Monday, October 16, 2006

Jokes, Jokes, Jokes

So I was sitting in the bar one night having a few beers with the Caddie Master when he brought something to my attention: a practical joke so incredibly useful and funny that I simply HAD to spend the next two weeks waiting for the perfect moment to try it out.

I had been waiting for three things to align themselves correctly before I could put my plan into action. I needed to be in the right frame of mind (aka FLYING on caffeine), my PLAYERS needed to have a sense of humor, and the pin placement on 14 needed to be low-left. Right next to the water.

For the last two weeks, either the pin wasn't in the right place, or my players' were assholes, or I forgot 4 quarters so I could satiate my need for freakin' caffeine. But today everything clicked into place.

Right off the bat, I knew I was caddying for the right kind of people. I was caddying for a father-son team where the son couldn't stop bitching to me about missing the Redskins game and the father couldn't stop telling me dumb jokes.

"What does tight-rope walking over the Grand Canyon and getting a blowjob from a 97 year-old woman have in common?"


"Whatever you do, don't look down."

Okay, so maybe SOME of them were funny. But the point was, I finally had two unsuspecting but willing victims to unleash my practical joke on.

The father and son were both guests of Dr. Dick, an Asian dick doctor that obviously saw enough dicks to blow $150,000 on a membership fee to this golf club. Dr. Dick is a decent golfer, but is known throughout the caddie-yard as a bad loop because he hardly ever talks to you and tips like he's been homeless for years. Today, he was playing with his wife, Mrs. Dick. Mrs. Dick was a cute older Asian woman with a skin-tight outfit and nipples that couldn't seem to figure out which way they wanted to point. But they were always excited about something. They never seemed to go away. So I guess if a doped-up Chameleon happened to wander onto the golf course that day, Mrs. Dick would've made love with it in one of the bunkers. Speaking of bunkers, Mrs. Dick just LOVED them. I felt so sorry for the other caddie. Although, Mrs. Dick ALSO made orgasm noises after anyone took a swing. So that was interesting. It was like watching women's tennis. So I guess to summarize, Mrs. Dick was a fashion-sensible Chameleon on ecstasy who loved the sand.

Moving on.

So the round progressed.

"What does a Polish groom give his bride that's long and hard on their wedding day?"

Drum roll.

"His last name."


"Honey why do you hit the ball in all the bunkers? If there's bunker on hole, you go there. And why do I like dicks more than you? You're my wife."

Wiff. "Ohhhhhh!!"

"I can't believe I'm missing the football game for THIS."

Well I'll tell you little boy. It's because we're on hole 14, and it's time for me to open up a can of whup-ass.

Shank. "OHHHH YEAHH!!"

That's right. I know you're excited too, Mrs. Cock.


Whatever. So there we were, on hole 14. We were on the green, and the father threw me his ball to clean. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. After cleaning his ball, I switched it with one of the spare balls I had in my bib. Then the moment of truth arrived. He motioned to me for his ball as he was walking past the low side of the green next to the water. I carefully threw the ball just out of his reach and a little harder than usual to try and make sure the ball slipped just past his fingers. It worked perfectly. He reached out, clumsily tried to catch the ball, the ball hit the green, took a couple hops and bounced into the water hazard.

For a moment, the foursome was silent. Orgasms ceased, dreams of football were squashed and the old man jokes stopped. Dr. Dick took a long drag off of his cigar and stared at me. The father turned to me, horrified.

"I...I How did that happen?"

"Well dad, I guess you just need to learn to catch."

"Damn ball. Crap."

Then they all turned to me. I saw my moment finally arrive. I pulled his ball out of my bib and handed it to him.

"Just kidding. Here you go."

Instantaneous laughter. The other caddie chimed in.

"I was gonna say...what kind of dumb-fuck caddie are you?"

About as dumb as they come. I can't wait to do it again.


English Dave said...

Man, you were treading a fine line there. If I thought you had thrown one of my balls in a lake, I would have been tempted to kick you in the nuts.

But I would have sent you in to get it back, like Ian Poulter did at Sawgrass, in amongst the crocodiles, sea serpents and unimaginable nasties. Hey, a ball's a ball!

Anonymous said...

Good one. It's hard to find people who can take a joke, especially if it's on them.

Here's a great one, although you have to be with the right people. Last winter, a buddy of mine slipped a remote controlled fart (noise) machine in his windshirt. We were playing in a two man scramble with two guys we'd never met.

Every time he bent over to pick his ball out of the hole, I'd hit the button and a monsterous air biscuit would be released. Our playing partners were too polite to say anything. He just acted like nothing happened.

This went on for four or five holes before they finally lost it and cracked up. They kept talking about it for the rest of the day.