Spuds and I hit up the driving range the other day. I hate golf. I hate golf shirts. I cringe at the sight of a golfing glove hanging out the pocket of some guy’s pleated khakis. If some guy starts telling you his recent golf scores… fart in his face and run.
And yet, THWACK. I love that sound. THWACK. Damn, that feels good. THWACK. THWACK. Golf sucks, but the sound of a driver crushing a ball is divine. I know this much is true.