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Getting Yanged

Spent 8 hours on the couch yesterday watching Tiger Woods get hit throat slit by some unknown guy named Yang, who seemed way too dumb to know he was supposed to be the main course at one of Tiger’s ritualistic Sunday dinners. Tiger played like a hack-worthy human instead of a bloodless cyborg, slapping the ball all over the state of Minnesota en-route to an ugly 75. The guy couldn’t make a putt if the hole were the size of a hula-hoop. Tiger seems weary and way older than his years all of a sudden, which I suppose is the sort of thing that happens when the greatest player the game has ever seen gets smoked in front of millions by a short little round guy named Yang who never picked up a club until he was an adult. By the time I was 19 I’d already done the sensible thing and quit golf.

Anyway, this doesn’t have much to do with anything, other than point out that I need precious little stimulation to procrastinate. I now have 2 weeks to complete a one act play about high school.

I hated high school pretty much, except for the snow days. It’s going to be hard making this palatable for school boards and PTAs and other such tight-asses. But I shall give it a go. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow.

In a bit…


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