Wordsmoker

Remember that fucking man-whore who slept with all the skanks across America while dropping his balls into tight holes? Everybody loved him for a bit because he gave a ridiculous, land-stealing and environmental-disaster prone "sport" a patina of cool because he was black but not too black and he had a backstory which involved him being brain-washed from an early age into hitting stupid balls with stupid sticks and let's face it – any game that can be played by saggy-testicled wankers in their 80's should not be described as a "sport", because that's wrong. Anyway – the man-whore who ran away from his stupid-stick-wielding angry wife like a fucking pussy in gaudy slacks - can now communicate with the dead, because he actually won a game of golf without dipping his mindless-cock into a whore for five minutes. He's now confidently talking with those who HAVE PASSED OVER to the other side (a rotting corpse) and through talking with the dead he's learned that his dead, brain-washing father is overjoyed at him winning a game of golf and not fucking a whore for a bit. Like those who "thank God" for their sporting prowess or their 20th Grammy award without actually having to provide any proof of it, he sucks and fuck off, you whore and get a show on some obscure cable channel where you can put your new-found gift of communicating with the dead to good use by bilking the gullible out of cold, hard cash.