With my fists frozen, rigid torso, plus a usual climate of predicament at the Links in early spring, to me, it might not only a test of strokes, rather a probe to see if you can pass the meanest demand of golf game, after which you may be well proud of yourself as a true supporter and fan of it, rather a trial verdicted by the jury, the Nature Mercy, to verify your real zeal for the game, not only considering it funny and recreational.
Good is the test, and so is the trial that allures me way to the bitter end, tasting the tearing north wind and bearing the sleet to shrink my dick off when pissing in a horizontal trajectory. And I still stumbled myself into the whirl, for the third time. Or to be more precisely, the fourth time to me alone since last September, the third to Chris, while the very virgin voyage to our vijo, a mere-hundred-yard hitter with a 3 iron. Persuaded and coaxed by his coach, vijo reluctantly nodded the gettogether, regardless of his fking blind date with some btches with an excuse of 'studying together', which I'll thumb my fking dick down as hearing it. To be frank, I was worried about vijo when watching him crying hopelessly and discouraged on the tee, waiting the blade of gust to 'slice' him or simply 'hook' him up. And that'll definitely be the second most tragic performance since Hamlet. Our vijo would be 'ham' and 'let' the course swallow him down and split him apart.
Never beyond our expectation, I meant the temperature, only a bit nicer than the last time, as if a relatively welcome greeting for the little young rookie, fearless and bold bad mojo --- mold john, the sky was overcast with thinny drizzling. Well, I'd told him in advance. As vijo, or mojo, whatever, stepped up the first tee, what I could do is wait to applause as the final curtain of a classic tragedy went down.
Fairly on the contrary, vj drove the ball gently, sending it softly on the fairway while chris' on the rough and mine in the bunker! Sht man! How could that be?! More surprising were the second and the seventh par 3s, he got a double and a PAR respectively! A par! Fk, where I got only a bogey, and where Chris was shut off and handed out his diploma of coachship toward vj. So exactly as the Scripture says in Luke 13:30, 'And, behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last.' Vj seemed to be last only for the last week, and now he became the first today, which I named it historical and unforgettable '315 Incident'.
Yet, for someone else, the so-call 315 Incident would be renamed as '315 Accident', for he just used the wrong tool, not samurai sword, but trident, to hunt the wrong prey, not birdies, but fish, with his wrong fingers under such wrong weather. All three of us remained wordless, simply too amazing to believe it, lol. And the embarrassed guy promised me to compensate for it in early May. He would skin a clever sucker in person and win back the trohpy to me once belonged to him, a trophy of his dignity and respect, and then he would caress the sucker and teach him how to play soccer as a tamed oldie. I am quite looking forward to it.
When the fireworks of incident and the quake of accident were about to end, I saw again the rainbow of 8 colors, but this time along with two 'cold warriors' standing by, spectating the awestruck magic of transformations of their own.
Good is the test, and so is the trial that allures me way to the bitter end, tasting the tearing north wind and bearing the sleet to shrink my dick off when pissing in a horizontal trajectory. And I still stumbled myself into the whirl, for the third time. Or to be more precisely, the fourth time to me alone since last September, the third to Chris, while the very virgin voyage to our vijo, a mere-hundred-yard hitter with a 3 iron. Persuaded and coaxed by his coach, vijo reluctantly nodded the gettogether, regardless of his fking blind date with some btches with an excuse of 'studying together', which I'll thumb my fking dick down as hearing it. To be frank, I was worried about vijo when watching him crying hopelessly and discouraged on the tee, waiting the blade of gust to 'slice' him or simply 'hook' him up. And that'll definitely be the second most tragic performance since Hamlet. Our vijo would be 'ham' and 'let' the course swallow him down and split him apart.
Never beyond our expectation, I meant the temperature, only a bit nicer than the last time, as if a relatively welcome greeting for the little young rookie, fearless and bold bad mojo --- mold john, the sky was overcast with thinny drizzling. Well, I'd told him in advance. As vijo, or mojo, whatever, stepped up the first tee, what I could do is wait to applause as the final curtain of a classic tragedy went down.
Fairly on the contrary, vj drove the ball gently, sending it softly on the fairway while chris' on the rough and mine in the bunker! Sht man! How could that be?! More surprising were the second and the seventh par 3s, he got a double and a PAR respectively! A par! Fk, where I got only a bogey, and where Chris was shut off and handed out his diploma of coachship toward vj. So exactly as the Scripture says in Luke 13:30, 'And, behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last.' Vj seemed to be last only for the last week, and now he became the first today, which I named it historical and unforgettable '315 Incident'.
Yet, for someone else, the so-call 315 Incident would be renamed as '315 Accident', for he just used the wrong tool, not samurai sword, but trident, to hunt the wrong prey, not birdies, but fish, with his wrong fingers under such wrong weather. All three of us remained wordless, simply too amazing to believe it, lol. And the embarrassed guy promised me to compensate for it in early May. He would skin a clever sucker in person and win back the trohpy to me once belonged to him, a trophy of his dignity and respect, and then he would caress the sucker and teach him how to play soccer as a tamed oldie. I am quite looking forward to it.
When the fireworks of incident and the quake of accident were about to end, I saw again the rainbow of 8 colors, but this time along with two 'cold warriors' standing by, spectating the awestruck magic of transformations of their own.
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