I Don’t Like Golf.

Okay most everyone knows what golf is.
Some folks spend thousands each year to play golf, and then there are some of us that just can’t stand it.
My brother is in the first category, whereas I fall into the second.
It’s not so much the game of golf itself, it’s the challenge or lack there of, in the game of golf. You go out on the field and whack a ball trying to knock it a few hundred yards into a little bitty hole.
Could it get any simpler?
I went with my brother one time and watched him whack the ball toward this little flag that was almost out of my sight.  So when it was my turn, I whacked the ball into a trucks windshield.  
Now there were probably twenty cars in that parking lot that day, and did I hit the ball into any of their windshields? Noooooo. I knocked that sucker right into the windshield of the only truck in the parking lot. Mine.
So I put another ball onto the little stick thingy they call a tee, and whacked it, not the ball the tee.
My brother being the golf pro of the family showed me a different stance and technique, which helped me send the ball almost straight up, angling toward a tree, and landing in a squirrels nest.
I am omitting the third because it just was not pretty, lets just say there was a lot of hopping around and cussing from the third attempt.
The fourth attempt, saw the little golf ball roll off the roof of the clubhouse and bounce off the head of one of the patrons.
My fifth and final attempt saw the ball actually go toward the little flag (I let my brother hit it for me).
By the way, left handed clubs cost a lot of money, especially if you return them to the clubhouse and they are slightly bent into the shape of horseshoes, although they say that the one that slipped out of my hand is still stuck through the tree. Luckily I found this place, that have some pretty good deals so that I could replace those clubs and get the lawsuit dropped.
After we got down to where the golf balls were lying in the grass, I watched my brother hit the ball with this other little golf club and move it within about three feet of the flag. My turn. I hit the ball and it went straight toward the flag pole then somehow or another it boomeranged on me and came back toward me, causing me to duck, which caused the ball to collide with the left side of my brothers face, which caused little birds and stars to circle my head, I later found out that somehow or another the golf club he was holding collided with the top of my head.
He swears it was an accident and that he was only trying to defend himself from my wayward golf ball.
The next move saw him swat his golfball with a thing he called a putter and knock it into the hole. I swatted my golf ball seven more times and knocked it into a lake.  Since I only had one golf ball left and all of my clubs were falling victim to various deformities, I decided to throw the ball at the flag.
After six failed attempts at chucking golf balls, and one lopsided throw into a hornets nest, I decided to have a beer and watch my brother play.
Apparently this particular golf course frowns on the consumption of beer, when you are driving the golf cart.
How freaking petty can you get?
Those bushes grew back, and the cows didn’t do much damage. Besides I fixed the fence.
So anyway, after posting bond, replacing the clubs, repairing the fence, and replacing my windshield I have decided that golf is not a sport. It is a form of torture. If you want the taliban to talk, threaten them with golf.  On second thought the Geneva Convention probably won’t allow that.  
Those of you that enjoy golf, I just have this to say. “Masochists.”

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