Recently I used the terms "knows to a tee" and "paper tiger"...any other really bad golf terms you can think of to make our writing more interesting.

Pardner, I can get meaner than a junkyard dog if'n I don't hole out after my first cup o' coffee.  I salute you and your efforts to bring all this to my attention. As well as the value of a good shot.

I have no idea about Mr. Ward's morning habits.

Maybe I misunderstood the thread.

Well, Jules and I were playing the Queens' Course - oh, it's so madly gay.  We just pooped off to the first tee - I do like a swift poop after breakfast - and I asked him, in all innocence, what ball he was playing with.  I couldn't repeat his answer, but it made me come over all doolally.  So I took my cover off my driver - yes, really, in full view of the public - and bent down to insert a tee peg.  Now it was Jules's turn to get excited.  When I swing I keep my little bottie quite still with a lovely straight back - it's easier that way.  Unfortunately it tends to make me a bit of a hooker and on this occasion my swish was a bit too vigorous - it was the excitement, you know.  I let out a little yelp as the club struck my ball and it flew off into the distance.  Anyway, we found it, put it in ice and that nice surgeon at the infirmary sewed it back on.  We've given up golf now and stick to billiards - pocket billiards.

I'm howling here!  

Was that a passage from Dev Emmett's autobio?

Was that a passage from Dev Emmett's autobio?

I just figured something out.

I don't want to know enough about GCA to get the humor in that!  

PS, to FBD: "How to write about golf really bad" has the considerable advantage of being ... funny. Eh?

FBD - Politically incorrect?  I was asked to sing some Stephen Foster songs at a concert at an American's house on 4th July.  It was quite hard to find a group of songs that were politically correct without bowdlerising them.  

   Motoring down the entry to Hubbard my suspicion was confirmed, the driving range was close to a half tank of petrol. The club board was bare and it was a stark dormy night. Arrangements for my golf bag carrier were bolluxed,
my tee caddy was a scruffy old one that looked like it had knitted by Martha Stewart on her worst day.
   I stood at the beginning of my round and wondered if the forward tease would intrigue me, or be a Scarlett O'Hara.
My first swing produced a duck, which luckily went to a forward lateral hazard and the kindly official suggested a replay would be allow sooner or later.
   On the way I was in Tiger country and escaped. The I faced an approach which heaved like a copilot. The green area had undergone a transformation, which I later learned was done by the architects Ed Norton and Paul Revere.
Their complex was outstanding. Two sentinel bunkers-Edith and Archie -guarded the front and a gloriaus ridge bisected the green at a diagonal. Only good execution kept you from looking like a meatball.
   The rough was ready for me, much like a highly competitive school system. It was high. I never figured out which is primary or secondary as I was usually in the first cut.