Thursday, March 31, 2005

They Stole the Holes

Things go on in golf courses late at night. This rests as undisputed fact. Of course, in the scientific sense, things go in everywhere everytime in a variety of more or less interesting ways, and it would be churlish to single out golf courses for special mention if it were simply the things that happen that were happening. But there was more than that. Terrible deeds going on. Mystery and intrigue after dusk. The humble golf course; transformed, defiled, brought down to the level of a mere lawn. Shameful things this does to the self image of the grass, it loses interest in life, starts wilting in depression and offering itself up in great divots for suicidal golf club flights. It is no longer the fine trimmed special of grand master tournaments, no longer rearranges its blades for easy ball trajectories. They do things to the course at night that makes it no better, no worse, than the urinated undertree shrub grass. They steal the holes.

It had been suspected for many years that they stole the holes. However, inebriation and shoddy weather conditions had always placed the matter as hazy hypothesis at best. In perky summer days the holes were there, bright eyed and gaping for all to enter. They were respected by all for their unending servitude to the grass, willing to open themselves to every soggy whacked ball, so that the lawn may aspire to Masters territory. But at night it was more difficult. Observers of the course could never find the holes. But then, observers of the course could never find much. Balls proved as elusive as upright standing as the sherry flowed through the mis-swung clubs of the golfing classes. Skin and 9-iron made contact to no avail, fingers slippery with spilt gin. Stumbles through the fog guaranteed no certainty in these hole-hunting missions. A decent investigation would have to be initiated, a planned and executed enquiry into the elusive holes. The crack squad were called. Mission commence, for the Bunnygirl Beats.

The Bunnygirl Beats had been on such missions before. Their crimefighting powers were legendary in all fields which involved any daffodil frolicking. They were particularly well equipped for nighttime missions. All those carrots. Good for the dark. However, for a challenge of this magnitude it would be incredibly foolish to attempt it alone. Anyone who would stoop so low as to steal a hole, there is no telling what they could unleash into the pestilent fog, what measures they would take to ensure future holes remained swiped at dusk instead of tucked prettily into their centre-green beds. But the Bunnygirl Beats were not incredibly foolish. They were reasonably foolish, but this was more due to the overabundance of devastating ideas which reverberated in their heads. It is difficult to find room for genius when one’s head is filled with day to day sensibilities. The Bunnygirls had made vital sacrifices, and judged common sense unimportant in the grander schemes. But rest assured they still retained the gumption to arm themselves with a hit team to take to the golf course.

Like squirrels on speed, the Bunnygirl Beats stocked pouches of prep for the trip. Accompanying them would be Captain Timbo, the most reviled pirate in every ocean from the mountains to the shore, who would frolic fearsomely through daffodils, his blonde curls billowing in the wind. Although he did not know it yet, this mission would sully Timbo’s reputation forever. Pirates do not belong in fields of flowers. Six months from now, photographs of his buttocks perkily surveying the teeing off range would find their way into the monthly periodical “Pirates’ Wives” and he would find himself laughed off all seven of the seas. But this was not a present concern. Also, bringing up the rear, The Stupids. The Stupids were not incredibly helpful on missions such as this. They had a penchant for distraction tactics, swiping the balls away from beneath the club swing and inducing some form of hyperactive laughter spasms at the most inopportune times. But all the same, they were necessary for the trip and for the sanities of the Bunnygirls…


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