Wonderful news out of Georgia.
The storied Augusta National Golf Club has finally deigned to offer memberships to two golfers with vaginas: Darla somebody-or-other and Condoleeza Rice. I guess Hillary Clinton and Roseanne Barr were too busy. Or too Democratic.
I can hear the grumbling on the 19th hole already.
The club is renowned for being snooty and having questionable fashion taste. Kermit would fit right in; Tim Gunn, not so much.
Not sure about their policy on gays, though they might have invited Anderson Cooper, him being with CNN and all. Probably didn't hear about his fight the other day with his boyfriend.
Remember all the brow-knitting at Augusta when Tiger Woods first poked his nose into the club? Had to let him in, right? The greatest golfer in the world, who just happens to golf while black.
With Condie, they get a two-fer. She should get a golf gap with that emblazoned on it!
I mean if they're going to let ladies play with their balls, they might as well get the whole race thing over with once and for all.
Come on, homies and homegirls. It's a step in the right direction.
Maybe they've already let Jews in. Maybe even Asians. Probably not Muslims. That would go against the dress code.
I myself have a love-hate relationship with golf. My first husband taught me to play when I was 23 and I loved it. Mr. Small was a former golf pro, a great teacher. Mostly, I played with the guys.
Back then, girls didn't play golf. They were too busy filling in for the fellers back at the office.
When I married my second husband, Mr. Big, I thought it would be great for us to play golf together. So Big took out a membership at the Ottawa Hunt and Golf Club, bought himself a grand worth of new clothes, spent another grand on golf lessons while I was still wearing Mr. Small's old golf shoes, playing with ten-year-old men's golf clubs and wearing togs I bought at Walmart.
It was at the Hunt that I learned to hate golf. Well, not golf, but golfers.
There were two lounges, one for the dudes to fart and smoke in, and another where they brought their wives. Alana Kainz, the former Mrs. Michael Potter, when she was married to Brian Smith, challenged the segregation, but she got shot down.
Uppity females, the dudes grumbled. She got nowhere, but still managed to raise the blood pressure of a few pre-cancerous veterans. Good for her.
I was a way better golfer than Big, but I never got to play. He was too busy having "environmental meetings" with mandarins and ball-licking lobbyist assholes. I was mad, alrighty. It was the beginning of the end for me and golf.
The last straw was when Big and I brought a female friend from out-of-town to play and we were told Thursdays were "men only". I was so humiliated, I started to cry.
So Janet and I went off to play with the po' folk on a public course, one that didn't charge $20,000 for initiation, $3,000 a year, plus $50 a round per person.
One that encouraged women to play golf.
I did have one last reunion with the Hunt before Big and I split up and he got the membership -- and his stupid boat -- in the settlement.
He came home from golf one day and admitted he was putting his putter to the White Witch of Bermuda. After throwing a drink in his lying, cheating face, I wanted to talk about it. He didn't.
So I tricked him.
I took him out golfing at the Hunt Club. Four hours alone on a golf course with no distractions.
I yelled and I screamed at him.
He had nowhere to run or hide. He was fenced in with a woman armed with a nine-iron.
He couldn't even ring the stupid bell for assistance. I could have murdered him and no one would have known. God, knows I want to. (It was at that very moment I became in favor of gun control.)
Best thing of all?
I shot my best game of golf that day! Hit the ball, continuously 250 yards. I am not making this up.
Afterward, I thought I could start a pretty good business making golf balls with pictures of bosses, exes, Conservatives, mule-faced mistresses and other assholes.
Maybe there something to this. Does anyone have the coordinates for Shark Tank?
The storied Augusta National Golf Club has finally deigned to offer memberships to two golfers with vaginas: Darla somebody-or-other and Condoleeza Rice. I guess Hillary Clinton and Roseanne Barr were too busy. Or too Democratic.
I can hear the grumbling on the 19th hole already.
The club is renowned for being snooty and having questionable fashion taste. Kermit would fit right in; Tim Gunn, not so much.
Not sure about their policy on gays, though they might have invited Anderson Cooper, him being with CNN and all. Probably didn't hear about his fight the other day with his boyfriend.
Remember all the brow-knitting at Augusta when Tiger Woods first poked his nose into the club? Had to let him in, right? The greatest golfer in the world, who just happens to golf while black.
With Condie, they get a two-fer. She should get a golf gap with that emblazoned on it!
I mean if they're going to let ladies play with their balls, they might as well get the whole race thing over with once and for all.
Come on, homies and homegirls. It's a step in the right direction.
Maybe they've already let Jews in. Maybe even Asians. Probably not Muslims. That would go against the dress code.
I myself have a love-hate relationship with golf. My first husband taught me to play when I was 23 and I loved it. Mr. Small was a former golf pro, a great teacher. Mostly, I played with the guys.
Back then, girls didn't play golf. They were too busy filling in for the fellers back at the office.
When I married my second husband, Mr. Big, I thought it would be great for us to play golf together. So Big took out a membership at the Ottawa Hunt and Golf Club, bought himself a grand worth of new clothes, spent another grand on golf lessons while I was still wearing Mr. Small's old golf shoes, playing with ten-year-old men's golf clubs and wearing togs I bought at Walmart.
It was at the Hunt that I learned to hate golf. Well, not golf, but golfers.
There were two lounges, one for the dudes to fart and smoke in, and another where they brought their wives. Alana Kainz, the former Mrs. Michael Potter, when she was married to Brian Smith, challenged the segregation, but she got shot down.
Uppity females, the dudes grumbled. She got nowhere, but still managed to raise the blood pressure of a few pre-cancerous veterans. Good for her.
I was a way better golfer than Big, but I never got to play. He was too busy having "environmental meetings" with mandarins and ball-licking lobbyist assholes. I was mad, alrighty. It was the beginning of the end for me and golf.
The last straw was when Big and I brought a female friend from out-of-town to play and we were told Thursdays were "men only". I was so humiliated, I started to cry.
So Janet and I went off to play with the po' folk on a public course, one that didn't charge $20,000 for initiation, $3,000 a year, plus $50 a round per person.
One that encouraged women to play golf.
I did have one last reunion with the Hunt before Big and I split up and he got the membership -- and his stupid boat -- in the settlement.
He came home from golf one day and admitted he was putting his putter to the White Witch of Bermuda. After throwing a drink in his lying, cheating face, I wanted to talk about it. He didn't.
So I tricked him.
I took him out golfing at the Hunt Club. Four hours alone on a golf course with no distractions.
I yelled and I screamed at him.
He had nowhere to run or hide. He was fenced in with a woman armed with a nine-iron.
He couldn't even ring the stupid bell for assistance. I could have murdered him and no one would have known. God, knows I want to. (It was at that very moment I became in favor of gun control.)
Best thing of all?
I shot my best game of golf that day! Hit the ball, continuously 250 yards. I am not making this up.
Afterward, I thought I could start a pretty good business making golf balls with pictures of bosses, exes, Conservatives, mule-faced mistresses and other assholes.
Maybe there something to this. Does anyone have the coordinates for Shark Tank?
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