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Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Give It A Go

"By the end of the third or fourth day all the meat had rotted, leaving the room awash in an aroma reminiscent of a Khmer Rouge killing field, and leaving us with only our own bodies with which to satiate our hungers. Oh, the energies we expelled. The sweat! Late that afternoon a pig, probably having escaped from the farm down the road, wandered into the yard. Ashley, half-crazed and hollow-eyed, managed to work her tiny frame through a window above the kitchen sink and ambushed the swine from above, smothering it with her vintage poncho that had hosted her in their deflowering."

"Who wants punch?" K-Ro asked as he walked into the study carrying a refreshment tray. Upon seeing K-Ro enter the room, Tiger Woods leapt to his feet and quickly moved to the restroom, without excusing himself.

"What did I say?" K-Ro asked, sounding hurt.

"Who knows," I said, "I was just regaling him with a recount of the retreat I took with the Olsen twins in celebration of their eighteenth birthday."

Tiger returned looking so pale that I mistook him at first for a very tall Jet Li.

"Tiger, are you okay bro?" I asked.

"Just, um, a bug or something," he said, sounding unsure. I turned to K-Ro and nodded. He nodded back and quickly exited the study, only to return a moment later carrying a dozen plaster recreations of cuddly, white baby seals, which he lined up neatly across the floor in front of us. Tiger looked on with a quizzical expression. Noticing his puzzled look, I patted him on the shoulder.

"When I was a young man at university," I explained, "I spent my summers with my Uncle Perciforth, who was not really my uncle, but whom I had met as a child when I worked part-time in his veterinary clinic, where I assisted in shaving various pet parts and cleaning bed pans. Uncle Perciforth left the veterinary business after a particularly nasty clawing from a yeast infected iguana. He set forth into the vast arctic wilderness where he made his living guiding Asian businessmen on baby seal clubbing safaris." I paused for a moment, studying Tiger, reading his reaction. He simply stared back silently. He appeared not to breathe.

"It was during these summers that I perfected my swing," I went on, "You cannot possibly imagine the technical perfection required to part a baby seal's head from it's cute, cuddly body. Those little guys are tougher than they look." I extended an arm to K-Ro, who handed me a driver, which I gave to Tiger.

"Go ahead," I said, motioning at the plaster baby seals, "Give it a go." Tiger shook his head vigorously, his eyes never leaving mine. I simply stared back sternly, and gestured toward the plaster baby seals again.

"Give it a go," I repeated.

Tiger, somewhat reluctantly, took the club from my hand and slowly moved in front of the first baby seal. There he stood for an eternity, concentrating, removing all distractions from his thoughts. Then he began his backswing, his eyes never leaving the baby seal, and he let her rip. As he swung through, the baby seal head flew against the wall and the strawberry jam that K-Ro had filled it with exploded throughout the room, covering the three of us with fake baby seal blood.

"Woohoo!" Tiger yelled, pumping his fist.

"Hole in one!" screamed K-Ro. Tiger beamed wildly, his smile lighting the room. He extended a gracious hand.

"Thank you, sir," He said, and he looked back at the remaining plaster baby seals.

"No problem, bro," I said, and then gestured at the remaining plaster baby seals, "Go ahead."

And with that Tiger turned back to the row of plaster baby seals, covering the room with more and more strawberry jam and filling us all with joy.

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