Golf’s Dead & Editors Suck Balls


Editors are trollish pricks. That’s why they’re editors and not writers. Someone has to man the literary straight-jackets, don’t they? Editors have the vitally important task of ensuring nothing and nobody gets outside the box. Uniformity must be maintained against the chaotic onslaught of stylistic distinction. Let’s hear it for The Editors — without them we’d be free. And what fun would that be?

For all you would-be Editors out there, would you do me the service of editing the transcript of this interview I conducted with The Communications Director of the Islamic State this past Christmas? I’ve gone over it with a Fine-Tooth Comb ten times now at least, but you can never be sure. It would be nice to have some fresh, aspiring professional eyes take a look-see and point out any mistakes I might have missed. Thank you for your cooperation and assistance in advance. Like Jordan Spieth, you’re a man for others. That’s the Dallas Jesuit College Preparatory School motto, by the way. How do I know? It’s my alma mater and I live the credo every day.

Teh Interview

Now, back to Golf. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Golf, like God before it, is dead. The tragedy is not the death itself, but rather the sad and pathetic fact no one, or hardly anyone, recognizes The Passing. Watching Golf these days is like watching Weekend at Bernie’s. For you editors out there, Bernie is metaphor for Golf and please excuse that comma — I couldn’t resist.


The irony is, Arnold Palmer, The King, set the stage for its ultimate demise. He brought Big Corporate Money into the picture and Big Corporate Money is like a cancer that takes over its host until the host is dead. What’s even more insidious though, is Big Corporate Money via The Power of Illusion (Marketing) can hide death from the gullible and unwitting rubes and present it as vibrant vitality.

That Big Corporate Money environment engendered and enabled by Arnie spawned the perfect symbol of Golf’s ultimate death and destruction — Tiger Woods. Like The Civil Rights Movement and Martin Luther King, Golf, usurped by corporate sponsorship, put all its eggs in Tiger’s basket just as The Civil Rights Movement put all its eggs in MLK’s basket. When MLK died, so did The REAL Civil Rights Movement and when Tiger’s career disintegrated, so too did True Golf (to be confused with True Detective).



To put things in perspective, think back to Byron Nelson’s amazing 1945 season when he won 18 out of the 30 tournaments he entered and 11 consecutively. He asserted his motivation was to win enough money to buy a ranch and retire to it. Wrap your head around that. He had to win that many tournaments to buy a ranch — and this was at a time when real estate prices had hit rock bottom after The Depression and land was for the taking. The point being, back then the players really earned their prize money. Today, we have players who have never won a tournament, or maybe they’ve won one or two but not a Major, flying into Major Championships like The Masters on private jets. And that’s simply ridiculous. That’s Bat Shit Crazy. That’s Our World.

What killed Golf? Mainstreamism & Science — the same thing that killed any notion of God. Golf went Mainstream and Golf became a Science rather than the Art it once was. Mainstreamism & Science destroy the natural and organic essence of anything good and decent and transform it into homologous mush and mediocrity. Style and distinction are replaced with uniformity and conformity. The good and decent is institutionalized and institutionalization is death where glorious potential is entombed in a many miles wide synthetically sculpted concrete sarcophagus.


Truth be told, but seldom is, I’m just as guilty as all the rest. Yes, I’m a hypocrite — I fully admit it. To live in THIS world is to be a hypocrite. To deny that is to be the worst sort of hypocrite. I spend Weekends at Bernie’s on occasion as I will next weekend watching the U.S. Open, whooping it up (okay, maybe snoring instead) and pretending all is well in the garden (thank you Chauncey Gardner) when in fact it’s a perpetual funeral of sorts — New Orleans style. I’ll be watching The Dead Cat Bounce — once again. One wonders how many bounces the Goddamn Cat has in it. Nine? Maybe. Who cares anyway? Not me. Not anymore.

Zed’s Dead, baby, Zed’s Dead.



15 thoughts on “Golf’s Dead & Editors Suck Balls

  1. HaHa!! In the tags to this blog post I inadvertently put Gold Is Dead versus Golf Is Dead, but if you think about it, Gold Is Dead too, so my mistake was serendipitously correct. Pretty much everything is dead, including you and me. So much effort goes into pretending otherwise.

    • Golf?!? Haha, WTF. I used to watch golf on the weekends to take a nap – no longer, with all the ADHD riddled noise propaganda commercials. My bro and dad are big into golf – they can par (+5) the big par 36 courses – I despise it as a sport/passtime – I used to go golfing alone at age 12, at our neighborhood course (hole in 1/no witnesses)…

      I thought for sure a week ago, when we hit 100’F 2 days in a row, that we were in for the beginnings of a long, drawn-out heat wave/drought. In fact, a month earlier, it was in the 80’s for a couple weeks, but we got a cold/rain break from that. And guess what – it’s started raining again here in the Pac NW. Somehow we dodged a SRS bullet here. I’m guessing next year, and the ones that follow, will be of the hideous AZ sort – months on end of no rain and 100’F…

      Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? For me no trade, they’re all dead NE-waze. Editors? Q would make the mark…

      Bela Legosi’s dead (I’m dead, I’m dead, …) – good ol’ classic from the 80’s.

      • Hmm, missing link:

        You know, I used to (still?) get into all the “rain dance” songs – who’ll stop the rain, it’s raining again, rainmaker, etc… usually right about the time 2 months of ‘heated drought’ has dragged on…

  2. Here’s another reason we’re dead and just don’t know it. I settled onto my couch this morning with my large mug of expertly-prepared coffee and turned on The Weather Channel to see if it would ever rain again. I don’t do this too often, but it’s been so blistering hot here lately, I had to know if the rain would ever come again. It’s not coming, by the way. I should have known. I’ll have to perform my famous Rain Dance. That’s the way it is — if you really want something, you have to be willing to Dance on a String, so Dance on a String I will if I want rain.

    Anyhow, I had to quickly turn The Weather Channel off because the program was so obviously directed at an audience of Brain-Dead Zombies who can’t tell Heaven from Hell, or a Smile from a Veil. Or, as is the case with The Genius of the Maura Murray Mystery Crowd, a Murdering Rapist from Ghandi. The hosts were, quite literally, instructing people, and I use the term “people” loosely here, to avoid leaving their children or pets in hot cars. This is your future, Baby Boomers. This younger generation doesn’t even have the common sense to know not to leave children and pets in hot cars. Imagine these Moronic Meat Sacks, with nothing more than a compromised Brain Stem up top, with Nukes. That’s where we’re headed. Won’t retirement be Grand? Look forward to sitting in your soiled diaper for three days straight as your oblivious caretaker rolls from one Meth-Binging Day of Tweeting & Podcasting to another as your festering Urinary Tract Infection (UTI) makes its way to what’s left of your brain.

    If perchance I’m wrong & we’re not dead, we sure as hell will wish we were. You might want to rethink your stance on dignified, self-administered Euthanasia. I have, and I’m all for it.

    The Suicide Tourist

  3. Golf was dead to me as soon as I realized it was the game where corporate holes went to smooze & to “talk business”. The final coffin nails were driven in by pics of our great leader Obama, enjoying a few rounds in the morning after the drone meeting at which they chose which enemies of our empire to assassinate that day.

    I’m hoping that you remain within our borders; I assume your name is on the list and should you venture abroad, we will hear nothing but silence from you.

  4. Yeah Jon, I played Golf & watched it much more intensely once-upon-a-time. But that was another Lifetime — one of my many Lives. All of us who are open to Growth Live many Lives. Those who aren’t, Live, and I use the term “Live” loosely here, a stultifying, stale & stable existence called Normal. For me, there is nothing more boring & uninspiring than Normal.

    No doubt I’m on a great many Lists. My mother, when I was young, maintained a Mental List of her worst offending children. You made your way onto this List by defying her wishes or rubbing her the wrong way. I was always at the top of her Proverbial List and she made sure to remind me of that every day without fail. She trained me to be on Lists and her training has paid huge Dividends. I’ve managed to make my way on to a plethora of Lists and I’ve done so without a Listing Agent, which is quite an accomplishment, if I may say so myself.

    Funny you should mention that about leaving the country. My wife & I have been talking this past week about settling down in Brussels within the next several years. Maybe not such a good idea afterall, considering I would be walking right into their waiting clutches. But then again, so many are gunning for me right here at home, nowhere is really safe. It reminds me of the excellent movie, No Way Out. There really is No Way Out once you’ve been earmarked for early extinction. I’m a Dead Man Walking.

    I suppose what my daughter imagined at dinner Friday night is not that far-fetched. We took my son out to dinner for his 14th birthday and early on at the dinner table I noted that my wife & daughter were engaging in a conversation that left him out, and since it was his birthday, I thought it was rude to engage in conversation that excluded him — The Master of Ceremonies — so I proposed a change of topic. The topic I suggested was a Thought Exercise that required envisioning where various people would be, and what they would look like, in thirty years. We began with my son for all the obvious reasons, and I asked him what he thought his two best friends’ lives would be like in thirty years. He was actually quite articulate & imaginative in his description. My plan worked — the entire family became intensely engrossed in the exercise and we were laughing and smiling and sharing in blissful camaraderie.

    Of course, my wife & daughter then prompted my son to imagine where my wife & I would be in thirty years. As soon as they did, I knew my prognosis would not be a positive one. He imagined my wife in thirty years to be basically happy & content, but his vision of me in thirty years had a caveat, and do you know what that caveat was? If I didn’t die of anger first. I had to remind him that Hate Keeps a Man Alive. He conceded he hadn’t thought about that, so he withdrew his caveat.

    But my daughter’s vision was much more telling. She had me dead at 70 of a terminal illness, and she presented it in such a way that her mother, my wife, would then be free to travel the world as though I’ve been holding her hostage. She couched this vision of the future by telling me I had finally solved The Meaning of Life and there was nothing left to Live for, so I accepted my demise gracefully and died peacefully with little to no suffering. And then she added, there was also the possibility I would be executed by one of the many people I pissed off in my Online existence.

    What can I say? My daughter is most definitely her father’s child. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. For the past 24-48 hrs., her vision of my early demise has been a running joke. We’re not a Normal Family, so even if I do meet an early demise, I will do so knowing I have never capitulated to The Tyranny of Normalcy, and as a result have lived many Lives versus one long, seemingly never-ending, dull one. And for that I will always be eternally grateful.

  5. Sanders came to the meeting with his supporters to discuss the future of the campaign. Theoretically, if Sanders voters will support Killary, she will become president, and if they won’t, the president will be Trump.

    But violations of the law when counting the votes in California primaries were so demonstratively obvious that it created impression that Killary did it on purpose to announce a coup d’etat. For example, California has admitted that 2.5 million bulletins were not counted, and the third of bulletins were received by mail or by any other non-standard way.

    Against this background, Sanders would have to discuss with his supporters NOT the upcoming elections in November or even convention in Philadelphia – what kind of election you could have in a country with ongoing coup d’etat – but the DESTRUCTION of the database with lists of Sanders supporters and transition of the activist’s movement UNDERGROUND.

    Moreover many sites seriously suggest that the mass shootings in recent days are a pretext for Killary to start the campaign to forcibly disarm the Americans and to start policy of open terror. This is about the Civil War.

  6. The Coup d’état was long ago. It’s just that The Establishment is having a tough time selling Hillary to The Brain-Dead Plebes. Votes don’t matter — they just give The Illusion of Democracy.

    Sanders was always a Poodle in Revolutionary’s Clothing. He will capitulate as all Poodles do and jump willingly into Hillary’s, and The Establishment’s, lap.

    The Global Elite have a lock on the American Government. The world must, and will be, made safe for The Infinitely Wealthy, to include Vlad Putin & his friends. Let’s not pretend they haven’t been the recipients of this Wealth-Concentrating Graft that’s been perpetrated exponentially for the past several decades.

    • “She was carrying in her hands disgusting, alarming yellow flowers. The devil knows their names, but they are for some reason the first to appear in Moscow. And these flowers stood out very clearly on her black spring coat. She was carrying yellow flowers! Not a good color…”

      Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita.

  7. I’m not misreading the situation. A True Russian wouldn’t be concerned about Hillary taking away the American Hobgoblins’ guns, and a FSB Agent would be more concerned with enabling & stoking an Early 21st Century American Civil War rather than trying to mitigate it.

  8. Kunstler’s blog Clusterfuck Nation is back up & running, and just as you’d expect, the same old Sock Puppet Song & Dance is in full force in the comment section. Note how they only address each other to the exclusion of the few who aren’t Sock Puppets at that venue. Who would do that? I think the answer is obvious.

  9. Sorry about letting that last comment past moderation from “M.S.” Per review of its email, it was yet another scumbag, cowardly asshole from that Network out of Boston, Massachusetts. My opinion of Boston and Bostonians is not very favorable based upon my experience with a number of them over the past 6 months. This country was founded on violence. American History is a History of Violence, and as we know, that History largely began in New England & the Boston area. Not much has changed. They are not My People. They are not My Tribe. And what’s been described as “swanky New England accents” by a certain someone who blogs for the Missing Maura Murray podcast sounds more grating & obnoxious to me than any foreign language I’ve ever encountered.

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