Once again, I kicked JC's ass golfing yesterday. Emerald Greens (corny name) is a beautfiul course perched on a plateau that overlooks the Bay. It's JC's favorite. I prefer Shetfield, but whatever.
I was robbed of complete victory by a thunderstorm rolling in from the ocean. We're on the tenth hole when lightning strikes the head of the Bay.
"Okay, time to split," JC says.
"Duuude," I whine.
"Lightning bad," he says in that caveman voice he does. "Grog holding metal stick. Bad." He cracks me up, but then, my standards are low.
"Okay, Grog."
What can I say? Any reasonable, non-invulnerable person would stop golfing, so I have to leave with him. Besides, I can't kill my best friend just because I want to win.
As we reach the club house I look back at the approaching storm; seething dark clouds, heavy with rain. The wind picks up. I can smell bad weather coming. Smells like... trouble. I better suit up and patrol tonight.
Man, I am corny. "Smells like... trouble." What a tool.
And no, I don't want to hear any comments about the ethics of superhuman golfing. I kicked JC's ass at golf before The Accident, I kick his ass at golf after The Accident. I shall always kick his ass at golf.
It is written.
1 comment:
>Besides, I can't kill my best friend just because I want to win.
Are you kidding, I hear Dr. Doom destroys his robots while golfing/ playing other sports/ when he's angry all the time.
>Smells like...trouble.
That doesn't make you a tool, I'm pretty sure Batman's said that a few times and Brucie McBat-Bat-Batman Wayne is no tool. I don't think so anyway. And I think the last son of Krypton's also said it a few times. I mean, if Kal-El can say it, why can't you? Hmmmmm?
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