Sunday 25 July 2004

The one thing that might make us consider playing golf.

My friend has an idea that there should be all-male golf courses that feature nude women on the course. But the women wouldn’t be like the strippers at outings (topless females pouring beers, taking wagers, tending the flags, flirting), they’d be more like wildlife. You know how cool it is when you see a deer running across the fairway, or standing near the tee box? That’s his idea. You might not see any for a few holes, then all of a sudden you’d hear a rustling in the trees and see two of them running back into the timber. A few holes later, you might see one standing in your fairway, then she’d run off when you got ready to hit your t-shots.
from this post at Life at TJ's Place (which we just discovered, and which has quickly become a fave) by "Kevin," who is "the assistant manager of a gentlemen's club in the Midwestern United States, called TJ's Place, which is not the real name of the club." (Gentleman's club = strip club, BTW).
Kev writes with rare humour and warmth. We think he's going to be one of them bloggers-with-a-book-deal soon.
Here's some more samples:
"Interesting fact: touch a pen or a coin to a mirror and look at it kind of from the side—if there is a small gap in between the object and its reflection, it’s a real mirror; if the points meet, it’s a two-way and someone is on the other side, watching you touch a coin to their mirror and wondering what the f*** you’re doing." "Curly looks like Curly. He sells and services video games and juke boxes and pool tables (including ours). He also doesn’t drink. Curly is in love with one of the dancers, Jamie, and has been for years (she’s one of our veteran dancers who was here long before I started). He’s not gross about it, though. Jamie is very nice to him and doesn’t take advantage of the fact that he would give his life for her. They’re good friends, but it’s the definition of an unrequited love." And there's... oh go trawl his archives. We just did, and we're still smiling.

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