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Fat Bastard True TalesYou Should Be Here (2012)On Friday night after the three nines at Spanish Trail, Far Can Joe and Fascist sat in on the first night of Mike Tyson's "Undisputed Truth" one-man-show. At the show the boys naturally enjoyed a couple double bourbons (Makers Mark. Of Course.). After the show, Far Can and Fascist made their way to the Cosmopolitan where Far Can wanted to keep his player's card active. After a little table action (and some more bourbon) Far Can and Fascist stumbled across a happening scene at the BOND bar on the main level. The BOND was the place to be, as Far can and Fascist quickly ascertained from the frequent and boisterous chants of "you should be here!". Not ones to ignore good advice, Far Can and Fascist were "here". Also there: Drake. Far Can and Fascist were not just "here", but were there until after 3am, which left them with a solid 3 and a half hours sleep (after a few more double bourbons - they may have a little shit-faceded), in top form for a 36-hole marathon at Revere-Lexington in the wind and rain. But the boys "manned up" and made it through the day. Not just surviving, but keeping it together enough to close out a match against Stinky and newcomer Realist (or as Mike Tyson advised the evening before, "knock a muthaf#cker out") Lucky 7's (2012)On Saturday afternoon's round at Revere-Lexington, Far Can Joe puts his third shot just short of the green on the par-5 7th. He then chips his 4th shot onto the deep green and it rolls just to the top of the ridge separating the lower and upper tiers of the green. The ball pauses a moment and then slowly rolls back down, picking up speed and then coming to rest 40 or more feet from the hole. On his next putt, Far Can Joe gets the ball to the top of the ridge as it again pauses then rolls back down to the lower tier, further back than where it started. Far Can hits his second putt, a replay of the first, and then another one, each time the ball getting to crest of the ridge and then rolling back down to the lower tier. Finally Far Can hammers a putt up onto the second tier, well past the hole. Far Can then stick-handles 3 more putts around the green before putting the ball into the hole for a 7-putt 11. Golf Day of Awesomeness [GDoA] (2011)4 of the long-standing FBs (Stinky, Far Can, Lippy and Fascist) decided to use the Summer Solstice as an opportunity to take a day off work and head back up to Hecla, home of the first 17 years of Golfapalooza, and get in two rounds of golf. "Why was this a Golf Day of Awesomeness?", you ask. Here's why:
So, like I mentioned, a Golf Day of Awesomeness. And likely not the last of those. Even better (depending on your perspective) than Lippy's and Fascist's top-notch scores was that they were paired together in a cart playing a fourball match against Stinky and Far Can. You can guess how that match went. Smokey and the Bandit - part Deux (2011)4 of the Fat Bastards were making their way to Giants Ridge, all in the hemi-powered Dodge RAM (boy is this starting to sound familiar). About 40 miles outside of Biwabik Minnesota, the travelers encountered a car going exactly the speed limit in the left lane. Stinky commented "look at the dipshit in the left lane" or something to that effect as the HOT:TUB closed in. About 50 yards back of the vehicle, the crew realized said dipshit was in fact State Trooper Dipshit in a marked car (you'd have thought the "State Trooper" graphic on the trunk would have been more visible - maybe Stinky should have his headlights adjusted). Stinky slowly braked, reducing speed to match the Trooper, and then edged back up to cruising speed, passing the Trooper on the right and approximately 5 mph over the posted speed limit. Several brief seconds passed before the Trooper turned on the red and blues and pulled the FBs over. After the routine "license and registration" the Trooper headed back to his car, while the FBs waited, trying to determine how much the fine might be. Consensus was narrowing in on a warning or something in the $85 range, with Far Can Joe getting seriously "Jackie Childs" about the whole "bulshit" situation. Finally, the Trooper approached the HOT:TUB, handing back the paperwork and an official warning, along with the following sermon: "Look guys. I know it's only 5 miles over the speed limit, but I can't drive over the speed limit and neither can you. Now I saw you guys slow down, and then you sped up and passed me. C'mon guys. Humor me here - you didn't really give me a choice." Louis Nine-Fingers (2011)On Sunday's Handicapped Challenge round, Not-The-A-Hole-From-Hockey, Fascist, Bold and I'm-Back-Again FBs were all playing at Quarry. On Hole #10, Fascist was struggling mightily on the green, 4-putting from within 8 feet, when he took a big swipe at his golf-ball in anger, trying to whack it off the green toward the golf cart. Unfortunately, it was at this moment that Fascist connected with what would have been his best drive of the day and caught the ball with a full wrist snap and sailed the ball waist high directly at Not-The-A-Hole from about 15 feet away. Not-The-A-Hole tried to move out of the way, but his reflexes were not faster than the screaming bullet of a shot that caught him on the middle finger of his hand right above his knuckle, which fortunately had protected him from a shot straight to the nads. As Not-The-A-Hole jumped around the green like crazed monkey, dropping F bombs all over the place, he pulled the glove off hs hand to reveal his finger, swollen up like big purple grape. After a minute or two of awkward mostly silence (with Fascist feeling really really bad, Not-The-A-Hole in pain, and Back Again and Bold waiting patiently thinking about what a dick-move that was), Not-The-A-Hole settled down, and calmly finished off the hole by making his 6-foot putt. Once it became clear there was no significant damage and the swelling went down, the rest of the foursome grew tired of Not-The-A-Hole's incessant whining about his finger and threatened to make him wear the Pussapalooza shirt if he didn't stop. By the time the group teed of on #11 the sympathy was over when Fascist asked Not-The-A-Hole if they were playing this par 3 for money. They did. Fascist dropped his tee shot closest to the pin. And made the birdie putt. That's what I'm talking about. Ryder Cup (2008)This “true tale” has nothing to do with the official sanctioned event, but a couple of the FBs made it to the 2008 Ryder Cup in Louisville Kentucky. Read all about it at the “official” Ryder Cup blog ; the exploits involved fast cars, fast women, liquor and several celebrity encounters... In the Open (2007)Newcomer I Wanna Be A FB had miss-hit his tee shot again, this time approximately 4 yards in the forward direction on hole #6, but to the leftmost side of the tee box in the deep shag. Once again IWBA's playing partners graciously pointed out to him that he was well short of the ladies' tees, requiring him to yet again drop his pants for his next shot. Hole #6 is in wide-open view of holes 7, 8, 10 and 11, causing IWBA to protest vigorously, and it went something like this: IWBAFB: “You can't be serious! Look around”, he says looking around. “We're right out in the open. Everyone can see!” (see this Virtual Tour of the Quarry to get a perspective on how open this portion of the course is; click on the red dot near hole 8) Fascist FB: “What's your point? Rules are rules. Drop your pants.” IWBAFB: “C'mon. You're joking. Look at all these people. We'll get kicked out!” Honest FB (aka Far Can Joe): “I don't think we'll get kicked out. You might get kicked out, but I think we're OK”. IWBAFB: “Seriously guys. I'm not dropping my pants out here. Hey. Lippy. What do you think?” LFB: “Well. I think you're behind the ladies' tee...” Given that compelling argument, IWBAFB had no alternative but to drop his pants for his next shot, which was actually one of his better shots of the day. Experience has shown that the pants-down shot is often a high-quality shot; partially from the way the pants / shorts around the ankles steadies your feet; and partially because the way the cool breeze through your crotchal region focuses your attention... It should be noted that the increased focus must have helped, because on the next hole IWBA FB got his first birdie ever. Rule 28 (2007)Of all the shots taken during the weekend, the most under-played shot, yet the one that deserved more use, was Rule 28 (Ball Unplayable). There were several examples of pathetic attempts to hack at a ball with an abbreviated swing and/or on a ridiculous lie and/or in an insane amount of rough, when the judicious use of “that's unplayable” would have been a far more effective strategy. The one that deserves special mention however, is the brilliant shot-selection strategy of newcomer I Wanna Be A FB. Having just shanked his drive off the heel of his driver about 8 yards onto a hill beside the tee on Quarry #12 (the appropriately named “Miller-Mohawk” hole), IWBA FB contemplates his next shot. His playing partners point out that he is approximately 40 yards short of the ladies tee, adding to IWBA's consternation, which probably overloaded his brain, resulting in what happened next. Undeterred by the fact that his ball is in tall grass on about a 45-degree slope, at least a foot below his feet, and with his shorts down around his ankles, IWBA FB foregos the use of Rule 28 to “wisely” attempt the use of his driver. His driver. A more experienced golfer may have used Rule 28, or at least opted for a different club, but driver? C'mon man; you just shanked your driver on level ground, with the ball on a tee, and now you're going to try this? Watch this and see why you deserve the 9 you took on this hole. I guess the fact that IWBA FB is coming off the second birdie of his life made him think he was a “playah”. Or more likely, this is an example of Lippy's “rubber band” theory; “you can only stretch a rubber so far and then it snaps”. Smokey and the Bandit (2006)5 of the Fat Bastards were making their way to Giants Ridge, Stinky and Honest in the hemi-powered Dodge RAM and Fascist, Lippy and Snippy following in the Crown Vic. Due to mildly aggressive planning on Fascist's part and some unanticipated construction and border delays, the group had fallen slightly behind schedule. As a result, they were now traveling at a speed higher than that recommended by State law enforcement. Just outside of Baudette Minnesota, Walleye Capital of the World, Fascist spied an oncoming police cruiser and radioed to Stinky, "I think one of us is getting tagged with a ticket". Sure enough, “Buford T. Justice” was soon behind Fascist with the lights flashing; Fascist pulled over and BTJ came over to the car, resulting in an exchange that went something like this: BTJ: "Do you know why I pulled you over?" FFB: "Ummm.... I'm not really sure, but I have an idea" BTJ: "Can I see your driver's license and vehicle registration please" FFB: "Sure. Just let me get that" (as he fumbles with his wallet and glove box) BTJ: "Do you know what the speed limit is in Minnesota son?" FFB: "Umm. 65?" BTJ: "No sir. The speed limit is 55 mph." FFB: feigning surprise; "Really? 55? I thought it was 65" (it should be noted that Stinky and Fascist had already driven about 40 miles of Minnesota roadway and had seen dozens of 55 mph signs by this point) BTJ: "No sir. The speed limit in Minnesota on most two-lane highways is 55 mph. I clocked you at over 70. Don't you think that's kind of fast, particularly as you're coming into town?" FFB: "Umm... yeah, I guess that's probably a little fast" BTJ: "Are you traveling with that truck that was in front of you?" FFB: "Yes sir" BTJ: "Well, I want you to let your friend know that the speed limit in Minnesota is 55 mph. Now you can call him on your cell phone, or I see you have a radio there, you can radio him, but you let him know. OK?" (it is important to understand that the radios (walkie-talkies) were being used to ask “that thing got a hemi in it?” about every 10 minutes up until this point) FFB: "Yes sir" BTJ: "Now I'm going to let you off with a warning. You drive careful and you pay attention to the posted speed limit. OK?" FFB: "Yes sir. Thank you officer". BTJ: "Now you have a good evening" (it should be noted that it was before noon at this point) It should also be noted that the during the whole exchange Lippy and Snippy remained silent, sitting in the back seat where they had been watching “Austin Powers; The Spy Who Shagged Me”. Fascist now resumed the journey, but as he did so, contemplated a moral dilemma; he didn't want to exceed the posted speed limit, but he also wanted to obey the instructions of BTJ to let Stinky know about the speed limit, but unfortunately, Stinky was well out of radio range, which would have required fascist to exceed the posted speed limit. What should he do? While Fascist contemplated this problem, and proceeded at an almost-legal speed of 59 mph, he noticed a set of headlights quickly approaching him from behind. Suddenly, the approaching car stopped and did a U-turn, at which point Fascist confirmed it was a police car. Surmising that BTJ was verifying Fascist was now traveling at a safe speed after being given a warning, Bizarro World (2005)At the end of a long weekend of golf, Fascist and Tall Naked FB were standing at the checkout counter with all their gear, waiting to check out. Next to them, four other golfers were also waiting to check out when one of the spotted this year's commemorative swag, a FFB insulated wine bag. In a mildly surprised voice he queried, “Hey!, Where did you get that?”. Following his gaze towards the cooler bag, FFB remarked, “one of the guys bought them for us”. The other fellow then stated, “but we're the Fat Bastards!” FFB replied, “We've been coming here for the last 17 years or so. The last couple years we've been buying souvenirs for the trip. You should check out our website, 'www.FatBastardGolf.com'”. The other guy started excitedly poking his golf mates, “you hear that? They call themselves the Fat Bastards and they got stuff with logos and a website and everything....” Eerily reminiscent of the “Bizarro Jerry” Seinfeld episode. Beerzooka Joe (2005)A new, and currently one-time-only attendee, Short-Naked FB, made quite the splash at this years event with the introduction of the beerzooka. The beerzooka is a spring-loaded, tube-shaped container that holds and dispenses cans of beer. Many cans of beer. Short-Naked FB was quite proficient with his use of the beerzooka, the after-effects which contributed to him playing several holes with his pants down for not hitting his tee-shot past the ladies tee. Not content with playing several holes with his pants down, Short Naked FB played several back-to-back holes with his pants down. Coincidently, both he and his playing partner Stinky FB were missing-in-action that night before dinner; after the day's rounds of golf the went back to their room for a “nap” - we called them before 6:00 for dinner and they were going to “be right down”. We didn't see them until the next morning... Houston – We Have a Problem (2005)Fascist, Lippy, Bold and Tall Naked FB were all traveling to Hecla in the Crown Vic. They had been held up behind some slow traffic for a few minutes, and at the first break in traffic, Fascist pulled out, hammered the gas and quickly passed the slow grain truck in front of him. As he was pulling back into the proper lane, Fascist glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw a large vapor trail billowing out from behind him. Quickly pulling onto the shoulder, the group exited the car to check out the situation. The engine compartment was filled with steam and fluid, but there were no obvious leaks to be found. Deciding to continue as far as they could, they got back in the car and made their way to about 10 miles south of Gimli when the car reached dangerously high temperatures and Fascist shut it down. The group decided to split up, Lippy and Bold hitch-hiking a ride to Gimli to try and find a rental car and Fascist and Tall Naked FB staying with the car waiting for CAA. Lippy and Bold had little luck finding a rental car, but did find a Ford dealer who offered to drive the group to Hecla and then bring the fixed car to Hecla that evening if they had the car fixed at their garage. It should be noted that Lippy and Bold were wearing their matching "dress reds", which are bright red t-shirts covered with silk-screened images of martini glasses. Calling back to Fascist, they agreed that the plan seemed to be reasonable. Meanwhile, CAA had picked up the car, Fascist and Tall Naked FB and were driving them to the Ford dealer. Once they arrived, Fascist also in his "dress reds", they made arrangements to fix the car and have the dealer drive them to Hecla. The Ford dealer had one of his staff, Nathan, bring around a minivan and the group transferred all of their equipment from the Crown Vic to the van. Once underway, the group joked that because they weren't driving that maybe they should have a beer. Nathan quickly said "No problem. Go right ahead" and pulled over to allow the group to get their beer out of the back of the van. Resuming their travel, the FBs offered Nathan a beer, which he reluctantly accepted. The first beer tasted so good the FBs decided to have a second, and were finished t shortly before arriving at Hecla. Once they arrived, Nathan eagerly helped unload the van and graciously refused a $20 tip from Fascist for his troubles. All in all, the trip started off not too badly - a chaufered ride to the golf course with a couple of beer, and they only missed the first 9 holes of the day. Langatjorn Reloaded (2004)I didn't actually witness the event and there are conflicting versions of how things transpired, but from what I can piece together hole #17 looked like the out-take from a low-budget remake of Tin Cup. Honest and Bold took turns doing the ol' lock-n-load, each pumping a sleeve of balls into the water before finally getting one into play. Playing partner Snippy was able to get his tee shot over the water, and then narrowly averted disaster on his second shot when his monster slice clipped a rock in the water and was rejected back into the fairway (reminiscent of the Diego Maradona "hand of God" incident). Sally Six-shooter (2003)Details of this fiasco are sketchy, but here is the best recollection we've been able to assemble so far. Hole number 15 is a challenging par at the best of times, but Bold FB took it upon himself to blast past par before clearing the ladies tees. Unfortunately, this incident did not involve excessive amounts of liquor, which may have offered a good excuse for demonstrating the bold shot selection "genius" of Jean Van de Velde-ian proportions. Bold first pounded his tee shot (1) into the ground, with the ball coming to rest on the downward slope on the near side of a drainage ditch, which should be noted is well short of the ladies' tee. The group generously offered to Bold that he could take a lift and a penalty stroke, but not wanting to sacrifice a stroke, Bold boldly took a big cut at the ball (2), resulting in the ball dribbling into the bottom of the drainage ditch. Again, the group offered to Bold to take a drop, but having gone this far, a drop was out of the question; Bold duffed the shot (3) and was still sitting at the bottom of the drainage ditch. Undeterred, Bold boldly took another big cut at the ball (4), causing the ball to hit a rock halfway up the bank and bounce behind him, into the trees. After taking a penalty stroke (5) to move the ball from an unplayable lie, Bold was shooting six, still behind the ladies tee. More amazing than the strokes recorded at this point is that Bold was still using his original ball on the hole. Note that there is a very fine line between "bold" and "stoopid". High Steaks Bet (2002)Friday evening, after several drinks and a long wait for dinner, Honest initiated a bet (and we still don't know what brought this on) with Fascist FB to see if FFB could live up to his "legendary" eating prowess by eating a whole bunch of red meat. The two decided that FFB would try to consume three 8-ounce steaks in addition to his meal within a 60-minute timeframe - loser to pay for the meal(s) and throw in an additional $20. FFB and the others thought this was a sucker bet and were convinced that Honest was easily going to lose the bet. What FFB failed to adequately consider was that he first had to eat his already-ordered meal of clam chowder, garden salad, steak, ribs, potatoes, green beans and corn. FFB was also thrown a little off-stride when the three steaks arrived early into his first meal, starting the clock sooner than he was expecting - he tried to eat the steaks first, but FFB stipulated that the meal had to be eaten prior to starting on the remaining steaks, much to FFB's chagrin. Well, FFB wasn't able to finish off all the steaks, although he did manage to finish his meal and two of the steaks. That started many hours of gloating and "trash-talking" by Honest (aka "poor winner") for the remainder of the evening. How the World Works (2001)Friday evening, Fascist FB had consumed a rather significant amount of beer, scotch, double black russians and assorted variety of shooters by the time the FBs started to discuss Saturday morning's upcoming golf day. The group had a 7:00am tee time and wanted to eat breakfast before their round, but the restaurant didn't open until 7:00am. Well, the FBs quickly identified the problem with that scenario and called over Wendy the waitress to see if she could correct the problem. The FBs figured that we could entice the cook to arrive early and make breakfast for us if we offered up some cash. Wendy wasn't too sure of the idea and didn't know if she should call the cook to see if he was interested in our proposal. This is when FFB decided to explain to Wendy "how the world worked", something along the lines of "we have the money. you want our money. your job is to help us spend our money". Rather eloquent, isn't it? Anyway, we were in the restaurant by 6:15am and we did get breakfast. Top o' the marnin' to ya (2001)Later Friday evening, Lucky FB was chatting with a couple of ladies in the lounge who happened to be from Ireland. Now, we're not quite sure, but from what we can tell, if you really want to impress the ladies, the way to do it is to speak to them in a bad caricature of their accent and toss in references to every stereotype from their homeland. Ask them about the "patata famine", or if they've seen any of the "wee people". Chicks dig this. Really. What do you really mean? (2001)Saturday afternoon, while the core FB team, Honest and Sweet Swinging Alouicious were out enjoying their second round of the day, two Friends of the Fat Bastards, J? and Fargo consumed a rather large amount of liquor. Later that evening, the Irish lasses (see above) were back in the lounge and Fargo was strongly encouraging Honest and J? to try and get to know them better. Fargo was "subtly" and seriously trying to plan alternate sleeping arrangements in case Honest happened to make good progress, but Stinky FB was being anything but serious about it. It went something like this: Fargo: "So, SSA, if I maybe have to sleep with you, and by 'sleep with you' I don't mean 'share a bed', I mean 'share a room'. And by 'share a room' I don't mean 'sleep with you', I mean..." Stinky: "So, by 'share a room' do you mean 'hot monkey love'? And by 'sleep with you', do you mean 'hot anal sex'?" It may not sound funny now, but I couldn't stop laughing watching Fargo trying to hold a serious conversation while Stinky was interjecting with his comments. Shooters (2000)We had spent a few hours in the hotel lounge and decided we needed a change of scenery, so the four Fat Bastards and SSA went to one of the Fat Bastard's room. This wasn't tremendously better and we decided we needed to do something to liven things up a bit. We decided to have shooters, but that in itself was pretty standard. Fascist, in jest, said "why don't we get Bobbie to make us shooters" (Bobbie was the cute little lass of a waitress / bartender). Lucky didn't think that was such a bad idea, so he called the bar and asked Bobbie if she could bring us 5 shooter glasses; Bobbie said "sure, be right there" and hung up. We all pretty much assumed that Bobbie was just politely giving us the brush off, but a few moments later there was a light knock at the door, and there she was, holding 5 shooter glasses just like she promised. Well, we weren't going to pass this up, so we asked her to make 5 shooters out of the available liquor on our desk, which I think turned out to be scotch and Sour Puss raspberry liquor. We had placed a significant tip on the desk for Bobbie, but asked her to putt a ball into a beer glass before she could have the tip and get back to the bar. In true Fat Bastard spirit, Bobbie made a few attempts, which is the important part, before she left. Awhile later, we decided that we had been a little presumptuous in our earlier request, and thought that we could have at least bought the shooters rather than have Bobbie use our own booze. Well, Lucky picked up the phone and once again called the bar. Bobbie was on her break, but Lucky left a message with the other bartender to have Bobbie call us on her return. Now, we really didn't think that was going to happen, but 10 or 15 minutes later the phone rang, and it was Bobbie. Lucky asked if she'd be willing to make 6 shooters for us of her choosing and bring them to our room. Bobbie said she was pretty busy but she'd see if she had time. Sure enough, several minutes later there was a light knock at the door, and there she was with six shooters on a tray (what a woman). Anyway, we each had a shooter and told Bobbie that one was for her. Again, in true Fat Bastard spirit, she had her shooter and went on her merry way, but not before asking if there was anything else she could do for us. We wisely let her leave before we could think of anything else... Locked Out (1999)Late one evening this year, Fascist decided to go to a fellow golfer's room for a pre-bedtime flaming Sambuca. On his return to his room, shared with Lucky, Fascist found his door locked with the security button in place, preventing him from using his key. Fascist knocked on the door loudly several times, but to no avail, as Lucky was sound asleep. So, Fascist went down to Stinky and Just A's room to use their phone to get Lucky to open up the door. After knocking loudly several times and getting no response, Fascist was getting concerned. He thought for awhile and decided to go to the front desk and get them to patch him through to his room. He got through to his room, but again to no avail; Lucky was out cold. So, Fascist had the front desk patch him through to Stinky and Just's room, but they weren't answering. It turns out that Stinky and Just thought it was Les (see the Ax-ident, below) trying to play a trick on them, which is why they ignored the knocking on the door and weren't answering the phone either. Well, Fascist was quickly running out of options, so he thought hard. He couldn't get into his own room; he couldn't get into Stinky and Lucky's room, even after trying a few more times; he couldn't go back to the other golfer's room because there were already four guys in there; and he couldn't sleep in his car, because his keys were locked in his own room. The Bastards! So, Fascist did the only thing left he could think of, which was to go to the hotel restaurant, line up a few chairs in the corner and use them as a bed. About four hours later, Fascist awoke to the sound of tables being set as the staff were setting up for breakfast. Fascist stretched and wandered back to his room, just in time to have a shower and get ready for the morning's round of golf. You know, after several drinks, sleeping on chairs isn't that bad. Pool Table (1998)At the end of the day of golf, we had retired to the hotel lounge and were consuming a significant amount of beer and shooters. Stinky Fat Bastard must have had a rough day, because he "fell asleep" at the table. We figured that we couldn't let the situation stay as it was without having a little fun, so we lifted Stinky's feet onto another chair and proceeded to wheel him out of the bar (the chairs were on wheels) and into the pool room. At the end of the night, Ailsa the bartender had to close up, but we asked if we could stay and finish our drinks while she cashed-out. She said "sure" and locked the gate across the door, sat down with us and proceeded to count the daily receipts while we finished our drinks. We were extremely impressed with our service that night and decided that Ailsa needed a drink too, so we proceeded to make one for her. We were all having a good time and spent the next hour or two making more drinks and just having fun when we realized that we had left Stinky in the pool room. We went to go check on him and found him sleeping, spread-eagle on the pool table. We quickly found a camera and then took several pictures of Ailsa with Stinky (standing on the pool table, shooting a cue ball out of his mouth, etc ... ) to preserve for posterity. Just Fat Bastard felt sorry for Stinky and wheeled him to their room later so that he would be well-rested for the next day's golfing. Stinky didn't remember any of it and was getting increasingly irritated when other golfers would comment "I hear one of you guys passed out on the pool table last night." At the end of the day, we finally told him that he had actually passed out on the pool table, but he didn't believe us, even though we assured him that we had pictures of it. The pictures made their debut on a nice collage at his wedding that fall. Shooter Time (1998 & 1997)We had been spending a fair amount of time in the hotel lounge and decided that we needed some shooters. We had the bartender and waitress, Ailsa and Allison, make us whatever shooters they wanted, under the following conditions; if we didn't like them we weren't paying for them; and if we got the same shooter a second time, we weren't paying for it. Well, Ailsa and Allison were intrigued by the challenge and spent the next several hours exercising their creativity, to our mutual enjoyment. And to their credit, they met all the conditions and we paid for every one of them. Next year, we decided that the previous year's shooter experience was so entertaining that we had do it again, particularly as Ailsa was still the bartender. We held her to the same conditions as the previous year, but we added a third condition, which was if she made us a shooter that we had the year before, we weren't paying for it. Well, Ailsa was once again up to the challenge and we had another enjoyable evening of shooters and beer. Once again, we honoured our part of the deal and paid for every one of them, except for the free drinks (see Pool Table, above). This evening also marked our most expensive night of beverages, coming in at a total of $370 (minus ~$70 for food). Loading Zone (1997)As is usual, we arrived on the Friday and proceeded immediately to the golf course. After the afternoon's golf, we drove to the hotel to check-in. Fascist and Lucky parked in the regular parking lot and lugged all of their luggage to the hotel - Stinky and Just A were smarter and they parked in the 15-minute courtesy parking so they could check-in and unload their car. We met in the bar and had a few post-game beer, which stretched into a late night of drinking. The next morning, we awoke early to prepare for our 7:00am golf game. We hauled our clubs out to the parking lot to drive back to the course, and there was Stinky's Mustang, still parked in the 15-minute loading zone, doors open and keys in it, just like he left it the evening before. Stinky had been distracted by our post-game beer the previous evening and just completely forgot that he left his car out front. We've since decided that the 15-minute parking is intended for other guests and have taken over the spot as our own. Sing-along with Cal (1997)One evening we had become bored with spending our time in the hotel lounge and decided to go down the road to the Li'l Viking, which was your typical, small-town style bar with its group of regulars. Cal was the local entertainer who was playing a piano and leading the crowd in a sing-along. This must have been a regular occurrence, because Cal had distributed songsheets to everyone. We thought the idea was pretty lame, but figured what the heck, let's give it a shot. We didn't like many of the songs, but did take a liking to "Chantilly Lace" (Chantilly Lace had a pretty face and a pony tail hangin' down; with a wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk...). Anyway, the four drunk Fat Bastards have very little singing talent (couldn't carry a tune in a bucket), but what we lacked in talent we made up for in enthusiasm. Any time Cal played too many consecutive songs that we didn't particularly like, we'd just break into another rendition of "Chantilly Lace", but with volume, eventually drawing the crowd into joining us. The other song we took a liking to was "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". Now, four drunken, no-talent guys can perform a passable version of "Chantilly Lace", but it takes some talent to pull off "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", and you can't fake it by increasing the volume. Not ones to let complete lack of talent interfere with having a good time (just witness our average round of golf), we led may spirited renditions of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", although I'm sure most people joined in just to drown out the Fat Bastards. I never knew singing could be so much fun. The Color of Money (1997)This story ties into the Sing-along with Cal evening. After the sing-along, we decided to continue our entertainment by playing pool. The bartender from the hotel, Brad, and the waitress from the hotel, Sonia, were at the Li'l Viking too and Brad decided to play pool with us. Somehow, Stinky Fat Bastard "owned" the table, even though he was stumbling, bumbling drunk and he was now challenged to a game by Brad. Somehow, Stinky managed to beat Brad, which was funny in its own right, but it was even funnier due to the way that he beat Brad; throughout the match, Stinky would haphazardly line up his shots and then somehow make them. This would be followed by an attempted pool-cue twirl, a la "Color of Money", resulting in Stinky's cue clanging across the floor, further irritating Brad. The odd time that Brad had a shot lined up, Stinky would "hex" the shot by using the Bart Simpson "touch of death" ("bwaaaaaaa......" accompanied by the special hand sign), causing Brad to miss and become even more frustrated. This was quite amusing to the rest of us, and became even more amusing watching Brad get madder and madder. Partway into the second game, after Stinky had made yet another shot that he shouldn't have, Brad turns to me and says "I can't believe he's making those.... he can barely see." I just laughed and said "you know the worst part? he's going to beat you again" (and he did). Ax-ident (mid '90s)After an evening of consuming several beverages, we somehow thought it would be funny to take an axe belonging to one of the attendees and lean it up against the firebox to see how long it would take before it would burn. Les, the owner of the axe, returned to the campsite and we explained how we were going to burn his axe. Well, Les laughed it off as we watched steam and / or smoke flow from the axe handle leaning against the fire. After quite some time, Les realized that his axe actually was leaning against the fire, whereupon he exclaimed "hey! that's my axe" and ran over to the fire and grabbed the axe. Now, if you've been paying attention, you'll remember that the axe handle had been throwing off steam and / or smoke and was probably fairly hot by now. Anyway, Les grabbed the axe, proceeded to scream and throw it into the air, causing the rest of us to laugh hysterically. Well, Les waited for the axe to cool and then proceeded to hide it before leaving to go visit other friends of his. Not content with letting Les' efforts thwart us, we found his hidden axe and then leaned it back up against the fire. After some time, the axe handle actually did start on fire as expected. We were quite happy with our experiment when someone made the comment "you know, Les left his camera in the cabin." Well, it didn't take long for us to see the possibilities so we found his camera and proceeded to take several "crime scene" photos of the burning axe. Eventually, Les returned and proceeded to look for his axe. Not being able to find it, he asked where it was. We told him "we burned it." Les assumed we were joking and that we had hidden it on him so he kept on searching for it. After searching for awhile, Les peeked into the firebox, saw the axe head in the bottom of the fire and exclaimed "hey! you guys burned my axe!" Now, this was extremely funny to us at this time. Les failed to see the humour in the situation, especially as we told him it was an "ax-ident" and you'd have to be a real "ax-hole" to burn somebody's axe. This made Les even more mad, which just added to out collective amusement. Captain Kirk (mid '90s)As was usual with our earlier annual events, we were sitting around the campfire in the evening having a few beverages. One of the regulars had brought his nephew, Kirk, who was slumped over in his lawn chair in a stupor, breathing heavy like Darth Vader (we still don't know what that was about). At some point, Kirk decided that he had best get some rest, so he got up to go back to our rented cabin. Well, Kirk lost his balance and reached out to steady himself on the closest stationary object, which, unfortunately, happened to be the metal firebox holding our campfire. Kirk didn't seem to be fazed by either the sound or smell or seared flesh and proceeded to go to bed. The next morning when we went to wake Kirk up, we found him lying face down with his head cradled in the crook of his arm in a large puddle of his own vomit. Kirk managed to freshen up and wrap a rudimentary bandage around the massive blister on the palm of his hand, and then proceeded to shoot a 82 for the day. Truly unbelievable. Five Seconds of Draft (mid '90s)At one of the earlier events, Fascist Fat Bastard and Lucky Fat Bastard brought along a mini-keg of beer instead of the usual cans or bottles. After a few hours of drinking, Fascist decided to try a new game, which he called "five seconds of draft". The game was pretty simple, just lay on your back, put the nozzle from the beer keg in your mouth and see if you can drink draft for five seconds. Well, what Fascist didn't know was that as he was getting ready for the first attempt at the game, Al had snuck up behind him and was pumping the keg up to about 900 psi. Fascist was on his back, nozzle in mouth, and gave the signal to start. Now imagine if you will, what it would look like if you had a garden hose in your mouth with the pressure on full-blast. That's pretty much what happened to Fascist, with beer shooting out of his nose and the corners of his mouth, too the amusement of all watching. After sputtering to his feet and cleaning himself off, Fascist remarked, "let's make it two seconds of draft next time." Doogie Howser (fall of 1989)This was the first and only time that we also played in the fall event. It also marked the first year of participation of Lucky Fat Bastard. After consuming several beverages, three of us were having quite an intelligent discussion about how to solve the health-care problems of our wonderful country. We had been discussing this for quite some time, with one of our party sitting on the sidelines quietly. After a couple of hours of lively discussion, our "silent partner" added his only contribution to the discussion, which was "I saw Doogie Howser save a dog once." Water Buffalo (1989)This was the first year that one of the eventual Fat Bastards participated in what is now the eXtreme Golfapalooza. At this event we passed the time by playing "Water Buffalo", which is a drinking game that we bastardized (no pun intended) as follows: everyone must drink their beverage of choice with their left hand; if you see someone drinking with their right hand, you call "Water Buffalo" and they're supposed to down the remainder of their drink. If you falsely call "Water Buffalo" then you drink. This in itself can be quite entertaining, but we added a few new rules of our own. We had at our disposal two, five-gallon pails of extra-strength Long Island Iced Tea. Our new rule was that if you got called on "Water Buffalo" you had to down a glass of Long Island Iced Tea and refill the glass for the next "winner". If you spilled any of the iced tea or your own drink, you downed another glass of iced tea. If you walked away from the pail of iced tea without refilling the glass, you drank a glass of iced tea. In hindsight, this was a little excessive, but it made for much amusement. Fascist Fat Bastard went to bed early and woke up to an empty tent, which was supposed to hold six people, looked around and wondered "where did everybody go?" Then he remarked "hey! somebody puked on the floor! ... and they puked on my sleeping bag! ... and they puked on me!" Well, it didn't take much longer to figure out what really happened, much to his embarrassment. |
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