One of my all-time favorite Far Side cartoons featured a piano player in a western saloon. Seeing the villain was about to stroll through the bat-wing doors, he announced, “Uh-oh, bad guy, switch to minor key.”
If I’d listened to Gary Larson, this week’s story would have been written in F-flat minor (even though there’s no such key as F-flat minor), but who am I to take advice from a comic genius.
Instead, I kept rotating the photo at 90 degree angles trying to get feel for what the individual in the picture might be trying to accomplish. Judging from the garb and dialect (muffled cursing), I deemed there was only one sub-species of the human race that could possibly get himself in such a predicament.
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Myron Muldoon Mackintosh was prone to getting in sticky situations. Even though he rarely made the cut, he was one of the most popular players on the tour.
His antics off the course were legendary. The supermarket gossips rags documented every aspect of his private life. A recent cover photo of him cavorting with the Doublemint Twins, dressed in red and green plaid bikinis, had created a rift with his sponsor.
“Mackintosh, this is your last chance,” declared the Minnesota-based, manufacturing giant.
At the U.S. Open, he revolutionized golf by inventing the piano shot, now known as the Flying 3M.
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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