnny, who is being led to the tee by his caretaker. Elephant-walk style. I haven't seen this since my days in Beta. The girl puts his ball in the ground and puts on a show of pointing him in the proper direction. Mike and I are looking at each other going "What the f$%k is this?" Johnny cranks back and launches the ball 200 yards. Mike and I shoot each other a look. We're instantly calling BS on this guy. As we turn the corner away from the clubhouse, suddenly Johnny can see fine. The entire time he's just trying to avoid paying the $10 ride-along fee for his girl. Really?
We get to the first green and Johnny lines up his chip. Except it's my ball. His ball is about 20 feet away. I notice it and see "BD" written on it in red sharpie. Now, I play with buddies who put their initials on their balls to ID them easier. Why would Johnny have "BD" written on his. "Because I'm the 'Big Daddy'" he tells me. And less I be confused by that statement, he rotates the ball to show me the other side which actually has written out "B-i-g D-a-d-d-y". Thanks for the clarification.
As we waited at the second tee - passing for the second time on taking a hit of Johnny's doobie - we come to learn that Johnny's "caretaker" is in fact his girlfriend. As far as we can tell he's training her to be his caddie. He, Brian, and his girl have just come out from Colorado. He asks where we're from and Mike replies North County while I say PB. "Oh nice," Johnny says. "We've got a place down on Mission Bay at Campland." Campland - for the uninformed - is the trailer park on the banks of the run-off pool known as Mission Bay. By "got a place" Johnny meant "drove our place." Things are starting make a lot more sense.
Fast-forward to the 4th green. I'm stuck in the rough (what else is new), however Mike over on the green observes the following sequence: Johnny gets down on all fours to sight his putt and tells his girlfriend to do the same. He decides she's not low enough to the ground and says she needs to stick her ass up and get her eye-level as low as possible. Once he gets her in this position, he pops up, maneuvers behind her, flips up for mini-skirt (exposing her thong), and proceeds to play her ass like a set of bongos. Mike said he spun 360 degrees trying to find someone else who saw this. I only saw the girl assuming the position. Johnny has officially become "Johnny Come Lately".
[Side bar - You may be wondering where Brian and his kid are. Well, near as we can tell Brian wants nothing to do with the guy, but Johnny somehow has him hooked. The guy must owe him money or had Johnny help him kill a hooker. We never did figure this out]
Up to the 5th tee, Mike has just told me the bongo story. Johnny is up first and yells for his g/f "Hey baby. Bring Big Daddy his big stick." What a winner. Johnny tees off, followed by Brian, then me. Mike D is last up. I watch his tee shot what was fine, but I see him turn and instantly a shocked look comes to his face. I turn to see what he's looking at and I almost fall over backwards. Perched on top of the ball washer, is a white Cockatoo - probably 4 feet from the top of his head to the end of his tail feathers. Before we can even ask "WTF?" Johnny is yelling "Baby, get Trixie." [Trixie was the bird, not the stripper] "But he's scratching me," she whines back. "Go get her woman." Again, winner. "Dude. WTF? Where the hell did that bird come from?" Mike asks me as we head down the fairway. "Did we just play 4 holes of golf and not notice a 4-foot fucking bird in Johnny's cart?" was all I could say. We're getting dangerously close to this becoming the craziest day ever...
8th teebox - Johnny Come Lately is standing next to me and gets on some rant about how he grew up in La Jolla, obviously blowing any potential he had on cheap drugs. He then mentions that I should check out his golf shoes. "Genuine python skin," he boasts. I take a look and in fact he's right, brown golf shoes with sections of real snake skin. At this point nothing can surprise me. "I had them custom made for me by a gypsy in Thailand," he adds. Wow Johnny. You went to Thailand, banged a bunch of skanky 3rd world hookers, and thought to yourself, "Man, I really need new golf shoes. OH! Python skin!" Really?
10th teebox - underage-trailerpark-stripper-girlfriend is getting tired and lays down on her side on the grass. Johnny tees off with an iron since it was a short hole and walks over by his girl. he proceeds to lift up her mini-skirt with his club and stick the clubhead into her buttcrack. I shoot a look to Mike and he saw it too. For the record ladies, Mike and I are both single and we won't shove an 8 iron up your asscrack if you decide you need to take a catnap. I'll just add that to my eHarmony profile, lest there be any confusion.
The rest of the outing was fairly uneventful Mike D and I just stuck to our game. That night we were out with friends at Firehouse recounting the story and had everyone rolling. Holy hell. I wish I was imaginative enough to make this stuff up. I guess my reality remains stranger than fiction.
Final weekend notes that just couldn't top the Saturday experience:
- We had club seats for the Pads game Sunday - pimp! When they stop serving booze at the seats, we have access to the exclusive club that doesn't have a cut-off. The game went extra innings too. Good times.
-After the game we went to the Top of the Marriott where there was an impromptu "Pimps 'n Hoes" party going on. A bunch of trashy chicks getting freaky with every guy they passed. Tragic.
- I had to pick Mike D up downtown on the sidewalk outside of a hotel on Monday morning after the chick he was getting freaky with wouldn't take him back to my place in PB. Good for Mikey, but I still made him buy me breakfast.
No comments:
Post a Comment