Thursday, November 12, 2020

7000 words on Trumpism

Found in the tiny trunk of my 2015 Audi S5 (I bought it used, so spare me any that coastal elitist nonsense). The tag had been attached to my embarrassing $59 nylon golf bag which has long been retired. 

I suck at golf. Always have. And have never improved at it. If I'm lucky I can shoot near 100. On an easy course. With no wind. And ample use of my ankle iron and my self-forgiving putter.

"Ahhhh, that's a gimme."

Plus, there's really no activity I like to do for 5 hours in a row.

Years ago, I was dragged out by my old boss, legend and hardest working man in advertising, Jerry Gentile, to the links. 

Jerry secured a tee time for us and our clients from Energizer, of Energizer Bunny fame, at the world's shittiest golf course in Palos Verdes. The muni course, just 5 miles down the road and offering the same spectacular ocean views is so much better. 

And it is decidedly more de classe and features none of the concocted fancified affectations of Trump's gold plated land fill, with its troughs and moats and faux castles and shit.

In any case, the pros at the Trump starter shop, who seemed to have an itchy palm out for EVERYTHING, attached this to my bag. Somehow it jarred itself loose years ago and found a home in the trunk of my car, nestled under some rags and a can of FIX A FLAT.

Yesterday, I happily escorted it out of my vehicle. 

And now, through the magic of photography, I will give this post the happy ending it deserves.

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