
I’m feeling a little over-saturated with Tiger Woods news.
But am I above capitalizing on this topic? Oh hell no. Like Michael Jackson’s death and Kanye West’s VMA debacle, I’m going to be right up here pontificating with the rest of the world. I mean c’mon ... where else but America would a guy get busted for adultery, and mistresses -in numbers likely to exceed the double-digits- come out of the woodwork acting sanctimonious?
Think about it: given the sheer number of Tiger's apparent, eh, “dalliances,” is it even remotely possible that not a single one of them knew that Tiger -one of the most highly-sought media figures in the past ten years- was married? None of their friends? Colleagues? Unwilling to openly solicit exclusive deals with the media yet, to a (wo)man they all look into the camera and say, “Why am I coming forward? I just wanted Tiger’s wife to know her husband is a whore.”
Hah! That’s freakin’ awesome.

“Aren’t you Tiger Woods?” I says.
“No. I’m Arnold Palmer,” he lied.
“Arnold Palmer is white,” I reply, proud to have expended virtually everything I know about golf in the conversation already. “He’s, like, Donny Osmond white.”
“So what are you saying?” says Tiger, indignant. “You would sleep with Arnold Palmer but you wouldn’t sleep with me? What is it? Because I’m black?”
“No, it's because I'm as hetero as it gets," I point out. "You could sharpen a pencil in my keyster.”
Tiger peers around cautiously, to see if anyone is listening. Leaning in he says quietly, “C’mon man. You can’t be serious. Let’s say you weren’t straight. You mean to tell me you would sleep with Arnold Palmer before you got you some of this?”

Tiger shrugs. Extracting a compact out of his handbag, he flips it open, checking his lipstick. “I think you’re just a racist,” he says, with finality.
“Look,” I says. “I’m not sleeping with you to prove I’m not a racist. But that is a cool trick. Does that work on women?”
"Having trouble with the ladies?"
"My last girlfriend died a few hours after our date."
"That's terrible."
"Yeah," I agree. "One minute me and Gertrude are watching the Blue Man Group, and a few hours later, pow."

"The doctor said she poured QuickCrete into her vagina."
“You gotta be romantic with women," offers Tiger. "You gotta make a woman think she is the most important, beautiful, fantastic creature that has ever graced your presence.”
“I gotta lie?"
“Like a rug on Ambien.”
6 comments:
I am also hetero and I have to put in one big vote against the image you gave me.
Maybe two votes.
Got agree with Stephanie on this one.
I might even go as high as three votes, but that's only because I'm playing against you in fantasy football this weekend, so that might not count.
Shocking that women are lured by a physically fit millionaire. They usually chase fat homeless dudes. Bewildering, no?
Soon Woods will be hanging out in a bus with John Daly swillin Budwiser. He still has chicks, even when wearing pink pants.
The moral of the story? Birdies = Babes
I knew this long ago ....
You stole your topic from me today, didn't you? Here I thought writing a post about Tiger Woods would be unique!
At first, I was thinking, so what? But then,2, 3...10 women, texts, messages--Jesus! Considering how frigging stupid he was to put women's numbers on his cellphone, I can't believe he got away with it for this long. He's lucky Elin didn't didn't bury that club in his skull. More than anyone else, he's screwed himself. I'm not sure why his sports drink got discontinued. Juggling all those women must have required a lot of energy.
You had that experience with Tiger Woods as well? And there's me thinking I was the only one ...
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