Tiger Hit The Ball So High. Kaninabechaocheebye.

So I started learning golf. P thinks golf is for ah kuas. Say I fucking faggot. Somemore suan me say better remember to bring my wet wipes. Fuck you understand?

Thank God for wind. All kinds.

Anyway, last weekend I go to the golf course for the first time with A. He said bring my golf teacher along so that he can teach me how to play in the course. So anyway I thought the course was like those US PGA Tour one. Like the grass is damn green, the ponds are calm, the wind blowing in your hair, lots of girls in bikinis and visors to cheer you on.

Of course when we arrived, the place looked more like last time go live firing exercise like that. The grass is really like sai like that la. And then along the sides of the fairway there's like JUNGLE. I kid you not. The water is very literally a swamp (there was a guy wading around inside looking for lost golf balls to sell). And the best thing is, there is a TRAINING SHED where you can rest. AND beside the training shed, there is an auntie selling drinks, Ritz biscuits and, get this... OREOS. I found myself instinctively hoping that my instructor would declare a five minute canteen break so that I could go get myself a Coke before starting to dig my shell-scrape. The ang mohs there are all fat and ugly. And to top it all off, the caddies were all MEN.

"Contacted!" - I flush out an ugly ang moh from the jungle.

Anyway, the game was a joke. That same morning I went to the driving range first to brush up on my swing and my instructor brings me to the putting green for the very first time saying that I should try a few shots since I'm going to the course later after all and have never used a putter in my life. Oh ya hor.

At the 'course', each time I hit the ball badly, my instructor produces another ball from his pocket and tells me to take the shot again. And then when I finally get to the green, it's like playing yoyo with the hole. Can hit like ten times and the ball just goes back and forth around the hole. Until the last time when the ball is like reasonably close to the hole and my caddy bends down and tips it in so that we can FINALLY. MOVE. THE. FUCK. ON.

"Be wewy wewy quiet. I'm hunting wabbits."

Anyway, I think I give myself A for effort, A+ for style. For me, style is cannot compromise one:

I am Tiger. Hear me roar.