Ricky "The Cougar" Crenshaw comin' straight at you from the Outback Pro-Am in Lutz, Florida and boy is my fuckin' barn burnin' straight to the ground! My dear Meridianites, you all know that I despise two things: cold gazpacho and traveling without a purpose. I'm in Lutz, Florida. LUTZ! LUTZ for cryin' out loud. Hell, the only good thing about this place is that my son Ricky Jr. giggles because the name has an unfortunate rhyme with the word boots. (God, Ricky Jr. loves boots.) Nothing, but Lutz and boots, Lutz and boots. God, kids and their imaginations. But, no. I didn't come to illustrious Lutz, Florida because it's the "Homemade Casket Center of the World." Hell, I didn't even come here to watch and report on the Outback Pro-Am. Ricky Jr. even had to admit that he doesn't give two starving Somalian f***s about this golf tournament.
"The Cougar" and Ricky, Jr. came to Lutz, Florida for one reason: to see Tiger Woods. Low and behold, guess who's not showin' up? Guess who's too busy fucking they're supermodel girlfriend? Guess who's too busy lounging on their private beach in Hawaii? Guess who's too busy being a proud father? Not Ricky "The Cougar" Crenshaw. That's for fucking sure. I don't travel the globe attending varied sports events by choice - I blame that on the sleep fugue - and I don't do it secretly hoping I'll end up in a real life version of LOST - where I can be the black guy from the first few seasons who has that kid who hates him and the kid wishes that his father would die and where the dad goes around trying to be hero and where the dad tries to prove to his son that he loves him and that the dad could tell his son that he was never supposed to know about the adoption and then maybe one day the son would love his dad because the son knows that deep down inside that his father loves him but the son will hide it because he's growing up to be an angsty teen but will continue to promote an attitude of hate towards his father even when he hears his father crying alone in a man-made island pavilion.
Yeah. That could be me.
Except, I'm not black.
Fuckin' A. Tiger never showed up. This was waste of time. Well, atleast I was able to buy Ricky Jr. a decent pair of boots for the rain. Or maybe if the plane crashes on our way home, one day Ricky Jr. can use the boots to wade through a pool of my tears and still manage too keep his feet dry. Lutz and boots. It kills me everytime.
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