Female Code – July 2013 Edition (Menopausal Bombs)

It's Like Hades In Here

It’s Like Hades In Here

Welcome friends to the hottest month of the year – July.  It is also the month from Hades if you are living with a woman just beginning menopause.  For decades I have fought my wife over the air conditioning thermostat.  I needed it to be cool in the summer to sleep.  My wife needed a quilt to survive those decades.  Now as I enter the twilight years of my life (no, not the sparkling vampire Edward – the hell has frozen over Edward), I find myself increasing the thermostat and kicking off the A/C. This results in my wife getting overheated like a 1979 Ford Pinto, a ticking time bomb ready to go off.

One day the good lord and I will have a talk about the female code.  My question will be direct,

“What the heck were you thinking?!”

“My son, there are tests that one must go through in life to reach wisdom.  There are the seven deadly sins and there are the offsetting saving virtues.  You must go through each before you can enter one of the seven heavens.”

For those of you not familiar with the seven deadly sins, here they are:







Menopausal Bomb

I’ve read the bible from beginning to end, several times, and no where does it refer to menopause.  If it had, there may be no human race to worry about.  You’d get to Genesis wherein if it had been edited correctly we would have read,

And Adam reached the age of 54 and Eve turned 54.  Eve grew a mustache and beard and legs hairier than Methuselah.  One evening Eve caught on fire, which Adam mistook for the burning bush and he said, “Not tonight Lord, it was a rough day with Cain and Abel on the golf course OMG!”

This is when Eve kicks him out of the bed and tells him to go sleep on the rock – of Gibraltar.  It was then that the world first caught a glimpse of Hades – “Hell hath no fury like a hormonal woman”, except the demons of Hades created the very first chartered Man Club and forbade any female members.  This why Pradatory was created.  It is a spiritual halfway house for exorcised obsessive and possessive female succubi, filled with nothing more than a cackling of women hens endlessly rummaging around outlet malls, never able to find the right size, color or price to suit their fashion needs.  Here there are a bazillion female souls all yacking at the same time, with no one to listen.  They flee into the ethereal world and attack men in their sleep with dreams wherein the age-old question arises, “Do I look fat in this Prada?” It is a miserable place and the women tear each other to shreds over 50% off Coach purses.  Even Dante feared to write his own interpretation of this replica of hell – The Divine Diva Madness.

The lord has told me that one virtue will save me above all else and that is Patience.   It’s a good thing that most men lose their hearing – this is the only aid to assist us with Patience, other than golfing. So turn up Van Halen’s great single “Why Can’t This Be Love?”  to 398 decibels until your ears ring with pain.  Then you must learn the art of agreeable nodding.

Women who enter menopause present a whole new series of mutated genetics and our journey to understand this beast called “Woman,” which was created from spare BBQ ribs, will be further out of reach.  Oops, my wife is calling me.  Time to go golfing and I suck at golf. (sigh)

Disclaimer – remember ladies this is just humor, not reality.  If this offends you in any way, go tell your husband.  Just make sure your decibel level is 400.

Golf Indigestion – March 2013 Edition (White Gangsta Golfers)


Golf Indigestion
The Monthly Journal

I have never understood the fascination with the hip-hop world, especially white boys pretending to have rhythm and ghetto swagger.  If you feel I am wrong about this, please watch this.

Are you still confused?  What about Justin Bleeber, or whatever he is?  You all should know by now that am an aging man in my 50’s. I was part of the disco era and I cannot dance to disco music, no matter how hard I tried. I’d be out on the floor sweating to death, while all my black friends were doing amazing acrobatic things, while wearing 10″ high-dive platform heels on, and not breaking a droplet of sweat.  And that was just my black male friends.

I grew up just wanting to be good at golf.  The course is where you went for peace and solitude, not some MTV after school special.  But just like dancing, I suck big time at golf. Can you imagine the country club that let these guys in?  Here’s a sample from some your favorite golf course theme songs, sung and danced to by the Whitey Tighty Uptighties:

  1. Augusta da Busta, with a nuclear golf cart thrusta.
  2. Pebble Beach, were your shotz makz um hollerz and screechz.
  3. Pine Valley,  where da ladies in da galley start screamin for da rally.
  4. The Congressional, the confessional, where the politicians are pretenders 2B professional.
  5. Spook Rock, whatta crock, I can’t use my cart, so I haffa walk.

Well you get the point, it just doesn’t sound right, no matter how you slice or shank it.  Just as some guy who named his business Vanilla Mocha Construction Company.  It seems to me that the real art today is just to see who can be more absurd with fashions, rhymes and dance routines.  Whatever happened to white boys wanting to be caddy’s as a means to advancing their career aspirations?  And what the heck ever happened to rock?  Speaking of the good old days, here’s a Journey back in time:

Oh how I love the OMG (Oh My Groin) moment of that movie. If you look closely to Rodney Dangerfield, you will have a pretty good idea of how bad a dancer I am, well, and the golfing too. Ditch diggers?  Naw, today they want to all be rap, idol, and dancing wit da stars stars, even on the course.  It’s enough to give someone Golf Indigestion.

Golf Indigestion – February 2013 (Smack Back Attitude)

Watch this video for perspective.

I’m sorry, but no, I’m really not. Foooore is actually a code word for, “I’m coming through you slow #$%#^$^!”

As you recall from prior posts, I suck at the game called golf.  Those that wait behind me need to learn the art of patience.  I will get to the green soon enough.  I truly try to hurry and get out of your way.  How many of you have actually had someone kinda put pressure on you?  We see this every day when we commute. Some lard brain tailgates you at 70 mph, when all you are doing is traveling as fast as the people in front of you.  Being a careful driver (not in the golf sense) I leave a least two car lengths ahead of me clear for safety reasons.  So what does lard brain behind me do?  He wants to fill that safety gap with his NASCAR experience,  so he can be one nanosecond closer to getting home. This driver veers around and tries to take the spot and is cut off by the slower lane and in fact is now ten cars behind me. Sweet!  I think I can hear him screaming, “You slow #$%#^$^!”

This same type of tactic has happened to me on the golf course.  I’ll be standing there getting ready for shot when a ball comes charging by. Not only that, but they didn’t even yell FORE.  So how does yours truly handle such poor golfing protocol?  I take an extra swing with their ball.  Now this is the only time in golf my aim is perfect.  I line up to the dense wooded area, yell fore for the benefit of the squirrels and other furry forest creatures and nail a perfect shot into no mans land.  Then as the lard heads behind me come up from behind, they spend time looking for their balls. Those with such excellently shaped athletic beer guts, will never be able to find their balls, if you know what I mean.  They ask me if I saw their balls.  I reply, “Sorry, your shots must be back behind you.”  Then I snicker and move forward to my next truly horrible shot. Soon they pull out new balls their wife’s gave them for Christmas with new BDSM logo’s and drive to me again! Now you would think they would get the point, this is going to be painful for you lard heads if you continue this.

So as they start to slow everyone back behind them, they are getting some of their own smack back attitude, as the golfers behind them also yell out, “You slow #$%#^$^!”  By the end of the day all those ball less golfers that were behind me are now at the 19th hole creating a small riot, similar to the Tiger’s ex chasing him with her driver skills (not the automobile kind).  I sit there with my Mai Tai enjoying the spectacle that only golfing brings to hot lard insulated mature men. Soon they have bent and warped their complete golfing set over each others heads.  But don’t worry, lard rebounds. This keeps golf equipment manufacturers busy. This is the only time I truly enjoy golf, instead of my usual self-induced golfing indigestion, I get to be the deliverer of chaos and #$%#^$^ indigestion.

I’m sorry, but no, I’m really not. (snicker)

With this in mind, what poor golf etiquette have you seen and what indigestion have you created lately?

Golf Indigestion December Edition – Christmas Gifts


Always a little short

It’s that time of season where we very poor golfers get gifts related to the game of golf. We get cheeky little covers for our drivers, brightly painted tees, and paper weights for our desk. Enough already. What you need to give the dedicated duffer this Christmas is a subscription to Golf Indigestion. There you can find all sorts of worthless articles and instructions, but some super golf gift ideas. Here are my personal selections this year.

Divots in a Jar – yes show off all the places you have golfed and removed a majority of the green or fairway. Label them by date, your score and location.  Take photos and frame them next to your jar.

Tee Box – The man cave is so yesterday. Buy the plans to convert your man cave into your very own tee box. One sure fire way to keep all the girls out is to have a chime that yells out “fore” if they try to enter without your permission.

Stuffed Fairway Animals – my personal favorite! Show off that squirrel you knocked high out of a tree, the antelope in the woods, or that eagle that became a bald eagle.

The Ball Juggler – a instead of that fixed golf ball case on the wall, get the machine guaranteed to draw attention to your balls as they are juggled in the air.

Ice Ball Trays – who needs cubes, we want cold balls in our cocktails.  Get creative and add dye or flavors to your balls.  Be the hit of your country club or local driving range.

Hemi Cart – if money is no objection, we’ve got a super modified cart sure to create envy on the course. Golf in less than one hour with this baby.

Fore Play Board Game – learn new fore call outs, like WTFoooooore! Spin the wheel and see if you shoot straight, splice, dice, or  land in the next county.

As editor of Golf Indigestion, I am sure you will see my selections and the upcoming 2013 editions of Golf Indigestion are intriguing, inviting and well worth the ridiculous price.  Next year we have add the refreshment cart hotties to the subscription. Here’s a sample.


January Refreshment Cart Hottie

Hey, what do you expect for free and royalty free images!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Years.  Which reminds me of my last gift idea. The Winter Ball Warmer Bag.

Golf Indigestion – November Edition (Winter Golf)

As we near the winter months I recall having (emphasis on had) friends who would golf year round.  This means golfing on rock hard frozen ground.  Do you how bad it hurts when you dig your iron into the ground and it doesn’t budge?  This is when you learn about seismology, as the quake travels up your arm and into your head, loosening many of your teeth. I am certain this is how Fixadent was invented. Who in their right mind needs to golf year round?  It’s one thing if you are Jack Nicklaus and can afford to golf in Hawaii.  It’s another when you golf on the frozen shores next to Lake Onacheekobee in the Yukon territory.  Well at least the balls are never lost in the water.

Winter is for reading and shining your balls for the country club party.  Although reading about golf is as useless to me as watching it on television, even on a 60″ HDTV.  I’m an accountant and reading golf is far worse than reading the journal of accountancy.  Both are excellent sleep aids. My friends would also go to the putting greens and driving ranges, anything to get their fix of golf.  I’m a basketball player, which is great for the winter months.  My friends?  Heck no, basketball would require sweating and losing a few pounds.  I suppose the extra weight is what allows them to have much further drives than mine.

Winter is also for boasting to new friends who know nothing of your game and immediately think you are a golfing god when talk about all the birdies you sunk.  This is when I chime in that I am a Wilt Chamberlain golfer.  That’s right, the only man ever to score 100 points in a game.  Okay you are scratching your head.  I can hear it.  I have never, ever shot a score less than 100.  Thus my relation to Wilt Chamberlain.  Why I continue to golf is beyond my usual logical and rational thinking.  The game is costly now more than ever.  I’ve lovingly nicknamed my new driver “401(k).”  I try to convince myself that I play for my sanity and health.  Then I laugh my ass off.  We ride electric golf carts for 4 hours and then down a few beers at the nineteenth hole.  Some shape I’m getting into.

My game of golf sucks enough in the spring, summer and fall, but in the winter the indigestion is much colder and is thriving for my Dentists 401(k).

50 Shades of Grey Balls

Ha!  Caught you looking didn’t I?  This is a blog post about golfing, not about BDSM, whatever BDSM means.  Golf  ball makers usually add all kinds of logos, emblems, etc to their balls.  The balls themselves are usually white or yellow.  All of these attempts to help me concentrate never work for a guy like me who truly sucks at the game of golf.  What if, the balls were colored grey?  Yea, yea, that’s the ticket – grey balls, with little BDSM logos imprinted on them.  Sell them in 50 packs and place them near the ladies clothing section of the golf store.  You’d see tons of women in the corner snickering and gasping for breath. “I need these balls,” shouts one.

You see, every so often something astounding happens that impacts the way we see life and market the heck out of it.  50 Shades of Grey has spurred a new round (not golf) of inflamed female hormones.  Therefore anything with “50 Shades of blah, blah, blah” next to it will catch their attention.  I just want in on the action, cash action that is.

Imagine how lively the old country club scene would be if all the ladies in the bridge room were talking about the balls.  Men would be walking by and hear nothing other than “blah, blah, blah, BALLS, blah, blah, blah…”  The men would stop dead in their tracks, ripping up the new carpet just to see if they could hear more.  Really make it interesting by placing bets with your balls.  Nothing speaks volume when you trump somebody with your balls.  Think of all the gossip that old club would generate.  Why balls would be the hot topic at the Christmas ball.  Bring your personalized balls along and show them off.  You will be the envy of those who forgot to bring their own balls.  Show off the personal imprints on your balls and talk about how much your balls cost.  Take photos and post them on Facebook and Twitter, because there is nothing more satisfying than sharing your balls to the masses.

Well now that I am done with my latest genius marketing plot, I decided to finally look up BDSM on Wikipedia.  Oh my!  Pain and submission, well that certainly describes my golf game.  As for my 50 pack, I just like displaying my balls in a collectors case on the wall.

Geez, get your mind out of the gutter and your balls out of the sand trap!

Golf Indigestion – First Edition

For my readers and loyal followers, you know I write about my very poor game of golf.  I know there is a magazine called Golf Digest.  Well, since there are copyright protections on this, I know that no one in their right frame of mind would ever create a magazine titled “Golf Indigestion” – well, except for yours truly.  I have already written numerous posts on my golf game.  But, now I want my own monthly golf magazine dedicated to those of us who really, really suck at the game of golf. I am looking for a subscription fee of 99 cents per blog post.   It’s cheap and I promise you will not learn one damn thing from me – not one.  You may have a good laugh though.  Isn’t 99 cents worth that at least?  Call it the unhappy meal for the soul.  Call it a round of therapy.  After you read how bad I am, you will feel much better about yourself.

I recall a day in my youth when my father and I went golfing on a warm summer day. So warm was it that the heat index was approximately 121 degrees.  We only made it through the first nine holes.  It was at that point that I should have wondered about this great game called golf.  As hot as it was, it could have been called rolf, for the noise one makes hurling my indigestible breakfast further than one’s tee shot.  That’s how bad my game of golf sucks.  I can hurl further and straighter than my tee off, even with a big Bertha or a Howitzer canon.  I can throw or kick it further than I can tee it off.  My tee shot is called the Rainmaker.  It drives straight to the ceiling of the atmosphere, opening the waters of the heavens, and comes falling back down only ten feet from the women’s tee box.  I never yell fore, because the little old ladies are never worried I’ll hit them.

I kid often about the true story of killing a squirrel with one of my famous shots.  Now I can imagine also placing recipes in my magazine titled “Fairway Kill – You Drill it, I’ll Grill it.”  There would also be a beverage recipe at the back called the 19th hole.  The first drink would be named “OMG Gasping 9-Iron.”  The recipe is really simple, any alcoholic drink straight, with an oxygen tank chaser.  Those who follow me will get this reference, wherein OMG actually stands for “Oh My Groin!”

I would also have sections on the proper way to total your golf cart or launch over a cliff.  Or, how to expertly and artistically wrap your golf set around a maple tree.  How about the best curse lines in golf history?  “WTFoooooore!”  How about a section on why “Any day at work is better than a day of golf.” All this for just 99 cents!  If you subscribe today, I’ll throw in a VHS of Caddy Shack and a bottle of TUMS in for FREE – FREE – FREE (echo sound).  However, handling charges of $1.99 and shipping charges of $3,000 do apply.  What a bargain, right?

So why delay, order today! If your game of golf sucks and you get queasy knowing how much money you sank (not to be confused with putts) into the sport, you need “Golf Indigestion.”

PS – If you haven’t guessed that blog posts are not shipped, you suck at more than just golf.