Monday, September 01, 2008
Brobdignagian Butchery Bags Big Booty For Brophey
Strawbs' Second Annual
Golf Tournament Report
August 28, 2008
To say that it has been a banner year for Dr. Butcher Brophey, teacher, humanitarian, boulevardier and hockey surgeon, would be a criminal understatement. In the last 12 months alone, this penalty box aficionado has been awarded a PhD in Hackery from Abattoir Academy of Carvemup, UK, become the first professor in the history to hold a chair in Zamboni Repair and Maintenance anywhere in the world (his doctoral dissertation was entitled “Using Zamboni Technology For Maiming An Opponent And Getting Away With It”), undergoing his first prostate exam and winning the coveted Grand Richard Trophy at the Killer Strawberries’ Second Annual Golf Tournament held at Osprey Links on August 28, 2008.
As usual, the tourney got off to a fantastic start, with lame excuses for non-attendance more numerous than the piles removed from Magboy’s ass in the 2007 off-season. Snowtop O’Farrell was the first to bow out, claiming a damaged ego and lack of balls made it impossible for him to realistically compete for the crown. Doubt was cast upon the second of the two excuses when his main squeeze, Lori Luscious reported to the Executive in a secret post-tournament e-mail that Snowtop had more balls than necessary to complete a round, she having kissed them for good luck only moments before his scheduled tee-off. When Lori Luscious was asked why she didn’t show up to defend her 2007 Grande Richarde trophy, she could only make a murky allusion to a recurring jaw injury which has kept her on her back for most of the year. Get well soon Luscious.
Excuses proffered by other non-attendees were spectacularly unbelievable. Freight Train Laronde claimed his dog ate his nearly completed doctoral dissertation. Dr. Thug said he could not play because he was having trouble completing his son’s first Physics assignment of the year. Whoahorney bold-facedly lied, saying he couldn’t find enough A535 to get him through the front nine. The Executive has since warned this lying liar to quit smoking the stuff.
Things did not pan out any better on the links. Shiny Sean telephoned the course starter minutes to tee-off to inform the Scoring Committee that he had actually played his round on the previous Monday, had shot a blistering 60, thus becoming the leader in the club house before the Vice even had a chance to drain his third Scotch flask of the day. Upon review, it was discovered by the team’s intrepid private detective, One-Eyed Larry The Fog, that Shiny had been at Canada’s Wonderland on the Monday in question and was attempting to pass off his miserable 9 hole mini-putt score as legitimate. Executive justice is expected to be pronounced soon.
The horror show continued from the get-go. Moses McLean, playing gingerly from his wheelchair-golf cart-mobile barcar, scared the bejesus out of his imprsessionable and underage girlfriend, the Siren of Brockville, by having mild cardiac infarctions and bad gas during his warm up swings. Why the Siren was carrying an updated copy of Moses’ will in her golf bag is anybody’s guess.
Warrin’ Peace showed up with his clubs shined, butt shaved and his lips sealed. He was so wound up and nervous that you couldn’t have shoved a needle up his butt with a jackhammer. Jesse The Leak, sporting silk knee high stockings and a brand new set of clubs allegedly received from his invisible girfriend as a birthday gift, displayed holes in his game bigger than the openings he regularly leaves eager opponents during hockey matches. Sir Gumby, as usual, was late, and finally caught up with his foursome by hole 14, four under par, driving both the beer cart and the beer girl simultaneously. He was not sure which score to hand in at tournament’s end.
MagBoy set a course record of his own, finishing his round in under 7 minutes. He mistakenly thought it was a mountain biking competition and was kicked off the property for laying skid marks on 17 of the 18 greens. His future status with the team was unknown at the time this report was filed with headquarters at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu. A psychiatric assessment has been ordered. Observers are not optimistic.
Loans Jones and her poor choice of a paramour, the once virile Pyjama Man, a Hugh Hefner protégée, showed up in a golf cart equipped with a large back seat and a gin dispenser. Apparently, golf was the last thing on their minds.
The lead foursome was spectacular, setting team records at will. Over 18 holes, the Vice polished off 2 sixty ounces glasses of Laphroig Scotch without any assistance from his playing mates. It did not affect his game at all, as he managed to break 150with ease. Archilles Perron was brutal. Thank Gawd there were no children present to witness his exhibition of pure ineptitude, bad sportsmanship and salty vocabulary. He could have scored better using a broom and a rotten orange. The Ice Marshal, defending Grand Richard champion of 2007, poet and majority stockholder in Victoria’s Secret Inc., was resplendent in his tartan kilt and matching Jimmy Buffet concert shirt. He played well, but not as well as the eventual winner, the aforementioned graduate of the world renowned Abattoir Academy.
Unfortunately, the tournament had to be suspended, with players still left on the 14th, 15 and 16th holes. A tropical storm unexpectedly descended upon the links. Play had to be stopped because of the torrential downpour, poor visibility conditions and lack of beer cart service. The Executive hastily convened a meeting, pondered the options and decided that, since beer service could not be guaranteed for the remaining holes, a brilliant yet unorthodox method would be used to determine the winners of all tournament awards and trophies: horsesh** luck.
At the Terminal Tavern, site of the closing ceremonies, the Vice ordered pen and paper and a clean hat, wrote the names of all players on slips of #4 Vellum paper (note:his own name appeared twice in the audited scraps) and placed the slips into the hat. Jesse The Leak somehow won both door prizes, courtesy of the excellent lottery ticket drawing powers of the nattering, chattering, recently engaged MagGirl. The prizes: 2 rare bottles of Cow Urine Chardonnay complete with floating marzipan golf balls, prizes surely to be displayed proudly on The Leak’s empty mantle. Madame La Chaise Lounge, who loves Chardonnay and marzipan more than her coddled CrackBerry, traded away her electonic dictator for one of the bottles and free goaltending lessons from the Leak: a lose/lose/lose situation for the hapless goaltender, Madame and the Chardonnay.
She Who Must Be Obeyed, former Miss Universe and the Ice Marshal's first wife, drew for the winner of La Grande Richarde. Miss White Go Go Boots upon learning that it was not she but Loan Jones who was being declared the winner, stomped off in a huff, leaving the team’s most handsome man to scurry after her with the beautiful baby squirrel wrap she left stranded on her bar stool. After smoking a couple of cigarettes and slashing the tires on Loans Jones’ 1959 Chrysler Imperial with the big back seat, Miss White Go Go Boots returned, and, in a gesture of goodwill by the Executive, was asked to select the winner of the 2008 golf tourney. With great aplomb, she pulled Le Grand Richard winner, the excited Butcher Brophey, who, upon the pull, ejaculated ecstatically “I’ve waited so long for this moment. The competition was stiff but I was stiffer. Thank you Gawd. Thank you, Strawbs’Executive. Thank you, Mrs. Sultry, my grade 2 art teacher…blah, blah,blah,blah.” At the time of the festivities break up, the grateful Butcher was still counting his blessings and thanking all the little people who made his victory possible.
17 Kilkenny, 41 apple martinis, 33 Guinness, 11Bud Light, 12 Stella, 23 Shirley Temples, 49 chicken wings (mild and Fat Boy), 4 Caesar salads, 12 baskets of fries and 1 rare bottle of Cow Urine Chardonnay were consumed.
Golf Tournament Report
August 28, 2008
To say that it has been a banner year for Dr. Butcher Brophey, teacher, humanitarian, boulevardier and hockey surgeon, would be a criminal understatement. In the last 12 months alone, this penalty box aficionado has been awarded a PhD in Hackery from Abattoir Academy of Carvemup, UK, become the first professor in the history to hold a chair in Zamboni Repair and Maintenance anywhere in the world (his doctoral dissertation was entitled “Using Zamboni Technology For Maiming An Opponent And Getting Away With It”), undergoing his first prostate exam and winning the coveted Grand Richard Trophy at the Killer Strawberries’ Second Annual Golf Tournament held at Osprey Links on August 28, 2008.
As usual, the tourney got off to a fantastic start, with lame excuses for non-attendance more numerous than the piles removed from Magboy’s ass in the 2007 off-season. Snowtop O’Farrell was the first to bow out, claiming a damaged ego and lack of balls made it impossible for him to realistically compete for the crown. Doubt was cast upon the second of the two excuses when his main squeeze, Lori Luscious reported to the Executive in a secret post-tournament e-mail that Snowtop had more balls than necessary to complete a round, she having kissed them for good luck only moments before his scheduled tee-off. When Lori Luscious was asked why she didn’t show up to defend her 2007 Grande Richarde trophy, she could only make a murky allusion to a recurring jaw injury which has kept her on her back for most of the year. Get well soon Luscious.
Excuses proffered by other non-attendees were spectacularly unbelievable. Freight Train Laronde claimed his dog ate his nearly completed doctoral dissertation. Dr. Thug said he could not play because he was having trouble completing his son’s first Physics assignment of the year. Whoahorney bold-facedly lied, saying he couldn’t find enough A535 to get him through the front nine. The Executive has since warned this lying liar to quit smoking the stuff.
Things did not pan out any better on the links. Shiny Sean telephoned the course starter minutes to tee-off to inform the Scoring Committee that he had actually played his round on the previous Monday, had shot a blistering 60, thus becoming the leader in the club house before the Vice even had a chance to drain his third Scotch flask of the day. Upon review, it was discovered by the team’s intrepid private detective, One-Eyed Larry The Fog, that Shiny had been at Canada’s Wonderland on the Monday in question and was attempting to pass off his miserable 9 hole mini-putt score as legitimate. Executive justice is expected to be pronounced soon.
The horror show continued from the get-go. Moses McLean, playing gingerly from his wheelchair-golf cart-mobile barcar, scared the bejesus out of his imprsessionable and underage girlfriend, the Siren of Brockville, by having mild cardiac infarctions and bad gas during his warm up swings. Why the Siren was carrying an updated copy of Moses’ will in her golf bag is anybody’s guess.
Warrin’ Peace showed up with his clubs shined, butt shaved and his lips sealed. He was so wound up and nervous that you couldn’t have shoved a needle up his butt with a jackhammer. Jesse The Leak, sporting silk knee high stockings and a brand new set of clubs allegedly received from his invisible girfriend as a birthday gift, displayed holes in his game bigger than the openings he regularly leaves eager opponents during hockey matches. Sir Gumby, as usual, was late, and finally caught up with his foursome by hole 14, four under par, driving both the beer cart and the beer girl simultaneously. He was not sure which score to hand in at tournament’s end.
MagBoy set a course record of his own, finishing his round in under 7 minutes. He mistakenly thought it was a mountain biking competition and was kicked off the property for laying skid marks on 17 of the 18 greens. His future status with the team was unknown at the time this report was filed with headquarters at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu. A psychiatric assessment has been ordered. Observers are not optimistic.
Loans Jones and her poor choice of a paramour, the once virile Pyjama Man, a Hugh Hefner protégée, showed up in a golf cart equipped with a large back seat and a gin dispenser. Apparently, golf was the last thing on their minds.
The lead foursome was spectacular, setting team records at will. Over 18 holes, the Vice polished off 2 sixty ounces glasses of Laphroig Scotch without any assistance from his playing mates. It did not affect his game at all, as he managed to break 150with ease. Archilles Perron was brutal. Thank Gawd there were no children present to witness his exhibition of pure ineptitude, bad sportsmanship and salty vocabulary. He could have scored better using a broom and a rotten orange. The Ice Marshal, defending Grand Richard champion of 2007, poet and majority stockholder in Victoria’s Secret Inc., was resplendent in his tartan kilt and matching Jimmy Buffet concert shirt. He played well, but not as well as the eventual winner, the aforementioned graduate of the world renowned Abattoir Academy.
Unfortunately, the tournament had to be suspended, with players still left on the 14th, 15 and 16th holes. A tropical storm unexpectedly descended upon the links. Play had to be stopped because of the torrential downpour, poor visibility conditions and lack of beer cart service. The Executive hastily convened a meeting, pondered the options and decided that, since beer service could not be guaranteed for the remaining holes, a brilliant yet unorthodox method would be used to determine the winners of all tournament awards and trophies: horsesh** luck.
At the Terminal Tavern, site of the closing ceremonies, the Vice ordered pen and paper and a clean hat, wrote the names of all players on slips of #4 Vellum paper (note:his own name appeared twice in the audited scraps) and placed the slips into the hat. Jesse The Leak somehow won both door prizes, courtesy of the excellent lottery ticket drawing powers of the nattering, chattering, recently engaged MagGirl. The prizes: 2 rare bottles of Cow Urine Chardonnay complete with floating marzipan golf balls, prizes surely to be displayed proudly on The Leak’s empty mantle. Madame La Chaise Lounge, who loves Chardonnay and marzipan more than her coddled CrackBerry, traded away her electonic dictator for one of the bottles and free goaltending lessons from the Leak: a lose/lose/lose situation for the hapless goaltender, Madame and the Chardonnay.
She Who Must Be Obeyed, former Miss Universe and the Ice Marshal's first wife, drew for the winner of La Grande Richarde. Miss White Go Go Boots upon learning that it was not she but Loan Jones who was being declared the winner, stomped off in a huff, leaving the team’s most handsome man to scurry after her with the beautiful baby squirrel wrap she left stranded on her bar stool. After smoking a couple of cigarettes and slashing the tires on Loans Jones’ 1959 Chrysler Imperial with the big back seat, Miss White Go Go Boots returned, and, in a gesture of goodwill by the Executive, was asked to select the winner of the 2008 golf tourney. With great aplomb, she pulled Le Grand Richard winner, the excited Butcher Brophey, who, upon the pull, ejaculated ecstatically “I’ve waited so long for this moment. The competition was stiff but I was stiffer. Thank you Gawd. Thank you, Strawbs’Executive. Thank you, Mrs. Sultry, my grade 2 art teacher…blah, blah,blah,blah.” At the time of the festivities break up, the grateful Butcher was still counting his blessings and thanking all the little people who made his victory possible.
17 Kilkenny, 41 apple martinis, 33 Guinness, 11Bud Light, 12 Stella, 23 Shirley Temples, 49 chicken wings (mild and Fat Boy), 4 Caesar salads, 12 baskets of fries and 1 rare bottle of Cow Urine Chardonnay were consumed.
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