Hey Google, Thanks !

Yesterday, the search term " why do wives hate golf" led some poor soul to the front door of my blog.

If someone is so desperate to hear this answer that they google it, then by all means come on in and have a seat.

Reasons:

 #1. Golf is stupid.

#2. You spend more money on golf than you do on taking your wife anywhere (the doctor's office does not count because it is your fault we got knocked up).

#3. You have ADD so badly that you cannot mow the lawn all in one attempt. But yet, you manage to keep your concentration for 4 hours straight on the golf course. Lucky for you I have attached a little white dimpled ball to the front of the mower so maybe you can chase that around while the mower is on.

#4. Did I say 4 hours ? Well, that all depends doesn't it ? Sometimes it takes you 4 hours and others it takes you 6 and when it does take you 6 and I question that you act as if it always has and I'm losing my mind for not remembering that.

#5. You think that getting a new club is an excuse for having to play this God awful game again, no matter that you just played yesterday. You don't see me buying a new brand of tampons and insisting I go swimming right this second to try them out and make sure they work.

#6. The delusion that the beer girl wants to nail you right there on the 9th fairway, is just that. A delusion. She's just like a stripper honey, the more you like her, the more you buy. And the more you buy, the drunker you get. The more drunk you get, the more you tip her.

#7. You do not have to play golf every time you are invited. Ya just don't. Really, they won't meet you at the playground at 3:30 and beat you up if you don't. Even though I remind you of that, you remind me that it's bad business to decline an invitation. Really ? How about bad marriage advice 101 ? It's worse to tell your wife that-- even though she is sick, 3 of your kids are sick and the other 3 are acting like they found a meth lab --that you're gonna go hit the sticks because you don't really feel like being at work today. Well, guess what ? Maybe your wife doesn't feel like being married today fucker.

ADVENURES IN SKIPPYLAND - December 18, 2007

Reflections on a Certain Mentally Unstable Author's Mid-Life Timeout.....

I sit in front of a keyboard on this Tuesday at noon, coffee sitting at my right, surrounded by all

manner of my host's personal possessions, wondering how to fill my last column for 2007.  My

final column for 2006, as you may recall, was in the format of a satirical "Year-In-Review"

style,and from most corners was well received by the browsers of this website.  The question

of how to top that one has been gnawing at me like a rat on a corpse for a few months now, and

I finally realized that I simply can't top it.  As far as my humorous writings are concerned, it was

probably my magnum opus.  Well, I thought to myself, if I can't write anything funny, why not

just write about the major things that have occured during the past three months?  There were

certainly several humorous moments during these times; perhaps my readership would like to

hear about them.  Convincing myself that this would be the most sensible way to fill this column

was fairly simple, due chiefly to an extended period of writer's block, as I'm sure you all have

noticed.  So here we go, beginning with the golf trip to Michigan in October.....

I must confess that one of the most unpleasant experiences in life is to be roused out of bed by

Will at four in the morning, something which I would not wish on my worst enemy.  He came

storming into the house at that unholy hour like a British Tommy going "over the top" in World

War I, causing me to, groggy as I was for I had just newly risen, dive screaming over the couch

in search of the heaviest, most lethal object within reach.  Home invasions are a rarity in this town,

and for a split second I thought we were all going to be prominent in the next day's edition of

the Barrie Examiner.  Having ascertained who it was, I dropped the wiffle bat, and gave a great

sigh of relief.

In a few minutes we had loaded our gear and the four of us, Donnie, Will, Mike and myself, were

soon hurtling southward on the 400 towards our ultimate destination of Oscoda, Michigan.  Little

was spoken during the first few hours; what is there really to say when one's mind is still clouded

with more cobwebs than can be found covering a Chinese language copy of the manual on "How

To Be A Safe And Courteous Driver".  A stop at an Esso station just outside of Ingersoll provided

us with an opportunity to fuel up both bodies and vehicle, and presently we were well on our way to

our rendevous point at the duty-free shop near the Bluewater bridge in Sarnia, where we were to

meet with two other members of our party whom I had never met before.  A quick phone call to

them made us realize that they had passed through customs about twenty minutes previously, and

so, with arms laden with enough beer to satisfy the needs of a battalion of the Royal Canadian

Regiment on leave for the first time in six months from Afghanistan, we set off once again to

Michigan for five days of nothing but golf, beer, golf, beer, beer, dinner, beer, sleep and golf.

The time there was rather uneventful, actually.  Apart from Billy single-handedly destroying his

room (Billy and Jack had joined us on the Wednesday) and Mike throwing up thirty six pounds

of perch into the toilet at three in the morning, things went pretty smoothly.  I had my usual full

week of crappy golf, Mike had his usual low round of the trip, and all in all everyone had a pretty

good time, except when we tried to watch the copy of Rocky Balboa that Lynn had downloaded

for us which turned out to be a testament on why no one should completely rely on modern

technology.  To say that it was jerky, jittery, and completely unintelligible would be a gross

understatement.  To this day we still don't know who won the fight.  Anyway, we returned all

relaxed and refreshed, the primary purpose of the trip.

Two weeks later saw me accompanying Joe, Steve C., and Jay on a weekend outing to Buffalo

to partake in that city's excellent cuisine (bratwurst on a bun), night-life (a full scale riot in the

streets two blocks from our hotel), and outward-bound adventure (accidently wandering into

the seediest section of town in search of a liquor store; we had to order a cab from a variety

store to get us back safely to the hotel).  And yes, I did uphold the Skippy tradition at Bills

games of getting completely gooned at the tail-gate party, so much so that I couldn't stay awake

throught the whole game and had to repair to Jay's van to sleep off the effects, also a fine Skippy

tradition.  I guess the funniest part of this trip, at least for me, was awaking at 3:00 a.m. on the

night before the game due to the urge to urinate.  Looking over at the bed beside me, I observed

that it was empty, and concluded that Joe must still be out partying.  I crept across the room, not

wanting to wake Steve and Jay, and quietly opened the bathroom door and turned on the light.

There, right in front of me, was one of the strangest sights it has ever been my misfortune to

witness.  It was Joe, sitting on the throne, trousers and underwear around his ankles, sound

asleep!!  Perhaps a brief description of Joe's physical appearance will help you form a picture

in your mind of what I was seeing.  Joe is about 6'5" tall, bald as a cueball, and he weighs about

260 pounds.  Not knowing if he would react violently if I awoke him, I left him where he was

and desperately tried to figure out an alternative method in which I could relieve myself.  The

bathtub was out, because the sound might wake him and I was unwilling to risk that.  Remembering

that there was a bathroom in the lobby, I dressed and took the elevator to the first floor, only

to discover that it was hotel policy to lock the bathroom at 1:00 a.m. to discourage vandalism

and drug dealing.  By now the situation was getting pretty drastic.  A sudden revelation caused

me to recall an all-night pizza joint two blocks down the street.  Alighting to the street, I got about

one block into my journey when I ran smack-dab into the middle of the street riot that I mentioned

earlier.  Retreating back to the hotel, I went back to the room to try and think of something else.

Sitting on the edge of Joe's bed, for he was still passed out on the can, I spotted a coffee maker

with a good sized coffee pot beside a small sink.  I won't go into detail from here on in; I think

you can all pretty much figure out what I did next.  Let me just say that I think we can all agree

that desperation is the mother of inspiration and ingenuity.

After the game a simple two hour wait at an under-staffed customs office, followed by a three

hour drive back home found us once again in the friendly, riot-free confines of the Lockeroom,

where war stories and beer flowed untill closing time.

Which brings me to the morning of November 8th.  I'm sure you all remember it.  Remember?

We were shat upon from a great height with about ten inches of snow?  Sometime between last

winter and this, Mother Nature must have pick up a very vindictive sense of humour.  Anyway,

to make a long story short, I awoke, went downstairs, took one look out the window and said

to myself "Screw this shit!".  Within four business days I was in the Dominican Republic.

Ah, the Dominican Republic!!  Sun, sand, tepid crystal-blue waters, grinding poverty, and a

resort that was 90% filled with couples in their mid-fifties, 80% of which were English.  So

much for getting laid!  The resort itself was quite nice.  I've given Al a CD of the pictures I

took, and they should be in an album in the pictures part of the website.  Be selective Al,

because I'm not a very good photographer. 

During my time there, I made some observations around the pool and along the beach, and

formulated what will now and forevermore be known as Skippy's Law.  It goes like this...

the likelihood of a woman suntanning topless is inversly proportionate to a man's desire to

see her topless.  Seriously, I thought I was at a pancake and baloney breakfast at the

Calgary Stampede.  Oh well, given my recent romantic history, as they say - any voyeuristic

port in a storm.

Eight days later (I got bumped off my scheduled flight and stayed an extra day, courtesy

of the tour company.  Woo-Hoo!!!) saw me return to Canadian soil, still the same colour

as when I left due to me holding up my end of the bar for most of the day under a palm

leaf thatched roof.  Still, it was a fun trip, and well worth the money.

Several weeks of putting in double shifts at that Lockeroom later, I find myself here in

front of a computer screen pound out this blather.  I will be returning to the workforce

in the new year.  I must say that the past three months have had exactly the recuperative

effects that I needed, and I look for ward to the back nine of my life when I hit the

ground running in 2008.  I'm really looking forward to putting 2007 behind me; I think

you all know why.  So until I return to these pages in the spring of 2008, permit me to

wish you all a Merry Christmas (yes P.C. spoilsports, it's Christmas, not a Holiday, a

time when we celebrate the birth of the greatest philosopher the world has ever known),

Happy New Year, and all the best fortune in 2008.

Skippy out!

FROM THE SKIPPY FILES – Sept. 15/07

Ok, folks, I’m no longer missing in action.  Call back the search parties, cancel the alert from INTERPOL, and tell the women to stop committing mass suicide, the Skipster has returned.

Recent events have conspired to keep me from these pages, during which time I was under an order of silence from certain groups in authority.  However, this prohibition has just in the last few days been removed by Chief of Defence Staff General Rick Hillier, and I can now reveal to all of you just where I’ve been for the past several weeks.  The newshounds among you will no doubt be aware of the recent Korean hostage taking by the Taliban in Afghanistan.  Fact of the matter is, I was the twenty-fourth hostage involved in this incident, and the main reason why it wasn’t settled in a more expeditious manner.  The Taliban didn’t want me, and the Afghan government were insistent that they keep me.  I settled the whole thing for them both by distracting my captors, disguising myself as a Bedouin camel herder, and sneaking off under cover of nightfall to neighbouring Pakistan, where I hitched a ride to Lahore with a local farmer carting a recently harvested crop of opium to market, found my way to Bhutto International Airport, and caught the first available plane to Heathrow in London.  Once there, I touched base with the Canadian High Commission, got drunk at the Goose and Sickle, swam naked in Trafalgar Square fountain, threw up all over the Princess Diana memorial, took the tube to Gatwick International Airport, and courtesy of Air Transat, found myself once again on friendly Canadian terra firma, just in time to compete in the final round of the Wanker Cup.  The person who posed as me in the first two rounds was, in fact, a clone of me which had been created in a secret laboratory in Switzerland.  His cover was almost blown when an astute Kelly observed that he was almost socially tolerable and tipped well, contrary to my nature.

Well folks, that was one for the ages!  I won’t waste your time recapping what we all witnessed and what will surely be talked about fifty years from now by our grandchildren and great-grandchildren successors.  I’ll just simply state that it was the storybook finish envisioned by us all when we started this thing six years ago.  Somewhere, at that windowside table commanding a sweeping view of all below in that great nineteenth hole in the sky, Joe Timmons must surely have been smiling.  The only thing that topped the drama, pressure, and excitement was the show of camaraderie and sportsmanship at the eighteenth green and the pub afterwards.  Well done, lads!  I applaud you all!!

For those of us going to Michigan in October, it’s twenty nine days and counting.  I see that the leaves are just starting to turn, so we should be lucky enough to see the foliage in that great state at it’s peak.  God, I love nature in autumn!  Training camp for this year’s trip begins tomorrow at the pub, and I expect a full turnout.  You all know the regimen, we start off with six pints per day which is increased by two each week between now and then.  By trip time, we should all be at our fittest alcohol tolerance level.  At this time I would like to go over the rules with all of you….

1)      There will be absolutely no not drinking.

2)      Projectile vomiting should be done away from and downwind of your playing partner.

3)      First man providing positive proof of violating one of the local women will have the cost of his trip covered by the remainder of the group.  (For the record, I have always been opposed to this rule, due to the astronomical odds of me actually being the beneficiary of this rule.)

4)      All auditory flatulence shall be received with hoots of laughter and high-fives all around.

5)      Each man is personally responsible for the cost of his own bail.

6)      Any man caught uttering the words “I love you too, honey.” into his cell phone at any time during a round shall be wrestled to the ground by his playing companions, stripped naked, and tied to the top of  his golf cart for the remainder of the round.

7)      No poofters!!  (Thanks to messrs. Cleese, Palin, et al. for that one.)

8)      How ‘bout them Cowboys!!

9)      Please read all instructions before attempting to inflate your Heavenly Heather.

And finally…

      10)  Tickle me Elmo is not an invitation.

Groaner of the Week:

A little boy was in his room one day, playing with his dick, when his father walked in.   His father said, “Son, if you masturbate too much, you’ll go blind!”

The boy said, “Dad, I’m over here!”

Nice to be back, folks!  Skippy out!! 

Chapman Golf Tournament Format

The Chapman golf tournament format is used for the event two person teams compete. On each hole, both golfers tee off and then switch balls for their second shot. After the second shots the team then plays alternate shots with the player whose ball was not chosen hitting the third shot.

Example:

Shot 1 – Player 1 shoots his ball; Player 2 shoots his ball.

Shot 2 – Player 1 shoots Players 2’s ball position; Player 2 shoots Player 1’s ball position.

Shot 3 – One ball is chosen to finish the hole (the other is picked up). Alternate shot is now used until the chosen ball is holed.

If Player 1’s second shot position is chosen then - Player 2 hits shot 3; Player 1 hits shot 4; Player 2 hits shot 5 and so on until the ball is holed.

The opposite is done if Player 2’s second shot position is chosen - Player 1 hits shot 3; Player 2 hits shot 4; Player 1 hits shot 5 and so on until the ball is holed.

* If your shot goes into a hazard – play a one-stroke penalty hitting from point of entry (lateral). An example would be if your partner hits his drive into the hazard then you are shooting three from the point of entry. Remember you still have choice of ball positions on the third actual hit. In this case your drive and your partners 2^nd shot of that drive leaves a ball position where your team is shooting 3. The other ball position would be shooting 4 for the third hit because of the one stroke penalty.

** If you are worried about your Pro-V1 - feel free to drop your ball brand at the same position as the ball you are hitting. Carry a spare ball to maintain speed of play.

HAVE FUN! Remember this is a team event and strategy will help.