It's Master's weekend again and I might be the only person in Denmark who gives a flying fuck. The locals are busy with a five day weekend of eating open face sandwiches, bumping into each other and gulping dark beer. The flags are at half mast which is rare here and a strange tribute to their Lord.
For the first time in forever there's more than twenty minutes of sun in the forecast, so it's off to a patio to squint my way through a few. Truth be told, my heart is elsewhere - a few thousand miles away in front of a screen beside friends. Miss you guys.
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5 comments:
You better be wearing one of three right-handed golf gloves I gots you for Christmas - that's all I gots to say.
will be wearing one today to write letters, one tomorrow to drink schnapps, and one the following day to spice a chicken i'm sending to Rangoon for military service.
Freddy did not even make the cut....was disappointed that Kenny Perry choked it away in the end after a solid round and great birdie on 16.
Yes, yes. What you say is all true but a non-English speaking, hard-drinking Spanish dude named Angel won - and goddamit - he deserves it. The Masters committee is puking up feces - but it could have been worse. The cowboy hat-wearing fly-boy named Shingo could have been sporting the green jacket. There could have been tears over the Kodak moment of Kenneth Perry winning - but I'm glad that Angel will celebrate by sluggin back a gallon of Malbec, hack a carton of butts (unfiltered of course) and fall asleep with the green jacket as his pillow.
LB you missed the final part of your last sentence..."in a ditch."
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