I wish to wish the both of you a Happy 4th of July week. And in honour of your holiday of independence and in light of recent activities in the Great Britain, I have decided to spend the holiday in the Kingdom of United-ness.
Fighting terrorism.
For you.
I began my English Terror Campaign by making my hosts a platter of my now internationally famous guacamole and fresh salsa. These were subsequently used to line the appropriately-warmed taco shells and top off the piles of shredded white cheddar and lettuce, respectively.
Call it “Diplomatic Relations.” Also, do you know anyone who can fight terror on an empty stomach? I didn’t think so.
But back to my English Terror Campaign. You may be wondering just how does one go about fighting terrorism against an enemy he can’t see in a country he can’t drive in?
Easy, Homeschool.
Golf.
Think about it. Why can’t you easily find a terrorist? ‘Cause they’re hiding. And if they’re hiding, they’re prolly wearing camouflage. Right? So if they’re wearing camouflage, them buggers are prolly hiding in the shrubs. So why not fire a few hundred British Pounds worth of golf balls off course?
That’s exactly what we did.
I lost my first two balls on shots number 2 and 3, respectively. And being the cautious Patriot that I am, I decided to take out my South African comrade on Hole #3. Having spent most of his professional career patrolling the boarder between S. Africa and Mozambique, I began to question what side he was really on. Some may call it, "Racial Profiling." We here call it, "Pre-emptive Assumption." So, from about 80 yards out, as he walked towards the rough where three of his balls lay, I got out my 1-Wood, and swung like your freedom depended on it.
Clearly underestimating my accuracy, you could say that I “buzzed the tower.” For such a tough bushman, I’ve never seen anyone “hit the deck” so quickly. Turns out, he really was on my side.
His old S. African army buddy, however. Not so sure. Which brings us to Hole #9.
This fella wasn’t so easy to crack. And being the American that I am, everyone is guilty until I decide otherwise. So, as he approached the green, me about 100 yards out, I decided to go for the lay-up. This time, grabbing my 3-Wood, I find my line, take a quick reading of the cross-wind, and then swing like a mutha. Fu*ka.
Quick survey of the crime scene.
This one didn’t see it coming. But his old Army buddy, and recently-acquitted member of our foursome, did. Turning just in time to see a brilliant white flash, he flung himself backwards, losing his glasses, and dropping his golf bag, narrowly tripping backward over it. Turns out, he too was on my side.
If you’re keeping score, I fought my way through the front 9 with a score of 71 and firing somewhere between 8-10 shots into the forest. Does that make me a hero? No. Prolly not. Should I be recognized for my valiant and patriotic performance? Maybe. Can you sleep better tonight knowing there’s people like me out there fighting for your daughter? You bet your sweet ass you can.
T-Ball Style. The key to "really launching it."
Fighting terrorism.
For you.
I began my English Terror Campaign by making my hosts a platter of my now internationally famous guacamole and fresh salsa. These were subsequently used to line the appropriately-warmed taco shells and top off the piles of shredded white cheddar and lettuce, respectively.
Call it “Diplomatic Relations.” Also, do you know anyone who can fight terror on an empty stomach? I didn’t think so.
But back to my English Terror Campaign. You may be wondering just how does one go about fighting terrorism against an enemy he can’t see in a country he can’t drive in?
Easy, Homeschool.
Golf.
Think about it. Why can’t you easily find a terrorist? ‘Cause they’re hiding. And if they’re hiding, they’re prolly wearing camouflage. Right? So if they’re wearing camouflage, them buggers are prolly hiding in the shrubs. So why not fire a few hundred British Pounds worth of golf balls off course?
That’s exactly what we did.
I lost my first two balls on shots number 2 and 3, respectively. And being the cautious Patriot that I am, I decided to take out my South African comrade on Hole #3. Having spent most of his professional career patrolling the boarder between S. Africa and Mozambique, I began to question what side he was really on. Some may call it, "Racial Profiling." We here call it, "Pre-emptive Assumption." So, from about 80 yards out, as he walked towards the rough where three of his balls lay, I got out my 1-Wood, and swung like your freedom depended on it.
Clearly underestimating my accuracy, you could say that I “buzzed the tower.” For such a tough bushman, I’ve never seen anyone “hit the deck” so quickly. Turns out, he really was on my side.
His old S. African army buddy, however. Not so sure. Which brings us to Hole #9.
This fella wasn’t so easy to crack. And being the American that I am, everyone is guilty until I decide otherwise. So, as he approached the green, me about 100 yards out, I decided to go for the lay-up. This time, grabbing my 3-Wood, I find my line, take a quick reading of the cross-wind, and then swing like a mutha. Fu*ka.
Quick survey of the crime scene.
This one didn’t see it coming. But his old Army buddy, and recently-acquitted member of our foursome, did. Turning just in time to see a brilliant white flash, he flung himself backwards, losing his glasses, and dropping his golf bag, narrowly tripping backward over it. Turns out, he too was on my side.
If you’re keeping score, I fought my way through the front 9 with a score of 71 and firing somewhere between 8-10 shots into the forest. Does that make me a hero? No. Prolly not. Should I be recognized for my valiant and patriotic performance? Maybe. Can you sleep better tonight knowing there’s people like me out there fighting for your daughter? You bet your sweet ass you can.
T-Ball Style. The key to "really launching it."
