The Toadmaster's Written Word

The Story of the Week!

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This weeks feature presentation:

Golfing With Bob

Part I

Bob stood in his room, golf club in hand, and positioned his hands' one above the other. He raised the golf club high and held it there for a moment, shortly thereafter bringing it down to make contact with a small, white ball, pock-marked with dents. Thud! The ball struck the wall, indenting it with the transfer of momentum, and lodged itself in to join the gaggles of balls on the wall, while knocking a few loose. The ball joined, along with the other balls, the honor of making Bob’s wall as equally pockmarked as their own shiny, white, indented surface. Bob placed another golf ball on a little tee he had driven into the floor with his head. Bob’s displays of unnecessary raw power were a sight to see. Bob had his own little enterprise of selling hand made metal folk art as a boy. Hand made, as in; he pounded things with his fist, head or just bit them into some sort of recognizable shape. He usually got the parts from an old car, just ripping them off with his bare hands. It was a good thing he didn’t have a heart set on personal gain, because the pure damage he could do would be a detriment to the general population's health. One time, when he was younger, he thought about becoming a terrorist, but he couldn’t get past the idea of hurting people without a fair fight. That’s also why he wasn’t a boxer, or some other kind of physical sports player. When Bob got older the profession he chose was, you guessed it, a professional poultry farmer. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out. You see, the chickens weren’t laying enough eggs, and when he threatened them that he would beat their puny heads in, rather jokingly, they just dropped dead. That’s when he decided he would take up, yes, that’s exactly correct, wood carving. Since he had done metal working as a boy, he figured it would be pretty similar. To his surprise, he would either chew the wood to bits, or just plain bust it up. His hopes were dashed once again. His life was in shambles. He had lost the farm after the chickens died, and with it a lot of his money that he had invested in it. He didn’t lose any money when he decided against continuing woodcarving, all that he had done was provided by his own brute labor. So he stuffed his belongings into a trunk and strapped it to his back, and decided to wander until he found his niche. One day he was ambling down a road, tap dancing to some showtunes and singing them in a heavy falsetto, when he passed a golf course. He stopped his performance, to the disappointment of a few robins (his earth shaking scared a mass of worms up from the ground), and watched the goings on of the course from a safe distance. After a while of watching, Bob decided he was interested in taking up golfing. He trudged on to the main entrance of the course and headed up to the club house. He left his massive trunk outside the front door and entered. He introduced himself to the man at the counter, and told him of his interest. “Well,” said the man, “I will assume then that you do not have a membership?” Bob shook his head in reply. “I had no idea one needed a membership to play this game. How do I obtain one?” Bob inquired of the man, with a great furrow in his brow. “Well,” said the man again, “there are a few options, you can play a game with someone who has a membership-” “I don’t think I know anyone with a membership...Excuse me, please continue.” “Or you can pay eight dollars to tour all eighteen holes, unless you need to rent some clubs, which vary in price, as well as renting the golf balls, which are ten bucks a bucket.” The man looked up at Bob, who stood pondering. Bob scratched at his massive chin, “Well, you see, I have one little problem.” The man smiled and said, “No previous experience with golf?” “No, no, that doesn’t worry me at all. One small detail affects me...You see I have a problem with funds, or more precisely, a lack of.” “Hmm...That could be a problem. I find it hard to believe a man of your stature would have difficulty finding a job.” “Well, that is probably true. It’s just that I haven’t been looking.” Bob shrugged his shoulders. The man squinted at Bob, “You know the lawn maintenance crew might have a need of a man like you. Hold on, let me make a call, if you don’t mind.” Bob smiled, spread his arms and replied, “I am at your disposal.” The man nodded and turned around to use a telephone. After a few minutes, the man returned to Bob. “Sadly enough, they have a full crew. I think I would enjoy seeing you around here.” Bob smiled once again, “I think I also would enjoy seeing me around here!” They both laughed for a few minutes, and Bob continued, “I would enjoy touring your course if you don’t mind.” “Oh no, go right ahead.” Bob thanked the man and went back outside, retrieved his trunk, and continued on his merry way down the trail made for the golf carts. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. He sat down under a tree, setting his trunk beside him, and soaked in his surroundings. As he was looking out over a lovely pond and the beautiful trimmed grass, he saw and heard a splash in the water of the scenic pond, followed by a stream of expletives. Bob got up and walked towards the pond, with the purpose of retrieving the enraged mans ball. To his surprise the entire pond was littered with golf balls! He assumed the balls, once landing in the water, were out of the game. He figured that if he finally did get the money to play a game, he’d need some balls to play with. He jumped in the water, and swam to the bottom, filling his pockets with golf balls until they were full. Bob could stay underwater for an extremely long time as well as having the ability to regurgitate objects on command, so he proceeded to swallow a few dozen golf balls. Also to his surprise and good fortune was a club some unfortunate fool had tossed in during his fit of rage. Bob grabbed it, and after having been underwater for more than five minutes, returned to the surface. Two passing men stopped in amazement at seeing a huge, drenched man come sloshing out of the water, seemingly emerging out of the primordial ooze. They had not seen Bob dive into the water (they crested the hill immediately after he had submerged), and had been discussing par for a few minutes, not aware of Bobs underwater presence. They amazement didn’t begin to cease as the unknown figure began to belch forth golf balls! “Umm, I think we should be going,” the one said to the other as they both turned around and ran like sissies in their ridiculous golf outfits. Bob watched them go and continued coughing up his treasures. He coughed the last one up and went to get his trunk to put them in. He had collected close to four dozen balls and made the extra room in his trunk by removing his least necessary possession, a coconut from Hawaii (from the time he and his brother had made a cross ocean voyage by Volkswagen). He also stuffed the golf club in, before returning to his travels. He was getting hungry, so instead of planting the coconut, as he had one day planned he began tearing at it with his teeth. As he left the golf course, munching the coconut husk, he remarked upon how un-coconut-like it tasted. He continued to wander along the road, no particular destination in mind. He also resumed singing and dancing to his showtunes. He pondered the meanings of life during his traveling and came to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t golf. He finished off the tough outer husk of the coconut and was left with the hard inner nut that contained the milk. He considered chewing his way into it now or later. He tossed it up into the air, as one would do with a baseball, when a passing wind caught it and blew it just out of his reach. It fell to the ground and bounced, and began to roll away from him down the hill. It began to pick up speed surprisingly fast, and Bob had to run after it. It rolled to the bottom of the hill where it rolled into the brush at the side of the road. He reached the bottom of the hill and stopped to examine the weeds. He thought he saw it and grabbed for it and placed the hard ball into his pocket, before continuing. One can’t begin to imagine the reaction of those who might have had the opportunity to observe Bob a few minutes later when the coconut came to life inside his pants! Bob screamed in girlish fear and clawed at his pants, releasing his belt and dropping his pants to his ankles, upon which an armadillo burst forth from his pants. Bob, seizing the opportunity, lunged at the beast, capturing it. He looked at it at the side of the road, his pants still down, when a large, light blue Chevy ‘58 convertible came to a screeching halt beside him. A man in the driver's seat leaned over the edge of the door and asked, “You okay, buddy?” Bob looked up from the armadillo and answered, “There was an armadillo in my pants.” The man gave Bob a queer look, and replied, “You don’t say.” The large vehicle resumed its velocity hastily. Bob watched him go, looked back at the armadillo, and then down at his bare legs. “Shoot,” he thought as he attempted to pull his pants back in single-handedly, “my socks don’t match.” He placed the armadillo back on the ground and watched it dive into the underbrush.

Stay tuned for the next installment of, Golfing with Bob!

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