Golf, Anyone?

I understand a famous golfer who goes by "Tiger" recently dumped his long-time caddy.  Well, Tiger, I'm here to offer my services -- for the right price (My time's valuable, okay?).  I'm quite capable of carrying around a golf bag -- on either shoulder -- without complaint (It's no different than lugging out the trash, right?). About the only drawback to being a caddy that I can think of is grass stains.  "My wife's gonna kill me!"  Yeah, I can do all that caddy stuff with my eyes closed.  Why, I'll even dress up in those old-time goofy outfits if I have to. "Does this make me look stupid?" (my price just went up).  About the only other negative to being on a golf course is that you have to be very quiet.  "Shhhhhh..."  Hardly a whisper.  "What, no booing and cheering?"  Apparently not.  "We can't even sing to Queen's 'We are the Champions'?"  Nope.  "What about doing the Wave?"  Nada.  Heck,  I'll just have to accept certain restrictions, but it'll be worth it.  Now, I must admit I don't know all the rules of golf but I'll catch on.  For example, there's this thing they call "bogie."  From what I understand, it was originally intended to be "boogie."  That's fine with me -- I love to dance!  And yes, I'll take on a golf club as my dance partner if that's what good caddies do.  "I want to be the best!"  Anything to keep Tiger relaxed and focused on his golf game.  "Go fetch that ball!"  Now that, I may have trouble dealing with.  "Ask me nicely."  Especially if it means having to chase after a ball that lands in gator-infested waters.  "You get it! -- you're the tiger!"

My First Ride

I'll never forget one particular birthday gift back in the day: a classic Hippity Hop... It was the greatest gift ever.  If memory serves me right, I was 15-years-old... Or was it 16?  From the moment Hippity Hop and I met, we became inseparable.  (Is it any wonder I didn't start dating 'til later in life?)  We were the best of friends, so I figured why go out when I had a big round ball to keep me company...  "BFF!" Yup, Hippity Hop was the ideal companion for me; he never talked back, I didn't have to feed him anything other than air... "How many pounds per square inch would you like, buddy?"  Picture this: Hippity Hop and I  bouncing around the neighborhood, without a worry in the world (truly a Rockwell moment). "Hop, Sammy, Hop!"  Life was truly wonderful in those days.  Mama would wave from the window as I hopped by, full of pride.  "That's my baby!"  Good ol' Hippity Hop, he's the one who encouraged me to consider bronco riding as a living (a urologist friend of the family quickly discouraged that notion).  Then one day it finally happened: I discovered girls.  Not wanting to offend Hippity Hop, I compromised.  I showed up at my date's doorstep with Hippity Hop in tow.  "What in the world is that?!" the girl screeched... Believe it or not, she got offended when I introduced Hippity Hop to her.  "Hop on," I said invitingly.  Don't ask me why but the girl refused to ride on Hippity Hop with me.  What did she expect -- a car?!  Years later, I got the last laugh when I rode by her house -- all Mr. Cool -- on my way to the prom... on my sleek mini  moped.  Oh yeah...

Burn, Baby, Burn!

There's a lot of pressure living in Southern California during the summer months.  For one thing, you'd better have a nice tan or people are going to snicker and look at you funny... "Either he just came out of the hospital or he's starring in the next Twilight movie."  Then, if you attempt to tan but come out looking like a lobster, hungry onlookers will try include you in their next seafood salad... "It tastes kinda salty."  When you think about it, there are so many better things to do than trying to get a golden tan.  Example: You can do volunteer work at a senior citizens home... "You want me to do what?!"  Or you can help feed the hungry... "Can I go on break? -- my lunch is getting cold."  Another option to consider is helping a child with his or her homework... "How many times do I have to tell you?!  -- every sentence starts with a capital letter!" Not that it's ever happened to me, but if you decide to tan, don't forget to remove your sunglasses... "Dude, you look like a raccoon! -- I'm gonna hunt you down!"  For those that suffer from claustrophobia, I discourage you from trying out those local tanning booths... "Help!  Get me outta here!"  Please, no need to panic... "I can 't breathe! I can't--" Some people are such attention seekers...  Take it from me, tanning is an art form that's not meant for everybody... "Uh, you may want to take off your dress socks next time..."  Good idea...  

What's that in dog years?

I'm not the jealous type... usually.  But then it happened.  Some very reliable sources other than TMZ (my wife and kids) told me a neighborhood dog was recently serenaded with "Happy Birthday."   What?!  What makes that canine so special?  Does he know any "Knock-Knock" jokes?  Does he put food on the table?  Right then  and there, I was consumed with fits of jealousy.  "Oh yeah, dog?! -- At least I don't have fleas! -- And I know how to use a knife and fork!"  You see, my birthday's coming up and -- "Somebody sing to me!  -- Anybody!"  Sorry, I'm a bit sensitive this team of year.  You see, it's been ages since anyone sang  the birthday song to me and -- Wait a minute, if all it takes is a stupid pet trick... I can roll over, I'm willing to chase after an annoying cat or  three.  Heck, I'll even dress up in one of those dopey dog sweaters if I have to.  "Does this make me look fat?"  Why, I'll even take part in training sessions with that Dog Whisperer guy.  "What happened to the singing?!"  When I was a little boy, my parents always celebrated my birthday, capped off by the traditional birthday song.  Boy, those were great times.  And I'd like to relive those moments...  every year.  "Mommy, help me with my birthday candles."  (Excuse me while I wipe away some tears.) Nothing wrong with craving the role of Birthday Boy, right?  At any age.  So, I don't think I'm being unreasonable to ask for a little a cappella alongside my cake and ice cream.  "Hey you, Mister, come over here.  How do you feel about singing to a grown man?"

Ship's Ahoy!

After spending the day boat paddling at a local lake, I've come to a logical conclusion: It's time to invest in a yacht.  Yes, I'll travel the Seven Seas and write about my many adventures.  "Uh, we can't afford it, honey."  Bull pucky.  I'll borrow money from Frank McCourt if I have to.  He's got lots of dough, right?  "I'm sorry, you have me mistaken for Mark Cuban."  Beside, where's it written that the kids have to eat everyday?  The human body needs fluids way before it ever needs food, right? -- "Give 'em water!"  I'm gonna get me a boat!  I'm gonna get me a BIG boat!  And I can't wait!  I'll get me a captain's hat, a fishing pole a  -- "You get sea sick."  I do not, that was the rollercoaster.   I'll write home to the family every week and try my best not to get stranded on a deserted island with a bunch of goofy characters...  "Hi, my name's Gilligan, and this here's the Professor."  Yes, my latest venture's going to work out well.  And just in case I do get stuck on an island all by my lonesome, I'll try my best not to start talking to volleyballs either (I much prefer baseballs).  "Why don't you answer me, you stupid sphere?!  Talk to me!"  Yachting is going to be so much fun.  I'll hang out with rich people, sip champagne all day long.  Why, I'll even talk with a fancy accent: "Oui! Oui! We're low on caviar." Once on my yacht, I'll be especially careful not to crash into any foreign objects either.  "Uh, Captain, that was no ice cube we just struck."  Huh?  Where have I heard that one before? 

Giddyup!

Now that I have a moment to think (don't get too used to it), I figure it must be rough being a racehorse; someone's riding your back all the time.  "Alright already, I'm going as fast as I can!"  It's like having a boss that's constantly on your tail.  "Let me breathe, will ya?!"  People don't dedicate enough time to consider the drawbacks of being a racehorse (they're too busy focusing on guys named Weiner).  Imagine having to go through life hearing taunts like: "Hey you -- horse face!"  That's just as cruel as: "Buddy, your choppers are the size of horse teeth!"  Talk about mean and insensitive...  I don't know about you guys, but being swarmed by flies must be pretty annoying, too.  "Stop bugging -- you're worse than the paparazzi!"  And what about having to wear those annoying blinders all the time: "I wasn't staring at that mare, honey -- I swear!"  (The least someone could do is make a stylish designer pair.) Yeah, racehorses have it pretty tough, getting whipped all the time, having those long, goofy names... And good luck to those poor horses that  break a leg.  "Come on, Doc, can't you put a cast on it or somethin'?"  Being expected to win every race is a lot of pressure for a horse.  I mean, I wouldn't want to be in a position to disappoint anyone.  Especially a guy named Guido. "Why's only my head on this bed?!"  I don't know, there's gotta be some benefits to being a racehorse, right?  Wait a minute, some of those four-legged critters are put out to stud, right?   That doesn't sound like such a bad gig... "Hey, pretty lady, you come to this barn often?"

Eye Spy

Why anyone wears contact lenses voluntarily is beyond my comprehension.  "Why do you do this to yourself?"  I guess there's that segment of  the population that prefers looking like zombies with those fake colored lenses.  "You look great."  Liars!!!  As far as I'm concerned, contacts fall under "cruel and unusual punishment."  I should know.  I've HAD to wear hard lenses for many, many years.  "But why, Doc?"  Well, after much research and countless interviews, I've come to the only logical conclusion: There's a conspiracy aimed against me by clandestine government forces.  "I am not a spy!" Why else would I be getting tortured?  "There's nothing to confess!  I know nothing-- I swear!"  (just ask my math teachers) Call me paranoid but I just know my optometrist is in on the scheme.  "You've got the wrong guy!"  Somehow, these sinister souls think I'm going to confess to stealing classified information every time I stick those needles for lenses into my poor little eyes.  "Dry eye!  Dry eye!  It's like sandpaper!"  And that's before allergy season.  Holy moly, what a horrible way to start off  the morning (other than tuning in to Rick Dees).  You should see how I drive when I'm struggling with contacts.  "Everybody outta the way!"  Before I know it, flashing red lights fill my rear-view mirror.  "Step out of the car, please."  Awkward...  "Officer, I can explain.  Really."  Thanks to contacts, my eyes are always red.  (No wonder people are always snickering behind my back.)  "My eyes appear bloodshot because of my contacts!  Ya gotta believe me!"  (What happened to "innocent 'til proven guilty"?)  People are so quick to judge.  "Why don't you wear glasses?"  Are you crazy?-- at the risk of being called "four eyes?"  No way!  Next thing you know, I'd be accused of looking half-way intelligent.  "Yup, you sure do have the wrong guy!"