Single Digits

After one horrific round after another, Banes did what any other green-blooded golf junky would do: he proclaimed he'd attain a single digit handicap. Now for Chester, this was about as likely as Michelle Wie winning The Masters. But Banes knew better. So what if he had a 19 handicap trending toward 21? He'd just have to shave 10 or so strokes off his game and he was golden.

"All I need is the right game improvement tool," Chet said to himself, as if anyone else would listen.

So he became a student of the gadget. He'd sit for hours on end in his tartan plaid pants and Golfoholics Extra Dry Martini shirt watching the Golf Channel during their paid programming hours.

But it didn't take more than a few minutes before he was ordering the Medicus, the Dual-Hinge™ driver endorsed by none other than Mark O'Meara and billed as the #1 Swing Trainer. And only $39!

"Hey, what have I got to lose but a few strokes off my handicap?" Banes said to the woman with the subtle Indian accent on the other end of the line.

"2 additional payments of $39," she replied. "But it's worth almost twice that. And what it will do for your game is, well, priceless."

With that, Chester removed the MasterCard from his wallet and read off the number.

(to be continued)

Morning Wood

One day Banes woke up and decided he was gay. He and Gwen had split up, he'd been living with his buddy Skully, and he couldn't be happier. He must be gay.

He went into Skully's bedroom stepping over clothes strewn about the floor and sat down on Skully's bed.

"Skully, wake up." He shook his friend by the shoulder. "C'mon, wake up sleepyhead. I've just had a revelation."

"Uhhh. Go back to sleep Banes, it's too early."

"But Skully, I just realized we're gay."

"Yabba dabba doo. I'll alert the media. Now go back to bed."

"No Skully, I'm serious. I've left Gwen, I'm living with you, we play golf together most every day, we drink together most every night. The only thing we haven't done is had sex together."

"Did someone say sex?" A body stirred in the bed next to Skully and a beautiful brunette pulled back the sheet from her head inadvertantly revealing one of her breasts.

"Oh, hi. I'm Chester Banes. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Melanie Crawford. Pleased to meet you. Are we having sex?"

"No I can't. You see Melanie, I'm gay." Banes couldn't help but glance at her exposed tata.

Melanie leaned over and laid her hand on top of Banes hand which was already on Skully's shoulder. "Frankie, you didn't tell me your roommate was gay. That's so cool."

"Mel, if Banes is gay, I'm the queen of Sheba," Skully said without opening his eyes.

"I guess it would make sense that you're a queen too," she shot back. "Seems I'm not needed here."

Melanie pulled the sheet back entirely and got out of bed, revealing the most voluptuous body Banes had seen in decades.

"Chester, have you seen my thong?" Melanie started to rummage around the clothing on the floor.

"Here, let me give you a hand," Banes offered, and got up from the bed to help Melanie locate the missing garment.

As he stood up, Melanie noticed a large bulge in the front of his trousers.

She walked over and put her hands on it and asked, "Now, now, my little fruitcake, are you hiding my panties in your tidy whities?"

"Uh, no, that's just a little morning wood I guess."

"Must have gotten aroused sitting next to your buddy Skully in bed, eh?"

Banes watched the nipples on her breasts come to attention as her hands found his zipper and eased it slowly downward.

"You know, I think I saw your panties in my room," he said softly. "C'mon, let me show you."

With that, he led Melanie out of Skully's bedroom and into his own as Skully resumed his snoring.

Two hours later Banes awoke to Skully shaking his shoulder. "Let's go gay boy. We're gonna be late for our tee time."

Melanie stirred slightly as Banes got out of bed and headed for the shower.

"Hey Mel," Skully said. "I found these under my sheets."

He threw a pink thong into the bed and it landed on one of Melanie's breasts like a horseshoe finding the post.

"I hope my chipping is as accurate today," he said before leaving the room.

Even Stevenson

After a long day at the PGA Show, Mully (aka Eric Tracy, The Mulligan Man) was regaling us with golf stories. One of them found him playing in a celebrity pro-am with McLean Stevenson (Lt. Col. Henry Blake from M*A*S*H) and a couple of good fellas from Vegas. The good fellas wanted to put a wager on the game, and talked McLean, who wasn't much of a golfer, into five a side. McLean wound up having the round of his life, and while having a post-round pop with his goombahs, one of them peels off 25 hundred dollar bills and hands them to him, saying "I got you winning five ways." "What's this?" McLean says looking at the $2500. "Your winnings," says the guy holding out the fistful of cash. "But I thought we were playing for five bucks a side. If the tables were turned and you'd won five ways, I wouldn't be paying you $2500." "Oh, you'da paid," the loser says. "You'da paid."

Taken to the cleaners

I told my wife I was going to pick up the dry cleaning yesterday. Stopped at the club on the way (if a detour of seven miles can be considered on the way) and thought I'd hit a small bucket. The small bucket turned into a large one and before I was done three of my buddies on the range roped me into a game. Maybe nine, I thought. The dry cleaning can wait. We decided to play a $5 Nassau to make things interesting, and by the time we were making the turn, my team had lost the front and a press, meaning we were down $10 a man. This was no time to quit. The dry cleaning can wait. Things were looking up on the back till I shanked one into a plate glass window of a home along the 12th hole. I was able to calm down the owner with the assurance that I'd pay for the damage, which was clearly going to cost me. That, of course, threw my game off, and again we lost the back and a press, resulting in a $25 payoff at the 19th hole where I needed a few consolation beers. When I walked in the door 6 hours later, my wife asked me where the dry cleaning was. I told her a little green lie and said it wasn't ready yet. She smelled beer on my breath and saw my golf glove sticking out of my back pocket. No nooky tonight. As we were having a discussion about where I'd been and where my wife thought I should go, the owner of the home whose window I destroyed called with an estimate on the damage. My wife picked up the phone. This wasn't good. I made for the door. "Where do you think you're going?" she yelled. "I think the dry cleaning is ready," I yelled back and made my escape.