Sac Arrow
Touchdown! Greaser!
- Joined
- May 11, 2010
- Messages
- 21,566
- Location
- Charlotte, NC
- Display Name
- Snorting his way across the USA
It's the same guys every day. They sit at the bar in the clubhouse at 2:00 p.m. drinking martinis and ribbing each other over the morning game. Bill is pushing 60, slightly obese, maybe 30 lbs overweight, and Bill tries to maintain a full head of hair despite his receding hairline and developing male pattern baldness. He likes to dress in slacks and polo shirts. Bill is a little bit of a politics junkie too. He'll accept any political view, as long as it isn't from a Dem or an independent. Bill looks out the window at the black man carrying a bag of clubs across the green. "I'm proud this club is able to give them a way to be productive." "Here here!" They say as they all raise their glasses in a toast.
The other guys are, well, just like Bill. That's probably why they hang out together. Earlier they were busy arguing what bicycle is best. Pinarello, or Colnago? The consensus appears to be Colnago is the way to go, as long at is equipped with Campagnolo running gear. The truth of the matter is if these guys even have a bicycle in their garages, it's a 60 year old Schwinn that doesn't get ridden. I shake my head.
Oh, but now the hot topic is the article in Golf Digest. The group is having a heated discussion on the relative merits of Cialis vs. Viagra. Two of them are die hard Cialis users, and the other three have unflinching loyalty to Viagra. The last time the subject came up, all five claimed to have no need for ED pills whatsoever. It's the same argument as the bike argument.
As much abhorrent disdain as I have for Bill, I will give him some credit for being intelligent. He does have some money, he does drive a nice car, and he can afford at private club membership to the tune of ten grand a year. He didn't get their by being stupid. In a semi-lucid moment, Bob realizes the irony of the parallel between the ED pill discussion and the bike discussion.
He knows he doesn't have a bike. If he went to look for one, any scrupulous bike shop would sell him a big comfy hybrid, rather than a ten thousand dollar carbon racing bike. But sometimes, you just gotta have one, to have one. Nothing wrong with that.
God I don't belong in this place. I'm a misfit in nearly every respect. Which is fine, because I'm not actually at that place. I'm in the gym, busy doing cardio on my favorite Precor elliptical trainer machine. The two things I love doing while I exercise is catch up on the morning TV news, and observe the cookies going about their daily routines. Like a brand new, shapely, tight little Latina with the firm ass, probably about mid to late 30's, doing her stretches and working out on the pectoral fly machine.
With Bill.
Good going Bill, I'm proud of you. She was born when you were, like, 30 maybe? No matter. What's her attraction to you? Ah, what a jaded question. Looks aren't everything. There is money and nice cars. Your buddies at the club must envy you enormously. You feel like a man, don't you. I don't say this in demeaning sense to you Bill, but truth be told, I'd rather be me than you.
And Marcela, baby, do you have like one iota of self respect? Seriously. I saw it in your eyes when you caught me checking you out. How does it feel to be some fat dude's trophy girlfriend? I guess not too bad. The Lexus he lets you drive sure beats the 1987 Nissan minivan. The healthy limit on the Visa is pretty nice too. Yeah, you do have to spend your mornings under a fat, sweaty, hairy, artificially enhanced individual attempting to do something he hasn't been able to in years that probably paid your father sub minimum wage to mow the grass and clean the pool that you like to dip in occasionally on a hot afternoon, but it's all good, right?
End rant.
The other guys are, well, just like Bill. That's probably why they hang out together. Earlier they were busy arguing what bicycle is best. Pinarello, or Colnago? The consensus appears to be Colnago is the way to go, as long at is equipped with Campagnolo running gear. The truth of the matter is if these guys even have a bicycle in their garages, it's a 60 year old Schwinn that doesn't get ridden. I shake my head.
Oh, but now the hot topic is the article in Golf Digest. The group is having a heated discussion on the relative merits of Cialis vs. Viagra. Two of them are die hard Cialis users, and the other three have unflinching loyalty to Viagra. The last time the subject came up, all five claimed to have no need for ED pills whatsoever. It's the same argument as the bike argument.
As much abhorrent disdain as I have for Bill, I will give him some credit for being intelligent. He does have some money, he does drive a nice car, and he can afford at private club membership to the tune of ten grand a year. He didn't get their by being stupid. In a semi-lucid moment, Bob realizes the irony of the parallel between the ED pill discussion and the bike discussion.
He knows he doesn't have a bike. If he went to look for one, any scrupulous bike shop would sell him a big comfy hybrid, rather than a ten thousand dollar carbon racing bike. But sometimes, you just gotta have one, to have one. Nothing wrong with that.
God I don't belong in this place. I'm a misfit in nearly every respect. Which is fine, because I'm not actually at that place. I'm in the gym, busy doing cardio on my favorite Precor elliptical trainer machine. The two things I love doing while I exercise is catch up on the morning TV news, and observe the cookies going about their daily routines. Like a brand new, shapely, tight little Latina with the firm ass, probably about mid to late 30's, doing her stretches and working out on the pectoral fly machine.
With Bill.
Good going Bill, I'm proud of you. She was born when you were, like, 30 maybe? No matter. What's her attraction to you? Ah, what a jaded question. Looks aren't everything. There is money and nice cars. Your buddies at the club must envy you enormously. You feel like a man, don't you. I don't say this in demeaning sense to you Bill, but truth be told, I'd rather be me than you.
And Marcela, baby, do you have like one iota of self respect? Seriously. I saw it in your eyes when you caught me checking you out. How does it feel to be some fat dude's trophy girlfriend? I guess not too bad. The Lexus he lets you drive sure beats the 1987 Nissan minivan. The healthy limit on the Visa is pretty nice too. Yeah, you do have to spend your mornings under a fat, sweaty, hairy, artificially enhanced individual attempting to do something he hasn't been able to in years that probably paid your father sub minimum wage to mow the grass and clean the pool that you like to dip in occasionally on a hot afternoon, but it's all good, right?
End rant.

