Golf. I love Golf. Golf. Golf. Golf.


I can't explain my love of golf. Except when I play bad, then it's no fun, eh golfers?


The Don Ferro

And you liar, teller of tall tales: you trample all the Lord's commandments underfoot, you murder, steal, commit adultery, and afterward break into tears, beat your breast, take down your guitar and turn sin into a song. Shrewd devil, you know very well that God pardons singers no matter what they do, because he can simply die for a song.