I Want To Party Balls With This Old Guy So Bad

I'm not exaggerating when I say that I love this old guy so fucking much I don't even know where to put my feelings. They're overflowing right now. It just resonates so much with me. I went 91, 89 this weekend on about 37 beers and a bad wrist. There were at least a dozen times through the rounds where I wanted to jump off a bridge much less into a fresh body of water to meet some babes and cold ones on a pontoon. 

That has to be the most satisfying feeling too. You got to the course early, stretched on the range, tried to actively remind yourself what a good swing feels like. You consider your personal par "90" for any course and hope this is the day you can manage bogey golf for all 18. This is the day it finally comes together and you're here for it. 

2.5 hours later you make the turn at 49. Couple 7's sneak up on you and next thing you know you're smoking a bowl, gassing an all beef vienna hot dog and asking the halfway house if they can keep tab opens. They do and you're about to get extremely fucked up. You've mentally checked out for the morning and now it's time to get loose with the boys. Come hole 15 you are an absolute pile of shit, but it's a good pile of shit. One you can typically only find on municipal golf courses on a Saturday before noon. 

Now just imagine on the 16th tee box you see a couple of big floppy tits offering you canned domestics and blaring mid 2000's country music. All you gotta do is ditch the 4some and cannonball into the lake. I mean I know we're all gentlemen around here dripping with restraint but that sounds like a pretty good fucking time. Sorry for being That Guy but I'm just being honest. I want to party balls with that dude and that's a-okay.