Have you ever noticed the way Big Dawg Bill Clinton and His Ultimate Greatness Rush Limbaugh automatically hunch forward, deep in thought, and scowl at their feet? This is a sign of great debility; though I didn’t recognize the symptoms until, one day, I happened by a shop just before opening time. A group of nervous men was impatiently pacing back and forth waiting to be let in and they noticeably hunched over, scowling with all their might, exhibiting the same affliction as Bill and Rush.
Then it dawned on me. This was a Don Sherwood golf shop. These people were hopelessly addicted to golf!
My compassionate conservative instincts immediately roared to the surface. There had to be some way to come to the rescue of Rush Limbaugh.
But what could be done? This ailment had the exact components of a video game and you know how difficult that is to overcome. I appealed to several friends, and after considerable brainstorming we came up with an idea. All went home and dug through garages for the stuff that would be required for an experiment that hopefully would lift this horrible curse from His Greatness.
Very early on a Saturday morning, we gathered at the Impossibly Exclusive Isles Golf Course, paid a healthy sum to the owner, and set out for the largest lake, sweetly nestled among the greens. There we lovingly set out a dozen old but usable fishing poles, and lots of bait, hooks, weights and bobbers. Charley, who has Department of Fish and Game connections, backed up the borrowed truck and dumped a large load of sparkling rainbow trout into the lake. So with fish in the lake, and fishing paraphernalia strategically placed, we hid behind some perfectly manicured trees and watched.
Soon several men strode up, looking rich and important, their caddies leaning against the weight of golf clubs. One of them spotted the fishing gear. Word spread and they all stood, staring silently. Then, whispering to each other, the group approached warily, keeping close together, feeling confidence in numbers. Finally, one of the younger members of the golfing clutch became bold, reached out, and gently picked up a fishing pole. Immediately conversation broke out:
“George, you know how to use one of those things?”
“Yes, but there aren’t any fish in this lake.”
One of the caddies piped up, “Show us how you cast, George!”
He baited up and cast the long thin fishing line out over the lake. It gleamed in the early morning sun and gently dropped toward the surface. But before it touched, a large hungry fish exploded out of the water and snatched the bait in mid-air. The whole company, with one voice, yelled “Wow!” and grabbed poles to try their luck. Other golfers ambled up and were excitedly told the news – fish in the Impossibly Exclusive Isles Golf Course pond! It wasn’t long before golf clubs were scattered about everywhere, utterly abandoned, and everyone was trying his luck, casting out across the water, swapping lies, and generally behaving like fisherman.
Success! We’d seem to have found the cure for golf – fishing.
We then submitted our results across the fishing world for peer review. Only in France was there a problem – the French golfers were afraid to pick up the fishing poles and try casting. But that was discountable; these were the same people, after all, who stupidly refused to visit the new Disneyland France when it was first built in that country.
Our experiment now enthusiastically confirmed, this information has quickly spread: fishing kills the golfing urge.
I immediately e-mailed Rush Limbaugh with the great news.
Would one of you liberals please do the same for Bill Clinton?
Thanks, Grimgold