Cheetah is Back!
So, flipping through the stations the other morning, Cheetah Woods was front and center giving me a lesson. Not a golf lesson, mind you; his lesson was:
About morality!!!
Cheetah was talking about the privacy he and his new girlfriend Lindsey Vonn (who must be the dumbest woman this side of Rhianna) deserves.
Cheetah was shooting down the stalk-arazzi, as he calls him, and he was just so dang clever by putting out photos of the two of them as he devalued the cheap shots they were taking of him trying to get amorous.
Good job!
Maybe you can also take a few camera shots of the next hostess you pick up at Denny's and throw them out there before Lindsey has to see them when the darn camera freaks beat you to it.
Cheetah, cheetah, cheetah.
Give us a break.
Cheetah also went on to tell us how "proud" he is of his own ability to bounce back from "personal tragedy" to be one of the best in the sport again.
"I've worked hard."
No, no, no, cheetah.
I work hard. The guy cooking for twelve hours a shift works hard. The guy hefting drywall works hard. The guy digging a ditch works hard. The nurse standing on her feet shift, after shift, after shift works hard.
You swing a stick at a ball trying to hit it into a hole!
Toddlers do that.
It's like that other hard-working douche cheater who rides a freaking bike.
"Don't you believe in second chances?" A very respected, hard-working friend asked me.
"He can return to the congregation," I said, "but he can't be the preacher."
Morality lessons from Cheetah?
Give me a break.
I root against him at every turn.
As his ball approaches the green I cheer for it to roll down the backside of the hill and into the water.
When he pumps his fist in glee, I die a little inside.
He's proud!
Personal tragedy!!
He created it!
Don't we see that?
Why would we cheer for him?
Good luck, Cheetah.
May you triple-bogey everything, and may the poor cart-girl avoid you at the turn.
About morality!!!
Cheetah was talking about the privacy he and his new girlfriend Lindsey Vonn (who must be the dumbest woman this side of Rhianna) deserves.
Cheetah was shooting down the stalk-arazzi, as he calls him, and he was just so dang clever by putting out photos of the two of them as he devalued the cheap shots they were taking of him trying to get amorous.
Good job!
Maybe you can also take a few camera shots of the next hostess you pick up at Denny's and throw them out there before Lindsey has to see them when the darn camera freaks beat you to it.
Cheetah, cheetah, cheetah.
Give us a break.
Cheetah also went on to tell us how "proud" he is of his own ability to bounce back from "personal tragedy" to be one of the best in the sport again.
"I've worked hard."
No, no, no, cheetah.
I work hard. The guy cooking for twelve hours a shift works hard. The guy hefting drywall works hard. The guy digging a ditch works hard. The nurse standing on her feet shift, after shift, after shift works hard.
You swing a stick at a ball trying to hit it into a hole!
Toddlers do that.
It's like that other hard-working douche cheater who rides a freaking bike.
"Don't you believe in second chances?" A very respected, hard-working friend asked me.
"He can return to the congregation," I said, "but he can't be the preacher."
Morality lessons from Cheetah?
Give me a break.
I root against him at every turn.
As his ball approaches the green I cheer for it to roll down the backside of the hill and into the water.
When he pumps his fist in glee, I die a little inside.
He's proud!
Personal tragedy!!
He created it!
Don't we see that?
Why would we cheer for him?
Good luck, Cheetah.
May you triple-bogey everything, and may the poor cart-girl avoid you at the turn.
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