Someday the police may show up at my door, put me in cuffs, and haul me away. The charges? Being an idiot.
And when I face of jury of 12 of my peers, this is the evidence they will use against me.
Proof of Idiocy, Vol. 2
Exhibit C – The Driving Range
When I go hit balls at the driving range I like to pretend that everyone else at the range is secretly watching me. It makes the experience all the more enjoyable.
If I hit a great looking shot, something that happens far more often on the range than on the course, I gaze at it for a few seconds, admiring it like a potter would admire a perfectly thrown vase. (please pronounce ‘vase’ that so it rhymes with how New Englanders would say cars – “cahz” – for maximum pretentiousness).
The trick is not to look surprised. Yes, that shot was a piece of art, and yes, I fully expected it. I am Picasso, and that 147-yard 8 iron is a girl with a cube face.
If I hit a terrible shot, I try to find the perfect balance of disgust and zen calmness. I want people to know that I’m outraged that such an ugly ball flight would originate from my club, but I also want them to know that by the time the shot lands (in the woods), I’m already over it and have figured out how to correct it with my next amazing golf shot.
Have I mentioned I suck at golf? No? Well, I suck at golf.
Exhibit D – Yelling at Birds
For the last few mornings there have been a ton of birds making all sorts of noise outside our bedroom window at 5:30 in the morning. My alarm is usually set for some time around 6:00am, so this really ticks me off.
It got so bad yesterday that I opened the bedroom window and yelled out, “Hey birds, this is not a bird sanctuary! Stop making noise! Meow. Meow. I am a cat that likes to eat birds. Go home.”
Sadly, it did not work.
Related: Proof of Idiocy, Volume 1