Working for Haggis?

To be honest, I'm having trouble writing today. I guess it's because I've been busy the last few days and haven't been able to update. Man, I get rusty quickly.

I had already written the majority of this post. But then I stopped, looked over it, and said, "wow, this post sucks my left nut."

So I deleted it and decided to start over. But instead of trying to organize my stream-of-consciousness style of prose into something resembling chronological order, I've decided I'm just going to have to write about things as they pop out of my head. Which is normally the case anyway, but normally I have some logic attached to it. Oh no. Not this time. I'm running free baby. I feel it may be the only way to save this particular post. Here goes.

The guy I caddied for today turned out to be Scottish. So for the sake of something worth something, let's call him "Mr. Haggis." He was playing with three other guys. Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Ho-bag, and Bob Smith.

Tweedle Dee looked like Jack Nicklaus from afar. Which was wicked cool.

Tweedle Ho-bag hit some ridiculously lucky shots and almost aced the par-3 16th. And what has two thumbs and gave that guy the yardage? This guy.

Bob Smith was boring and terrible at golf. I'd like to say more about him, but I can't really remember a single shot that blew my hair back today. See you later Bob.

So Mr. Haggis never came through on anything today and left everything out to the right. He knew it, I knew it, and the Tweedle's new it. That's probably why they were laughing on the back nine. They were winning all of this guy's money. But money really isn't everything. No, check that. Of course money is everything.

Oh wait. I just remembered something worthwhile that Bob Smith did. He hit a great FLOP shot (missed the putt) on the 12th and Mr. Haggis made one of the best comments I've ever heard: "That's like putting whipped-cream on shit."

Way to be Mr. Haggis.

Haggis was a cool guy. His swearing increased exponentially on the back nine, which correlated with his losing streak to the Tweedles. He was a good sport about it though. We laughed together at his bad shots, laughed some more at his good shots, and took turns making fun of the Tweedles: on the 16th hole Tweedle Ho-bag had a 2 footer for birdie, and Haggis smiled and said, "you got the read on this one Ho-bag?"

I jumped in with, "yeah, knock it close." Yeah, that's right. I went there. That was so freaking witty and you know it. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure anyone but Haggis heard me make this comment. But he laughed damn it. And everyone was laughing by 18. It was really an enjoyable round, and the tip wasn't bad either.

But the other caddie I was working with was terrible. He was the bullshit king. Okay, I'm still new to caddying, but he was even NEWER. He was fresh out of the shrink-wrap. He had been on the course maybe four times so far. So guess who wanted to read everyone's putt? It wasn't me. Even after he had snubbed me out and somehow gained the trust of every player on the dance floor, and everyone started missing putts, he was still somehow able to bullshit his way out of any responsibility. At least I was honest with Haggis on the first hole.

"Can you read these greens yet?"

"Well, I'm getting better at it."

A lot of respect that got me. He soon was taking reads from Shitty McShitterson. I've never seen so many piles of bullshit on each and every green. But, in the end, I could tell that the players respected me because I kept my mouth shut most of the time. This other caddie wouldn't be quiet. I've seen speed freaks with more restraint.

Well no, I haven't. But those addicts can get a little crazy, right? I mean look at what speed did to that dog on "Something About Mary." Puffy went insane. When the dog broke almost every bone in it's body, it just kept on going. Just like this guy. He couldn't read anything on the greens, but he kept right on going. Like that bunny with the battery surgically implanted on its back. Poor bastard.

In reading over this post, I guess I was a little more organized than I meant to be. But that's cool. No Hunter S. Thompson "gonzo-journalism" for me today. But I'll keep on trying.

Anyway, time to stop. Later ya'll.