While watching The Open golf tournament this weekend, as always happens when anyone in the family watches a golf tournament on television, my husband and I began to parrot the now repetitive observations that my dad always makes. “Boy, the T.V. really flattens out the green. Those greens are not flat at all; there’s a helluva lot more break there than you realize… Anyone who doesn’t play this game has no idea how hard it really is… And, those aren’t any chickenshit country club courses either. You and I wouldn’t have any fun at all playing on those courses; they’re just too damn hard.” Whenever someone from the gallery yells out, as they inevitably do, “In the hole!” as Tiger Woods hits a drive, Dad presses the mute button and mutters, “Listen to those assholes. Thank God for the Mute button; it’s the greatest invention known to modern man.”
Anyone who has read this blog or knows my dad knows that he has seldom if ever been muted. His invective still rings out today at every opportunity. He calls it “educating someone (think, telemarketers) in our rich and pungent vernacular language.” Kind of sounds like manure to me, but I know what he means. My education started at an early age. And, “asshole” is just the beginning. There are “real assholes,” “supreme assholes,” “14-karat assholes,” and plain old “stupid assholes.” Sometimes, one encounters a whole “bouquet of assholes,” may the bleeding piles torment them. That bouquet is likely to exhibit a behavior or express an opinion that Dad disagrees with and finds idiotic. Opinions are just like assholes; everybody has one.