JC and I golfed in the rain at Shetfield, my favorite course. There are always seagulls on the fairways at Shetfield. I don't know why, but I dig that.
JC's getting progressively more nervous about his upcoming nuptials the first week of December. Whenever he talks about it his ability to golf radically decreases. I keep waiting until he's about to swing or putt, then ask stuff like:
"Man, how much is the food at the reception going to set you back?"
"I really think it's cool that you are just going to forgo sex with anybody else and just have sex with one woman for the rest of your life."
"Have you thought of a name for your first kid yet?"
"You guys are going to be like, together for the rest of your life. That's so cool."
"How many kids are you going to have, anyway?"
"You know, you should sell the Plymouth and get like, a mini-van. Something practical."
He has a really shitty game. I win again!
1 comment:
That's cruel what you said about the plymouth. I mean, geez man, have some limits. Everything else was okay, and mildly funny I might add, but that last one was just sick. SICK AND WRONG!!!!!!!
Bad Velvet, bad, not on the carpet!
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