Golf is a game many male humans start playing because they believe it will lead to a better job.
Most don’t actually enjoy the sport in the early stages (as evidenced by the cursing, throwing of clubs, uncontrollable sobbing, and drinking of alcohol in quantities usually reserved for members of various world navies and Senate subcommittees), but feel it’s a good way to get in good with the boss.
See also: butt-sucking, ass-snorkeling, crack-snacking, sphincter-spelunking.
Over time, however, the game seems to have curious addictive properties, which can infect and consume a man. Much like your tribbles. An otherwise healthy human male can be transformed into a crushing bore within a matter of months via the golf virus, rendering him all but intolerable to everyone except other golfers.
Common signs of infection include, but aren’t limited to, the seemingly non-stop talk of course conditions, clubs with loft, and the “short game.” My research has revealed that whenever a human subject is heard uttering the phrase, “How ya hitting ‘em these days?” it is prudent to get the hell out of there. Because what follows is almost guaranteed to be excruciating.
Often, victims’ wardrobes begin to change as well, as the sickness progresses. In advanced stages golfers will sometimes revert to wearing knit shirts in outlandish colors and patterns, with two or three unnecessary buttons at the neck, to all events, informal or otherwise. No other style of shirt is ever seen again.
In more tragic cases, citrus-colored slacks may appear.
Female golfers are not exactly rare, but exist in far fewer numbers. Much like their male counterparts, however, most women golfers exhibit a preference for the female vagina sex organ.
I hope this report has proven to be helpful. As always, I will be standing in the open field behind Dollar General Store, every Thursday between midnight and 2 a.m., if you should have follow-up questions.
This concludes today’s broadcast.