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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 38

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 5. Go to previous. Go to next. A treatise on earning stripes and flying colors.

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The bucket only had a few golf balls left now. ‘Choly had nabbed a sports visor off the body of someone who’d been on the green at 9:47am October 23, 2077. From beneath its faded brim, his gaze skimmed the balding, scorched fairway and snagged on the metallic bits that caught the sunlight. The Billerica Golf Course had once employed eighteen robots, half Mister Handies, and half Protectrons. Seventeen of them now lay in pieces across the property. He placed a fresh ball on the tee, and hammered through the 4-wood stroke with a clenched jaw.

Bogey did its best to sit still. It had put out its pilot light again, and it resembled a tripod in an odd way. With his Pip-Boy plugged into the brass Handy to access its disk maintenance algorithms, 'Choly wondered if a Handy really could get efficient mobility on its tendrils rather than its pilot light, if it came to it. Bogey seemed to manage with it, uncanny as it was. Perhaps it had adapted.

“Really, I can’t tell you all that much about the raiders. I... I tend to hide at the first sign of their approach. They call themselves the Rust Devils. They prioritize parts salvage, to the point they’ll demolish perfectly stable, operating robots in order to... gut the remains...” Bogey’s three ocular lenses all retracted under their plates for what it said next. “...From what I’ve observed, I believe they turn off all AI processes not vital to combat. Between the victimized robots’ altered processing state and the unceremonious mishmash of the customizations the raiders jerry-build... I dare say that to encounter one... it must feel to a Handy, what it's like for a human to encounter a feral ghoul. And most of them-- they’ll wear shell components like armor--! It’s just awful--”

“My word,” Angel ejected. “Most appalling. They wear shells?” Its tendrils shuddered.

“I’m more worried what they’re combining,” ‘Choly mumbled. “And where they’re getting the parts from.” He buried himself in the algorithm scan, and tried not to dismiss the two robots’ revulsion. It didn’t matter that ferals didn’t repulse him. His comfort zone wasn’t on the table here.

With his mind wandering, he didn’t even notice where the ball landed. It didn’t matter, range picking Protectrons or no. He placed another ball. The next swing took the tee with it, and he stuttered a detached curse under his breath.

“You should come with us to Lowell,” ‘Choly soothed. “To the Deenwood Compound. I’m sure Angel agrees with me, that we’re both anxious at the idea of leaving you somewhere vulnerable like this.”

“Me? Go to Lowell!?” Bogey moaned, its ocular lenses flying animate again in incredulity. “I don’t know where the Rust Devils have stationed themselves, but they always come down here from the North. The way’s not safe! You two shouldn’t... no, can’t! Surely I could dissuade you. They’re barbaric!”

“Mister Carey, there’s the option of--”

“--No. There’s not.” He pointed a stern finger at Angel. “We can’t. We’re just an hour or so from the base now. We can’t afford to add another day’s travel.”

“But Bogey’s a brass--”

Really, he wasn’t being selfish by refusing to double back. Was he? He re-teed and the next stroke threw out his shoulder from the force jarring the follow-through. He grumbled and rubbed at it with a fat upper lip. He thought to himself, I can dick around on the green for an hour, but I can’t double back to get Bogey someplace safe? No, he wasn’t dicking around. He was clearing his head. Forming a plan. He and Angel would leave soon.

“I really didn’t want to worry either of you about me. I’ll be safe here. Really,” Bogey swore. “It’s been a year since they last came on premises for salvage. It’s unlikely they’ll come down here again. By comparison, last year, they looted about every other month. They’ve probably taken everything they want. I’m smart about it, too. I keep the clubhouse looking uninhabited. No lights, not even my thruster. I only move as necessary. And I never move objects or furniture. It’s been excruciating not to dust, but it’s been a necessity. They won’t know to look for me. Even if they do trespass again, I’ll put out my pilot light and hide like I always do.”

“What did Angel mean?” ‘Choly crossed his arms, scrutinizing Bogey’s body. “What does it mean, for a Mister Handy to be brass colored?”

Suddenly, Angel regretted having said anything.

“It’s a great deal how different Protectron models have different plating colors. Mister Gutsies are army green for being combat-oriented. Miss Nannies are white for their domestic and medical prowess. Chrome is the standard for a basic Mister Handy. ...Being brass means I’m not fully outfitted,” it admitted, feeling small. “I thought you might have noticed during your scans, so I didn’t mention it. I have no tendril accessories. Only my pincers.”

“I, I could-- If you--”

In addition to ‘Choly’s upkeep, Angel had split its fusion cells with its new acquaintance. They still had Angel’s first laser attachment, and ‘Choly doted it upon Bogey readily. Bogey could defend itself a lot better now, between recalibration, refuel, and re-equipment. Bogey could sit tight for the moment, while he and Angel proceeded on to their destination, to assess the best course of action. It was a smart, if not cowardly, robot. If it wouldn’t go with them, he and Angel would just have to trust it.

Suddenly, the chemist couldn’t quite grasp why he was getting himself involved in defending a robot he’d only just met from raiders that might not even exist. Did he really care if Bogey was safe? Either way, the habits described of these savage robotics enthusiasts, with their proximity so close to base, presented a very real composite of concerns. Depending on the Devils’ luck and stubbornness, they very well might have forced their way past the security measures, and had the entire fleet of military robotics at their disposal. The Rust Devils inevitably stood between him and the closure he sought coming all this way. Nearly, he wondered if smoking them out of their operations in Lowell was what Missus Murphy had suggested all along.

Abandon help him, he hoped not. He didn’t want it to come down to dismantling another raider outfit. From the sound of it, the Rust Devils were more organized and committed to their goals than the Lexington raiders. His mind hiccuped on the desperation of searching the fairway for bloatflies he might harvest, and he sniffed to quieten his wilding.

“...And sky blue?” ‘Choly asked. He looked between the two Handies when neither would answer him at first.

“I’m DIA issue, Sir. A government robot.”

His earlobes burned. Did everyone he’d ever met know these things? Did everyone know why he had a Mister Handy issued by the Defense Intelligence Agency? His mind slipped through an anxiety-curated set of memories, of times his nationalization must surely have come across as incomplete. Everyone he’d ever known in the States had known he was Russian, didn’t they?

“You said you were off to the Deenwood Compound?” Bogey began, feeling the tension and dread building in the robotics maintenance shed. “If Angel is a DIA Handy, that means you must have handled some very important things for the military. You must have been an incredibly important person, if they felt that great a need to keep you safe.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten through my time on base, if it weren’t for Angel. That’s for certain.” He forced a smile at his old friend, and carried it toward new one. “I suppose Angel’s purpose isn’t so clean cut anymore, now that I’ve repaired it in such a way.”

“Call it a little dose of that ‘self agency’ you go on about at times, Sir. I’m my own robot.”

Bogey glanced at its newly augmented tendril, with its sky blue tip. It looked back up to them when it managed to initiate it to switch over to the laser attachment.

“Perhaps I’m my own robot as well. I’m glad you both stayed here.”

‘Choly placed another ball and rolled his shoulder until the amount of crackling it generated appeased his confidence he’d reset it. He shanked the ball and it whiffed off to the far left toward a stand of naked trees and overgrowth. His head fell askew in exasperation with himself. He slung the 4-wood back in the golf bag beside his tee box, retrieved his cane from it, and ambled across the fairway with an agitated wanderlust. I’m not going far, he reasoned. Just to the bounds of the driving range and back.

He stopped dead a few steps into the wooded patch, eyes wide. He’d happened upon a deer--or rather, what looked like it might have been a deer. Its two heads grazed at the foliage that had avoided sun-scorching within the shade of the husks of the trees. At least two hulking curled antlers branched from each of its two heads, and spiny cutaneous nodes jutted out of its foreheads and cheekbones like a rash. Radiation-induced mange had blighted its hide. It had too many limbs, but the penetrating uranium glow its organs emitted through its flesh transfixed him to where he couldn’t quite draw the faculty to count them, let alone process the form before him.

The stag seemed aware of him, but continued to eat undeterred by his observation. He watched for what felt like an eternity, and a crooked smile melted across his face as he shifted from alarm to awe. It was so strangely charming, with its too-much-ness. The impossibility of tracing the silhouette of some otherworldly entity, with dimensions that didn’t quite fit in his reality. A streak of wonder cut through him, at the uncertainty if such a disfigured creature was now even more so prey than before, or if it had since become a predator in the apocalypse. The dialectical soup of fear and enrapturement glued him in place, and every gamut of possible emotion hooked his smile into a frenetic grin.

“--Ah! Sir.” Angel approached at a whisper and a caution, noting the stag, which had stopped eating to stare back at the two of them. “There you are. We weren’t sure where you’d popped off to. Admiring the wildlife?”

“They’re not dangerous... are they?” he uttered, still staring onward.

“Not unless provoked, I imagine.”

As though pursued by something terrible and unseen, the stag abruptly leaped about face and bolted off deeper into the wooded area. ‘Choly jumped at the sudden animation, and looked to Angel, snapped out of his daze. He sighed, nearly disappointed that the spell had broken.

“It was so beautiful... and terrible... at the same time.” He looked back to where the stag had stood. Vacantly, he squinted at the foliage. For all the cruelty, murder, and pain in this new world, encounters such as the hubflower and the radstag proved to him some hint of beauty still existed. His face slacked when he realized why he was staring at the plants, and he pointed to them with a repeated and increasing insistence. “Angel. Angel, silt beans. It was eating--”

“Fresh produce!” Angel swooped in to collect bean pods, and added them to an empty carton from the pharmacy.

“They’re no good raw,” he mumble-rambled, “but they’re edible cooked... They’re starchy. I...” He snorted in thought. “I wonder if they’d make a decent flour. I think you were right, that it had been a soy product I used. Soy flour. This could mean potential major progress reinventing the Melancholia.”

“Even if it doesn’t work out to a substitute in your recipe, I can still cook them up as something substantial and delicious!”

“Maybe I won’t have to dread a future sucking down a fifth of bismuth a day.”

They doubled back to the clubhouse one last time. In anticipation of a conflict, ‘Choly changed out of his new outfit and back into his Vault Suit, holster harness, and Pharm Corps coat as before. Zipping up, he sat on the locker room bench, and traced the bloodstained, dime-sized hole the bloodbug had ripped in his suit. Pieces of his nightmare filtered back into forefront. His heart clenched in his ribs, searing down his left arm. He hadn’t encountered those things until he got near water, and they were headed to New England’s Venice. He’d inevitably encounter them again.

He could get better, could be better. He just needed proof of it, for his own sake.

They bid Bogey their farewells and headed out once they were certain it had the clubhouse secure. With a golf bag slung between him and Angel, ‘Choly had at the ready a handful of clubs, his syringer rifle, and his cane. In anticipation of a conflict, once they hit Route 3 again, Angel traveled with all three lasers drawn. Though he only had two clips of ammo left, ‘Choly still kept to his .38. He begged fate not to give them a run-in with the Rust Devils, but he knew their luck tended to reflect a likelihood otherwise.

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#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #fo4 #sole survivor #mister handy #rust devils #billerica #melancholy #golf course #angel #bogey #the anatomy of melancholy

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howrv · 5 years

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Fargo's Museum Ranch: Chapter 4

Visually, the ranch was pristine but weathered, much like Fargo. They both have withstood storms, and it showed. The twisting winds are brutal coming off the nearby Chiricahua Mountains. At one moment you see a sand storm in the distance, swirling tornados, ejecting white plumes high in the air. Then in seconds, the swirl overtakes you. There is no light. It is like someone ripped the sun from the sky and you are being blasted and tossed by sand at 40 to 60 mph. You are blinded. Becky and I have experienced such a storm driving our bus on I-10 in the New Mexican desert. The most terrifying 30 seconds of my life.

But the Museum Ranch stands as it has for decades, everything in its place choreographed by a master set director. There are a dozen or so sheltered gathering spaces (sitting areas) around the ranch. Each unique and all displaying memorabilia and photos of movie stars with their arms draped on the shoulder of a younger Fargo. These gathering spots are in the corner of barns, under carriage sheds, by fire pits, attached to a hen house or upstairs over a storage shed. In each one, there are places and porches to sit and talk. Some have a few chairs and benches, while others have a few metal milk crates turned on end, or maybe a log for us to straddle. But most notably, in every space there was a single armed chair with a padded seat were Fargo would hold court to a captive audience of us.

There was always music playing in the background. Radio set to a Mexican station or a phonograph player softly emitting vocals of Patsy Cline, Hank Snow, Rex Allen, and Ernest Tubb. Signature cowboy songs. A perfect underscore to match our cinematic imaginations, while Fargo told stories of the old west.

While Becky and Fargo were chatting, I was admiring a Stetson hat and removed it from a hook on a post. Barton was quick to tell me that I should "replace it like I found it" because if it were 1/8 inch off, or rehung askew Fargo would notice.

Fargo and his ranch hands each had a few trucks. Quattro even had a Cadillac. But all vehicles were stashed behind a grove of mesquite or under the back side of a shed, not distracting from the perception that we were back in the late 1800's. An electric golf cart was the only hardware that belied the visual genera. Fargo needed it's assistance to get around and check on things. He would fatigue quickly and often pulled out an inhaler from his jeans to allay coughing and breathlessness. But at 89, he was still leaner and keener than most of our friends just reaching retirement age.

We climbed aboard the electric cart and set out to see the ranch. He rode us to where stagecoaches and chuck wagons were stored. The one carriage with a large frame, Jonny Cash liked best. Quartto pointed out the chuck wagon used by Lee Marvin and Brian Keith in The Quest and Monty Walsh. There was the stagecoach Maureen O'Hare while swishing her petticoats climbed in and rode off, in Big Jake. He pointed out items used in McClintock, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, wagons from the Little House pilot, saddles and spurs from Three Amigos and yokes and harnesses that accompanied the mule teams in Bonanza. Most, he said, he had sold or left back in Old Tuscon where we visited last year. But he still had an amazing collection of important antiquities from the silver screen.

He called our attention to an old blacksmith's anvil. "That thing weighs 350 pounds," he said with half grin half grimace. "You know how I know?" To which I gave a shrug. "Arnold Schwarzenegger picked the damn thing up and told me," Fargo grinned, adding emphasis by raising his eyebrows up and down three or four times making his hat bob on his head.

Homing pigeons moved in and out of their roosts. Fargo explained how intelligent they were and their dependable characteristics. He supplied Old Tuscon with birds for many movies. So if you are watching an old John Ford western and you see birds a flight, they were probably trained by our friend Fargo to fly on cue.

Once he was commissioned to provide deer for a scene of the animals running through prairie. The scene was to be shot from above from a helicopter. However, the producers were prohibited from herding or using live game in a shoot. So Ole' Fargo rigged antlers on his goats, placed them at one end of a canyon and put Barton at the other end of the canyon with the pappa goat to call the "deer herd." The helicopter lifted off and the scene was captured in one take.

We headed down a fence line on the safe side of longhorn steer and bulls to a wood-hewn building with a cross on the front. Quattro hobbled in with us as we entered the chapel.

At the front, centered between two wood beams was a large print of the last supper, the one depicting the servant in the foreground. On the right was a pulpit draped in a colorful sarape blanket with two wooden slats tied in a cross on the front. Behind the pulpit was a statue of The Madonna and another cross above it. On the walls were Indian ceremonial feathers and bells, a menorah, a yarmulke, and plastic flower arrangements. Beside the pulpit was a photo of Mother Teresa and The Pope.

On the left side of the chapel was a firebrick altar with a leaded glass backdrop. A brass cross leaned against a wood mantle and two tin cups dangled below. Fargo retrieved a now extinct, Blue Diamond self-striking match from a Ball Jar, scratched it across the brick, and began lighting several candles. I was about to cross myself or genuflect when Fargo broke my reverence and uttered, "Yeah, I've got all kinds of religious shit in here. I've got Protestant shit, Catholic shit, Jewish shit, Indian shit, and we've even had a few weddings. Quattro there's a minister, and he officiates," gesturing to Quattro who was now standing behind the podium gripping both sides firmly.

Quattro, the minister, told us a little of his story while standing behind the pulpit. He had originated in Pensylvania and came out to Arizona to visit his brother at UofA in Tucson. He met Fargo on set at Old Tucson, fell in love with the west and never went back. He helped Fargo with the animals, worked as a bronc rider and stuntman, and fit into the movie business as Fargo's sidekick.

After blowing out the candles on the altar, we left the church and headed down the lane, opening and closing gates behind us. We drove onto open range where fifty miles of sagebrush, tumbleweed, and sand lay in front of the jagged Chiricahua mountains where we hiked just days before. We arrived at a clump of mesquite trees that shaded seven grave sites. We sat on benches and listened as Fargo told us stories about each ranch hand who was buried there. His words were kind with a deep appreciation for their service.

We carted back to the coffee pot area. It was 2 pm. Fargo moved his chair from in front of the padlocked door and opened it. The door swung inward to reveal a saloon right out of the movies. Four stools, a swinging door, and a bar lined with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and tequila in front of mirrored glass. Hanging behind the bar were cowboy hats, Indian headress, scores of photographs, lanterns, spurs, feathers, beads and oh yes, an Indian scalp. I wasn't too surprised when he pointed out the spur marks in the oak bar top.

We looked through his stacks of 12-inch long-play records. An impressive collection. Becky chose Hank Snow and we enjoyed a few cold ones while Fargo told more stories of movies and the stars he knew.

We had spent the entire day with three of the most interesting men I've ever met. We learned more about animals, birds, Indians, history and movies, than I had in a lifetime. But this was just the first day of three. The next day we were to bring our forty-foot Allegro Bus (our Home On Wheels) and park right in the middle of The Museum Ranch, 12 miles and a hundred years from town.

#homeonwheels #howrv #jonandbecky #homeiswhereyouparkit #retireontheroad #fargo

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rantingswithrage · 6 years

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Our House - Chapter 2

Dean Winchester Imagine

Supernatural Fanfic

Dean x Reader - some Sam moments

Summary: You gave up the hunting life to have a place to call home. You’re relationship with Dean has ups and downs as you try to figure out how to live a normal life while he continues to hunt.

This story doesn’t follow the timeline of events in the show. It takes place when Sam is still in high school but Dean is eighteen.

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing

Word Count: 2,651

Masterpost

Seven months later and we are so much closer than ever. I love being with him and I wouldn’t change it for the whole world even if I couldn't always physically be with him.

It was a Saturday afternoon and I was sitting at home relaxing in front of the TV. I had decided to stop traveling on the road with them. I knew if I found a place to settle down, they could stop by from time to time and have a homey place to rest their heads. Since my father died almost a year ago and John died only a few months ago, I really wanted to have a place that felt like a home. Beacause now, the Winchesters were all the family I had left. I'm only seventeen but Dean is a year older and he knows his way around fake ID's. I was able to get myself a loan for the house. So after working all week to help pay back the loan to the bank, I need my Saturdays to do nothing. Although, I was really missing my boys today. Especially my boyfriend.

My phone rang. I picked it up without looking at the caller ID. It was Dean; he has his own special ringtone.

“Hey!” I said, probably a little too excited. He chuckled at my enthusiasm.

“Hey sweetheart! Glad to hear you’re in a good mood. Do you have any plans for today?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m totally free.” I said as sipped on my drink.

“Awesome, because I wanted to spend the day with you.”

“Really?! Are you close or do you need me to drive to where you are?"

“I’m almost at your place. Let's go out for a little bit then maybe can hang out there after. Sam is gonna hang back at your place and read up on some serial killer trivia or something. If that's okay" I could hear Sam protest in the background saying something about school work. Dean shushed him, "Quiet, I'm on the phone." I laughed at their antics.

"Okay, sounds good. How far away are you?" I asked while looking down at my oversized sweatpants and ripped shirt.

"We're about fifteen minutes away so, you’re gonna have to shut off the TV and get dressed.”

“How did you know?” I giggled. “You know me too well”

He laughed too.

“Alright, we're almost there, so get ready.”

“Ok, I’m gettiin” I said as I turned off the TV and got up.

“See you soon” he said. I smiled,

“Can't wait!” and we hung up.

I ran up stairs, took the quickest shower and got dressed.

As soon as I finished my simple make-up routine, I heard the doorbell.

I grabbed my purse and went to the door.

“Hey” I said as I opened the door to see Sam towering over me. I leaned in to give him a hug. Even though he’s a couple of years younger than me, it seems like he is a couple of feet taller than me.

"Hi, Y/n. It's good to see you. Dean's been driving me crazy talking all the time about how much he's been missing you."

I chuckled, "I know how he feels."

Sam smiled, "So, you're sure it's okay that I stay here while you guys are out?" Sam questioned. He looked like he was prepared for me to say that I wasn't okay with it.

I gently punched Sam in the shoulder. "Of course it is ya dork! Mi casa es su casa. I haven't touched your room since the last time you came through here. That's your room dude. If you’re gonna be lame and you really aren’t going to come hang out with us then please help yourself to whatever you need; food, washer/dryer, whatever. Just don't touch my collection." I smiled as I stepped aside to let him slide passed me into the house. I have been collecting bottlecaps from everywhere I went with the boys. It was a simple way to keep my mind off of all the guts and murder.

It's surprisingly easy to find unique bottlecaps, if you know how to look. Sometimes, one of the boys will bring me back one if they find one that is rare.

"Well, how would I add this one to the pile then?" He said with his signature smile as he reached into his pocket to show me a new one he'd found.

"No way!" I said way too excited. He held it high above my head so I wouldn't be able to reach it. I put my hands on my hips and scrunched my face. That only made him laugh more. Before I could respond, I heard the impala beep.

"Sam stop being a bitch!" Dean yelled out as he must have been watching our interaction.

"Shut up, jerk!" He yelled back as he lowered his arm and brought the bottle cap down but quickly moved his hand behind his back so I still couldn't see it.

"Now that he's tried to ruin my fun, I won't let you see it until you come back."

I sighed, "Uh, fine. But don't mess with the rest of the caps!" I commanded.

"I wouldn't dare" he said with a sly smile and slammed the door in my face.

I gasped and then I heard him chuckle from inside the house. "Have fun!" Sam yelled as his voice trailed off while he walked further into the house.

I turned around and made my way over to the impala. Dean hopped out as he saw me coming and ran over to the passenger side door.

“You look beautiful, as always.” He said and pulled me in for a hug and gave me a quick kiss.

“Thank you.” I smiled at him. I wasn't wearing anything super nice. Just my skinny jeans and my favorite Guns n Roses t-shirt.

He held my hand as he helped me into the car. He shut the door for me and he hopped in to drive us to go play mini-golf.

We have played one round that took the amount of time as three rounds. We kept trying to throw the other one off when they went to swing. I would yell just as he went to hit the ball. Dean would try to tickle me. Eventually, we had to get more creative to try and throw each other off. We were both very competitive and wanted to be the winner so we'd do anything to beat the other.

I knew exactly what I had to do if I was going to win. I was going to have to play dirty.

I stood further away from the start of this hole so Dean would have to look at me as he swung. I reached up making sure his eyes were on me and took out my hairband letting my y/h/c hair fall gently and seductively unto my shoulders. I then reached behind me to pull my t-shirt as tight as I could and lift it over my belly-button to show him some skin. I used my hair band to tie back the shirt so it would stay like that. His eyes were still glued to me, watching my every move. I gave him an innocent smile and said, "What are you waiting for, aren't you gonna take your turn?" he cleared his throat and looked away from me down to the golf ball that laid waiting for him to hit it. "Uh, ye-yeah. I j-just um. Sorry. I'll do it now." he stuttered as he collected himself to try and hit the ball.

I smiled to myself knowing I had caught him off guard. He went to hit the ball and hit it way too hard. It bounced out of the green and over the sidewalk into another patch of green. Luckily, no one was playing that hole. I chuckled, "Wow, Dean. I know each hole gets a little harder to play but that was a little over-kill, don't you think?" I teased.

His eyes trailed over my body before he responded. "I'll go get it." he said as he walked away.

"No redo's. That counts as your first stroke!" I yelled after him. He seemed to pause for a second but without a word he continued over to retrieve the ball.

On his way back I noticed he had a small smile on his face. He didn't look up at me though. This can't be good. I think he’s figured out that I was trying to throw him off.

He swung at his ball again and hit it with much more control and it ended up right next to the hole. He walked passed me to go finish his turn. As he walked by me with that smug smile on his face, all he said was, "Two." he was counting his strokes. Yup, he figured out my trick.

He finished that hole in three strokes. Now it was my turn to start the next whole. It was the last hole. The most important one.

I placed my ball down at the beginning of the green. There was a steep hill that you had to hit it over. If you somehow got a hole in one, you'd win a free game. I was determined to get it in one shot. Dean still had the smile on his face, I knew it couldn't be a good thing but I mustered up all my strength and will power to ignore anything he was planning to do. I steadied my breath and made my upswing. Just as I began to swing the club down Dean spoke up, "I love you." he said confidently. I couldn't believe what I'd heard. My club came down and swung right over the top of the ball hitting nothing but air. I turned around as the swing of the club came back down and looked wide at Dean. "What?" I said thinking maybe I had heard him wrong.

He smiled again, all teasing leaving his face and just revealing his happy smile. The one that is the most rare. He's got a million different smiles but his actually happy smile, I've only seen a handful of times.

He made his way over to me and placed his hands on my hips. His thumbs rubbed against my exposed sides.

"I said, I love you Y/n" he leaned down and his lips met my shocked ones. I took me a few seconds to catch up to him but my lips began to move with his. It was the most passionate kiss we'd ever shared. I couldn't believe he had actually said those words. I never thought I'd hear them from him, even though he knew I loved him and I knew he loved me but we'd never actually said the words before.

We finally broke apart. His hands had made their way up to my neck. "I love you too, Dean." I said as I pecked his lips again. We pulled away for a second and he wrapped his arms around me and held me for a moment. I felt him lean over and put his mouth right next to me ear. His breath was warm and made my whole body tingle. "Now that we've established that. It's your turn to try again and that counts as one stroke." my jaw dropped. He said he loved me to purposefully throw me off. We were neck and neck the whole game; just a point or two difference. He wanted to win so badly that he played the dirtiest card he had. His sly smile spread wide over his face as he stepped back to let me take another turn. I had so many emotions running through me that I didn't know what to do. His smile was cemented on his face. He was so proud of himself. I tried my best to shake it off and focus. I glanced back at him before I went to swing. It made him chuckle. I swung and hit the ball. It went up the hill and missed the hole. It rolled down but went into the secondary hole that collects the balls at the end of the game. I growled and turned back to look at Dean. He looked so pleased with the outcome. He walked past me to take his turn. I had to think up something quick to throw him off. He was about the hit the ball when I burst out the first thing that came to my mind, "I'm actually in love with, Sammy!" I yelled trying anything to stop him. He hit the ball anyway and we both watched as it went right into the hole. As the hole in one alarm went off he cheered, "It's in the hole!" He turned around and looked at me triumphantly. I pursed my lips together, unhappy with the result. That only egged him on more. Then my failed distraction finally registered to him. "Wait, what? Did you just say you're in love with Sammy?" he questioned.

"Yeah, I was trying to throw you off. It obviously didn't work." I said defeated.

He let you a loud laugh.

"Nice, my girlfriend thinks I'd believe she'd go for my scrawny ass brother over me. I mean, look at me, I'm a stud." He said posing with his arms flexed. I just rolled my eyes and walked over to the hut to return my golf club. "Somebody's a sore loser." I heard Dean yell after me.

"Suck it, Winchester." I yelled as I made my way back over to the Impala. He was taking his sweet time making his way back over to the car. He would stop every few steps and flex an arm or rub his hand through his hair and pose with his free game ticket. He was being ridiculous and definitely a sore winner.

He finally made it to the car and stopped right in front of me. I waited for him leaning on the passenger door. He had the keys so I had to wait for him to unlock it. He leaned over me letting his hips press against mine, pinning me to the car. "Is somebody in need of a hug." He said mocking. "No." was my only response. I went to cross my arms in front of my chest trying to create a barrier between his body and mine but just as my arms moved together he grabbed my wrist and pushed them over my head against the car. "Really?" was all I could say in response. I knew it was no use fighting to get out of his grasp. He was infinitely stronger than me. "Yes, really. I think someone may need a lesson in manners." He said as he crashed his lips onto mine. I was only joking about how hurt I was and I knew that he knew I was joking too, but I liked where this was headed. His hips touching mine, his hands pinning my wrists and our lips dancing together, it was heaven to me. He pulled away, we both needed some air in our lungs. His hands fell to my cheeks and mine rested on his shoulders. We looked into each others eyes for a moment. I could see some gold specks bouncing off the light hitting his green eyes. He smiled at me and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. "Come on loser, let me take you home." He said as he stepped back to let me off of the car. My body missed his immediately but my head hated his comment. "Whatever, lets just go." I said as I hopped in and he made his way back to his side of the car. We pulled out of the parking lot and he reached over to grab my hand. He held it the rest of the way back to my house.

Part 3

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #imagine #smut #fluff #angst #teen #pregnancy

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rogue-cup-hq · 5 years

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2018 Recap

" And God said, "Let there be vodka!" And He saw that it was good. Then God said, "Let there be light!" And then He said, "Whoa - too much light." ~ Anonymous

With the two decade run at Deep Creek officially over, the Rogues found themselves a nomadic herd – a band of idiots without a home, inmates in need of an asylum, the old familiar structures and routines taken from them abruptly. No more snore isolation chamber; no more gas containment chamber - where would William and Goldy sleep? Questions abounded…. Not to mention, the daunting question of “what other drinking courses can we golf on.” The North Carolina contingent (AKA Goldy and William) stepped forward to take the laboring oar in hand and became de facto chairmen for the 2018 event. They secured an incredible deal for the group to convene in North Carolina at two beautiful venues in the Pinehurst area, which conveniently allowed PA an opportunity to double up a visit with family without compromising the annual liver workout.

The 2018 event drew a field of 10 players: PA, Goldy, William, Andrew, B. Smith, G. Berner, Ed Moore, Turns, and of course, Gary "Sandy Bags" Ozenbaugh. Notably, prodigal son David Sautter returned after missing last year due to his move to that little slice of paradise in Maryland called Port Deposit. Schnetzler was a no-show (again) but swore he would return in 2019. Jay“bird” Erbe let yet another year pass without a golf club or wine glass in hand. The usual perennial no-shows (Walter, Luigi) were once again, no-shows. Of those in attendance, several finally at least admitted they had been golfing regularly, but continued to swear they were awful and hadn't improved. The second part of the statement clearly proved true; a touch of honesty was finally beginning to infect the Rogue players..…

The event was “hosted” at the Talamore Villas, with the Rogues bunking in a few condos spread across the complex. The weather was unique for a Rogue event, as we dealt with ungodly high heat and humidity (we all would soon regret our decision to opt for the earlier week):

The courses themselves also represented a radical departure for the group. Rather than seeking out isolated, rural mountain courses with goat pasture fairways and banjos echoing faintly in the distance, we found ourselves playing on real golf courses – our first day of 2018 would be spent battling Talamore, a course the Rogues had no business playing. Day Two would find the Rogues meandering around the course originally known as Pinehurst Plantation, now known as the Mid South Club.

PA, anticipating the heightened challenges of these venues, undertook an ambitious eBay research project in the months leading up to Rogue, intent on replacing those irons he noticed were missing during the 2017 event. The multi-week search for matching Cobra irons came down to the wire, with the final replacement club arriving at Whispering Pines a day before the event. In an odd contrast of fate, PA came out of retirement and went back to work, while B. Smith showed far greater wisdom and left Lansdale to begin life at a lakefront paradise in Virginia (where he immediately set to work preparing “Smithlake” for a pre-Rogue party. And thus the table was set for Rogue 2018; we all pointed our compasses toward the sandhills of North Carolina. The standard decades old caveat/disclaimer regarding the marginal accuracy of my memory still stands. What follows is pieced together from a few notes jotted down on the plane ride home, amidst the cobweb corners of my pickled mind.

Wednesday - PA arrived on Wednesday to visit for a few days with his brother Mark & Mom, enjoying a quiet, relaxing evening. Other than reminiscing with a nostalgic look at old golf clubs gathering dust in the garage, golf was not on the agenda. Beer, however – was…….

Thursday A pre-Rogue gathering was held at Smithlake (I was informed that B. Smith declared that “swimsuits were not optional”). While I wasn’t present, it was described by attendees as a reasonably calm night. All Rogues (PA in Carolina, the rest of the gang at Smithlake) spent the evening watching the Eagles beat the Falcons in a nail-biter 18-12 on NFL opening night; the game came down to a last defensive play against Julio Jones in the end zone, naturally. The Eagles succeeded in swatting the ball away and earning a victory - Go, Birds.

Friday - the group arose in their respective locations and found their way to Buffalo Wild Wings in Southern Pines for some chow and beer before golf. The forecast was hot, humid with heat index in the mid 90's. Forget the forecast – it was already so. With bellies full of mediocre pub food, we made the short drive to the course.

Upon driving through the gates and parking our vehicles, reality slapped us hard in the face. There we stood – looking at a beautifully groomed course fronted by an elegant southern-style clubhouse. Yes, Talamore…. a course constructed in 1991 by famed course architect Rees Jones. With more than 150 feet of elevation change, wetlands, lakes and towering longleaf pines, Rees had carved out a course layout that the Rogues should not have been granted permission to play. Talamore is consistently ranked at the forefront for outstanding golf courses in the Village of Pinehurst area.

Beverages in hand (the usual iced tea and lemonade containers, and modest beer coolers), we were quickly humiliated by the vast, undulating putting green and our public displays of ground abuse on the driving range. An immediate controversy faced the Rogues on the first tee, as the debate raged over which tee box would govern the day. We had choices – gold, blue, white or green. Gold and blue were immediately vetoed by the majority…. Leaving the whites (or the greens, normally reserved for super seniors and women). After fierce debate, the group chose the green tees. Oh, the humanity and embarrassment….

With putters in hand for their first drive off the super-senior tee boxes, the round was underway and reality set in. The Talamore fairways and greens played like billiard tables – true rolls, and hard as a rock. A shot-by-shot analysis of the tattered scorecards revealed the mighty struggle -

B. Smith was his usual consistent self, with a pair of 43’s on both front and back nine – no real blow-up holes on the way to an 86 to establish himself yet again as the benchmark “zero” (go figure). PA started his round with par, double, triple on his way to a front nine 48. Righted the ship somewhat on the back with bogey golf to enter the clubhouse at 92, his first time ever scoring lower than the outdoor temperatures at a Rogue event and first time ever using a driver less than 5 times in 18 holes. Andrew made a statement: carded a 10 on the first hole, followed by a triple/double sequence after which he settled down for awhile, and after his highlight of the day (a birdie on #13) he had a rough sequence at the end, notching a three hole stretch of double/triple/double that left him with a tidy 100 on the day.

Goldy and Sautter shot matching 51’s on the front nine; the scorecard image was suspiciously faded on several of the holes – hard to determine where the trainwreck happened. Despite his usual elegant swing, Mr. Sautter’s wheels came off completely on #11, where he began a sequence of quintuple/quadruple/triple before finishing the round with a pair of triples on #17 and #18 to stumble home with 110 to trail the pack; however, this disaster of a round partnered him with Smith for the championship round, and would have implications on Day 2. Goldy stayed on the double-bogey train to card a 103. Ozy started out at a torrid pace, scoring 40 on the front nine. At that point, he had completely embraced the spirit of the event, evidenced by his 49 on the back, leaving him at 89. Turns had a tidy 45 on the front and seemed to be in a good rhythm; whatever he did at the turn didn’t help him, as he started off the back nine triple/double/quadruple on his way to a 53, putting him at 98 on the day.

Gary, Ed and William’s scorecard was very faded – Mr. Berner & Ed appeared to have an inauspicious start with each putting a triple on the card for the first hole. GB finished with the front nine with a 53, to Ed’s 48. William, quiet and steady as ever, played tidy bogey golf for a 45. On the back, GB played just as “well”, finishing with a pair of double-bogeys and tallying a 107 for the day; he had a gallery of angry, frustrated geese following him up the final hole. William maintained himself in the zone, finishing the back at 42 for a very nice 87 on the day.Others staggered to the finish in various states of physical disrepair.

Exhausted and teetering on heat stroke, the group sought refuge in the air-conditioned villas, languishing in various states of consciousness and disbelief that they had been so humbled by a paltry 5,500 yards of golf. The alcohol had made no difference. Everyone mustered their remaining energy and managed to organize/fund/retrieve a takeout order of sandwiches, pizzas, whatever and chose to stay in the safety of the villas – the evening was spent on internal alcohol rubs, card games, a moment of floor-rolling and cackling, a few chose chair naps. The Rogues were readying themselves for the day ahead.

Saturday – Sunny, hot & humid again in the 90’s, a possible scattered t-storm in the forecast never materialized, although it would have been welcome. The Rogues contemplated their choice to have the team play on Mid-South, an Arnold Palmer signature golf course described as offering a “challenging yet enjoyable” championship layout. From the back tees (an option the Rogues never considered), a player has to carry their drive 225 yards just to reach the fairway. Not to mention Mid South’s 11 acres of bunkers (the Rogues became painfully familiar with the entirety of that acreage).

Having adopted the previous year's team format again, the pairings based on top-bottom scoring of the previous day’s bludgeoning of Talamore were as follows – Smith/Sautter, Whitehead/Berner, Ozy/Goldy, Andrew/Ed and PA/Turns. Foursomes were purposefully done to split up the teams and balance the consumption levels:

Sautter, Ozy, Turns and Smith Goldy, Ed, Berner William, Andrew, PA

Notably, as we prepared for Mid-South, Smith’s and PA’s perennial beverages were on full display, but the usual wine bladder in Mr. Berner’s bag was absent (“red wine is a bad choice for a hot day”). Ozy promised to take up the slack and live the spirit of the event….. PA’s trusty lemonade container was present, as were the copious amounts of beer and what-not.

As we stared down the fairway of the first hole preparing for our tee shots, the heat index was 95. For the 4th round in a row (spanning two years now), a majority vote reinstated the “Great Rogue Compromise Rule of 2017”, again converting the event into a quasi chip-and-putt competition. Some of us looked around sheepishly and silently prayed that the 95 year old husband and wife teeing off on the teebox further back behind us didn’t ask for our IDs. The Rogues had an inauspicious start, with the first group all needing mulligans to get a single ball in play (it had nothing to do with distance). They don’t make fairways wide enough for the Rogues. In fact, it was so ugly that the starter, an elderly gent with a good sense of humor, instantly granted the remaining Rogues permission to hit into the leading group. Our kinda guy.

The Rogues spent their entire Saturday afternoon hacking, duffing, hooking, slicing, chunking, skulling, blading and wandering the Mid-South roughs and bunkers.

PA started triple/double/triple which accelerated his pace to finishing the “lemonade” far too early in the round; he needed every drop on his way to a debilitating 104. Andrew started off well, until the 4th hole – at which point he began a double/triple/triple sequence that loosened the lug nuts, and strung together double bogeys on the remaining holes to tie PA at 52 on the front. On the back, Andrew managed to gain a little traction and finished with 101. William had a rough start with a double/double combo, but then settled down - with a few pars, he managed to score 46 on the front. His story was similar on the back nine, with just a couple blow up holes to shoot 49, getting him into the clubhouse at 95.

Meanwhile, the group of Goldfarb, Moore and Berner were also incurring the wrath of the Mid-South course gods. Goldy had a tidy 10 on the 9th hole on his way to a 52; it got no better on the back nine as the final 4 holes saw Goldy run triple/quad/triple/quad, for a painful 110. After shooting a respectable 48 on the front, Ed decided to mimic Goldy, running quad/double/triple/triple to finish with 104. Gary Berner? Nothing if not consistent…. Started the round triple/quad and finished the round with a triple/quad, placing an enormous 116 on the card. His endurance and physical conditioning were admirable.

The final group (Sautter, Ozy, Turns and Smith) provided the gallery with the full spectrum of Rogue golfing skills. Smith put a tidy 45 on the front nine, with no real blow-up holes. Turns, on the other hand, consistently delivered doubles and triples to card a 58. Ozy worked a triple/triple/triple stretch to smear his opening nine with a 52, while Sautter seemed to be on track with the previous day, putting up a 54. On the back nine, a quad/double/quad finish produced another 58 for Turns, as he staggered off the 18th with a 116. Ozy’s wheels weren’t just off, he may have left them on the front nine. His triple/quad/triple/quad stretch on the back produced a 58 to match Turns, and a rather rare triple digit 110 score. On the positive side, Oz had unquestionably lived up to the spirit of the event. Smith fired another tidy 45 on the back to produce a 90. But the story of the 2018 Rogue golf was clearly David Sautter’s back nine, where he fired a scorching (for him) 43, bringing him in at 97 to clinch the 2019 Rogue Cup team win for himself and Smith….

Some vague personal recollections/observations from Saturday’s Cup round at Mid-South: while I managed to strike some thunderous drives, once off the tee I floundered helplessly in a state of confused ineptitude. No mid-iron skills, no short iron skills, and I hit wedge shots like I was swinging a tree branch. I recall holing an impressively long curling putt on 18… it mattered not. I also recall broad proclamations of despair over the choice of foursome going off first and the subsequent snail-like pace of play. Universally, Ozy is blamed.

Following the round, the group made its way back to the condos to tally up the cards and determine who “won”. We were also in desperate need for a cooling-down period (also known as a “nap”). Sautter and Smith proudly held the Cup high - Smith had gotten so used to wearing the Jacket that a simple nod that he’d won it was sufficient; no need to try and put it on. In a rare combo, Sautter had also secured the Sox as top sandbagger, in addition to having his name engraved on the Cup. This new team format may find the Sox/Cup combo a more frequent occurrence. The Shirt (for highest overall score) was naturally once again in the hands of Gary Berner. For the record:

We found ourselves at a little local watering hole called Maxie’s, after which Andrew gave us an inadvertent driving tour of the area. I recall copious amounts of Crown Royal & ginger the rest of the evening, much of it inspired by Turns.

Sunday was a brief affair – the group fumigated the villas, packed and bid farewell – no decisions made as to a 2019 venue (although we all agreed that NC temperatures required a later date). And thus the 2018 Rogue Cup drew to a close for another year. Farewell, Talamore and Mid-South...thanks for the drubbing! Cheers to all….what will 2019 bring?

2018 Photo gallery here - https://photos.app.goo.gl/UsKXmXVcAk5XF9vE6

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blah-blah-blogg · 7 years

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OK OK, I’ll be the first to admit it….I’m a horrible fucking blogger. Absolute shitte!! It’s been like an entire year since my last post, I’m sorry I suck so hard.

Things really went south for a bit there and it’s taken a minute to bounce back! I live to make others laugh so typically only like to write about things that are funny, but life isn't always funny. To be completely honest, life sucker punched me in the face and like one of those blow-up clown punching bags I just kept popping back up for more.

Trust me, it will take more than this one blog to fill you in on the madness but I’ll start with the reason I stopped. Feb and March 2016. Two months that changed me. Work was a constant source of stress, I’d lost my inspiration, my social life was lame city, and my best friends kept moving further and further away. On top of that, I’d permanently pumped the brakes on the old Tinder dating, realizing that I’m destined for a life with just me and Penny (Penny is my golden retriever, the greatest dog of all the dogs…ask anyone). Oh and I forgot to mention that everyone around me was dropping dead.

I know I shouldn't make light of such a serious matter, but it’s really the only way I know how to survive. I hate being sad or weak so instead I make jokes and push the tough stuff deep down, pretending everything is fine. Isn't that called adulting??? For real though, I lost three people in a matter of weeks and it left massive holes in my heart. My beloved Auntie Christine who I will absolutely never accept is gone, my childhood friend Nathan whose sudden death shook me so much that I couldn't even bring myself to attend his funeral, and believe it or not a really lovely man named Matt that I met on Tinder, who became my friend and had so much to offer the world with his big silly heart.

Here’s the thing about death: it is actually super NOT funny and despite of all my efforts to use humour to survive, there was no amount of making light of it that could mend those holes. It was a tough couple months, I was really damn sad, and it has forever hardened me. I hate being sad, more than anything in the world. I absolutely hate crying and I hate being weak. Unfortunately, emotional dramatics run in my blood so when I allow the sadness to actually make it to the surface, shit gets UGLY!! I am a total NIGHTMARE of a sad girl. Just a mess!! I’m talking full blown ugly-cry: nostrils flared, lips quivering, snotty mess. I bawl my friggin’ brains out, usually in the bath tub or shower, and believe me I really go for it. I walked around for months pretending to be fine, but hid in the washroom at work on the daily fighting back tears with all my might. It was awful. I just want to be a butterfly… free to float around without a care in the world. Sounds lovely, non?

Now here comes the surprise twist: in the midst of all of this death and sadness I met a really great guy. I know you need a moment here…YES you read that correctly! If you’ve read about any of my dating experiences, you’ll understand the great shock here. Yes, I actually said ‘great guy’ and even weirder I totally meant it. EW, so gross I know. They say timing is everything but I’m calling bullshit on that old saying. There literally could not have been a worse time to meet someone so great! I’d like to think I held it together pretty well. I mean, I didn't cry on any of our dates so that’s a plus…right?

Talk about a buzz kill though…trust me, nothing dampens the mood on a first date like ‘how was your day?’ ‘Oh, my friend died today’ …..um I really need to learn to hold things back. What did I think this poor guy would have to say to that? Jesus, maybe I should write a blog just about the dumb shit I say on dates (seriously, things just come spewing out of my mouth like projectile word vomit). I give him major points for pressing through. I won’t even get into the fact that I also tried to get out of almost everything he had planned for us….driving range? in the dark? in high heels? dinner at a pub in a STRIP MALL?!?!? Omg no no no. By some miracle this man got me to do all of the above, managed to dig us out of the dark depressing hole I’d started our date off in, and then ALSO completely charmed the shit outta me! I literally had the BEST time, I whacked the heck out of those golf balls in my high heels, died over his adorable outfit, and laughed the night away at the strip-mall pub!! I forgot about all the shit I was dealing with and just got to be my ridiculously girly self for a few hours. What was happening? who was this plaid shirt,Timberland boot wearing, friggin’ cutie??

Date number two was just as surprising….and it happened the following morning. Now don’t go jumping to conclusions here. Date number one ended with a PG rating (despite my wild antics I am a lady, people!!!). In fact I actually X framed the poor guy out when he tried to make out with me on that first date (if you’re unfamiliar with the X frame, simply hold your two arms out in front of you, make an X........Tadaa)

Aha ha, it’s super awkward and pretty aggressive, but effective and actually quite hilarious! I mean, he was cute as hell, but one step at a time bud. Anyways, somehow less than 24 hours after our first date, there we were headed down an old country road with coffees and our pups. Shockingly, I never once thought he would murder me out there (reference previous posts: I live in perpetual fear of being murdered by a stranger). It was without a doubt in my mind that this guy was one of the good ones. I clung to his peaceful goodness like it was life or death, and when we were together I could forgot about those holes. Honestly, this guy was unreal. Every single one of our dates was straight out of a country music video…I’m not exaggerating. We literally had a picnic date on the tail gate of his truck with country music blaring, swinging our feet over the river…I was waiting for the camera crew to pop out of the woods and for Luke Bryan to come strolling down the river bank guitar in hand.

Almost a year later we had endless hours of conversation under our belts and it felt like I’d always known him. We had covered death three times over, divorce, murder, unhappy relationships, tough life lessons and just about everything else in between. Our country music video dates continued on the regular and there were some unreal memories made. He was kind and sweet and, although he was peaceful and had such a quiet soul, it was clear that his divorce had left him with his own holes. Our relationship was lovely and it was one for the books but sadly it was doomed from the start. Unfortunately, you have to be whole and happy in order to love someone fully. The crazy thing is that death and divorce have similar effects on a person, it kind of forces you to look at your life. Losing someone or getting out of a bad marriage, makes you feel like you escaped, you get a second chance, another breath. You remember what’s important, it reminds you to LIVE in the moment and to be grateful for what you have. So it might seem like the worst and most heavy time time to meet someone, but in a way our timing was perfect! We needed each other to lift the weight of all that death and divorce until we were ready to face it all on our own.

Ugh, Sorry. SOB STORY. I know that’s not the ending we were all hoping for and trust me no one hates a sad ending more than me but you know, life works in weird and mysterious ways. Broken hearts or not, you just keep moving forward. So here, how about I cure all of our broken hearts with the real ending. I’m back bitches!!! Better than ever. Every tough thing that comes my way is just another opportunity to show ‘em what I’m made of. You can patch those holes in the heart, you can let go of the weight of loss, and you can kick some serious ass while you do it. In case you were wondering where I went….I was LIVIN folks!! I moved into a new house (it’s actually rickety and old but it’s totally me), I quit my job, I started my own business, and I’m back telling my stories by bloggin' my little heart out.

In the words of the great LL Cool J...Don’t call it a come back. I’m gonna knock you out!

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jimmydemaret · 4 years

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wemahboob-blog · 5 years

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Practice Golf Balls

Practice golf balls can be a great way to get in some range time at home or at work without having to load up your clubs, drive to the course and pay extra fees. The balls are relatively cheap ($3-7 for a bag of ten of most foam or plastic varieties) and, once you find an area to utilize them, it is a great way to vent some frustration and get a little bit of exercise. Practice golf balls are light and meant for the practice of the swing because they are not designed to 'fly' as far as regular golf balls. A full range of colors and styles are available as well as glow-in-the-dark practice balls for fun and, possibly, the night golfer.

Of course, golf takes lots of practice and you need to practice correctly so consider things like your tempo, swing and accuracy when using practice golf balls. You would not want to put all of that extra practice time in without first checking that you are practicing the perfect swing. The most important part is to have some fun and improve your game.

If you have a large yard, you can hit practice balls about 50-75 feet without worrying too much about them going over the fence. For those with limited space or who don't want to wander all over the yard picking the balls up after each session, practice nets that look much like a soccer goal can be purchased or you can set up a screen out of fabric with targets and the balls will drop in a more condensed area. A ball shagger (or retriever bag) is also a handy accessory for your practice system because it will ease some of the back pain from stooping and picking up balls in the yard.

The plus side of using practice golf balls is that you can work on making better contact and focus on the speed of your swing. The noticeable improvement in your game will be invaluable and definitely take some strokes off of the scorecard. The biggest down side of practice golf balls, though, is that you do not get the instant gratification of seeing how well you struck the ball because they do not travel as far or at the same heights. Your distances and flight paths are hard to judge with practice golf balls. Also, practice golf balls are not best used for putting. This should only be done with a regular ball because you need to judge your strength and follow through with your putter.

For a good practice session in the comfort of your own home, yard or office space, practice golf balls will do the trick and get you back into the game.

www.golfuniversityau.com

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poop4u · 5 years

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Guy trains dog to fetch his golf balls

#poop4u #dogs

Every golfer's dream dog! This guy trained his English Setter to retrieve chip shots in his backyard. She gets amazing exercise and he gets his golf practice in without a driving range! Source & embed code: https://rumble.com/v7sal7-guy-trains-dog-to-retrieve-golf-shots.html. For licensing, please email [email protected].

From: Rumble Viral

Poop4U via www.Poop4U.com Trippy.Tube, Poop4U

#doggo #cute dog #dogs of tumblr #puppy doggo #doglover #doggrooming #my doggo #dogmeme

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jenniferfaye34 · 5 years

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#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ The Soccer Player and the Single Mom by Kyra Jacobs... #romance #books

Meet the Author:

Kyra Jacobs is an extroverted introvert who has always called Indiana home. That means she’s well versed in fickle weather, pork tenderloin patties that don’t fit on a bun, and sarcasm. Putting her Indiana University degrees in Public Management to good use by day means Kyra does the bulk of her writing late into the night. Fueled by caffeine and funny memes, she weaves tales of love and relationships, including the humor and/or chaos both can bring. Kyra’s published novels range from sweet contemporary romance to chick lit and paranormal/fantasy. When this Hoosier native isn’t at a keyboard, daydreaming through her fingertips, she’s likely outside, elbow-deep in snapdragons or on a sideline somewhere cheering (loudly) for her sporty sons. Kyra also loves to go bowling, tries to golf, and is an avid college football fan.

Connect: Site | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

About the Book:

For most women, working for a sexy soccer star would be a dream come true. All except single mom Felicity Shaw. She has no interest in playing personal assistant for a stubborn, injured playboy—no matter how nice his abs are. But with bills piling up and mouths to feed, she can’t say no to the job.

That’s when it gets interesting.

The last thing Scott Gillie wants or needs is a persistent and entirely too distracting PA while he’s recuperating in his small hometown. Unfortunately, it’s not up to him. Then Felicity and her son end up temporarily moving in—all thanks to his meddlesome grandmother. Now temptation is right across the hall and it’s driving Scott crazy.

His only option is to fight fire with fire.

He never expects Felicity to do the same.

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EXCERPT: Standing here toe-to-toe with Felicity, he found his resolve wavering. Not that it would matter. Another verbal joust or two, he sensed, and she’d be on her way. As much as he hated the idea of upsetting her, her staying bothered him far more. Across the room, a perky mambo-style song began to play. Felicity’s features quickly shifted from irate to worried. She spun from him to retrieve a phone from her purse. “Hey, Laur, what’s up? Wait, slow down. My duplex is what?” Felicity turned and hurried toward the foyer, her voice a quiet rush. As she did, Edna rose from her chair and came over to smack him upside the head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she said in a hiss. “What? You always said honesty should come above all else.” That earned him a second wallop. “You can be honest and still use tact, you nincompoop. I expect you to apologize when she comes back.” “But—” “No buts. If she’s been hired to be your personal assistant, then you let her. Heaven knows the poor girl and her son need all the help they can get right now.” Scott hung his head. Saying it like that, Edna made him sound like some evil villain out to swindle a fair maiden. Not used to playing the bad guy, he tried to come up with a new plan. Maybe they could work together to trick J.B. into thinking she was doing the PA thing. Because, aside from giving him a ride to his weekly doctor visits, there really wasn’t any other reason for her to be around. All he had to do was convince her to fib to his agent, and they’d both be better off. For the first time since this crazy arrangement had been sprung on him, Scott actually looked forward to his next conversation with her. “Besides, that one’s a keeper.” Oh no. He needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking, ASAP. Scott threw his grandmother a warning look. “She’s not a date, Grandma. She’s my assistant.” “Mm-hmm.” Her cotton-ball brows waggled. “Wanna put a wager on it?” “Do we need to have another talk about your gambling problem?” “Bah, Ohio’s taken the fun out of you.” Felicity rushed back into the room, worry etched across her beautiful face. Wait, beautiful? “As much fun as it was arguing with you, Scott, I’m afraid I need to go. My penny-pinching landlord finally cut one too many corners, and the apartment connected to mine caught fire earlier. Our half is in the process of being condemned.” Scott could hardly believe his ears. She was leaving? And not because of him? He felt badly for her, truly he did. But silently? He did a mental fist pump. “Condemned?” Edna cursed, and not under her breath. “I always knew that Harvey Gregory was a no-good miser. But honey, where will you go?” “To my cousin’s, to see if she knows anyone who can spare us a room for the next few days. Or maybe she’ll just shoehorn us into her basement. I don’t know.” Guilt ate at Scott as Felicity’s voice wavered. As much as he wanted her gone, his heart went out to the woman and her smiley, shaggy-haired son. How much of their world had just been destroyed by the fire? “Is there anything we can do to help?” “No.” Felicity raised her chin, trying for bravado, but the sound was more of a hurt whisper. “My home, my routine. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” “Nonsense,” said Edna. She wouldn’t. His grandmother’s gaze cut to his. She couldn’t. “You can stay here with us.” She did.

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engl2030018 · 5 years

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Renato Marranzino

Due February 22, 2019

Dr. Mohrman

English 2030-018

Happiness is not Success

During the 2019 super bowl Michelob ULTRA advertised twice, the ad which is the subject of this paper was titled “Robots”. Michelob ULTRA along with every other company that advertised during this year’s Super Bowl did not push too many boundaries when it came to their ads considering what happened during the 2018 super bowl and its ads. Advertisers the world over saw that being too controversial on one of the world’s biggest stages was not a good idea so this year companies played it safer. Or were at least better about hiding their subliminal messages. “Robots” upon first viewing appears as a testament to humanity’s emotions but unintentionally Michelob ULTRA shows that athletes in today’s world cannot have free time if they want to succeed in their chosen sport. The ad from this perspective portrays athletes as robots, and these robots are better than the average person in every physical way, but in their pursuit of physical perfection athletes lose their humanity. Michelob ULTRA also plays into underlying fears that society has against robots taking over jobs that were previously run by humans and the fear of a robot takeover that is a subject of pop culture movies.

The ad first begins with visuals of a man and woman jogging in the morning. They are quickly overtaken by a humanoid masculine looking robot that is maintaining a pace that the average person people cannot match. The two people glance at each other in a surprised and concerned fashion. The next shot is of another robot at a golf driving range striking golf balls with more speed power and accuracy than any other person there. Two people, one man and one woman, watch in awe of the sheer skill of the robot, amazed. There is then a shot of a boxing robot slamming a punching bag with the force of a jackhammer who is then compared to the female also in the shot who could only dream of having that kind of power. The second to last shot is of a robot as a cycling class instructor pedaling on a stationary bike much faster than the class of average people trying to keep up with the robot’s menacing speed and endurance. This is proved in the next scene by then cutting to a close of a woman also pedaling in class who tries, in vain, to keep up with the robot cycling instructor. All these scenes push a motif continuing to show that these robots are superior to humans. The final and most important scene in the ad is of the first jogging robot we met as it comes to a stop in front of a bar or pub. It turns to the open window of the pub and sees people smiling and drinking. The words “It’s only worth it, if you can enjoy it” appear on screen. The robot then lets out a sigh.

At the end of the day Michelob ULTRA is a company and their intent with this advertisement is to make money. “Robots” was intended to make them money by making viewers feel comforted in the fact that a robot cannot take away an individual’s humanity. After watching the ad however it’s not hard to draw the comparison between the robot and athletes. Athletes and robots are both physically stronger than the average person. Unknowingly Michelob ULTRA parallels the struggles that specifically student athletes go through in this country with how they show their robots. Student athletes are overworked in the pursuit of succeeding. Students in men's NCAA Division I football spend an average of between forty-four hours and thirty-five hours a week[1]. These are the hours of a full-time job. Students in College division one football are under a lot of time constraints once you factor in how much time they must spend on school and studying, many students also have part time jobs which leave little to no free time left. More similarities can now be seen between the robots and athletes now. The robots cannot enjoy the day because they have no emotions and athletes also cannot enjoy their days because they do not have enough free time. The robot sighing at the end of the ad divulges its dissatisfaction with its current situation which is akin to the feeling of unfulfilled socially that student athletes feel. Lacking free time in your everyday leads to not being able to interact with your peers. Michelob ULTRA appears to be acknowledging the fact that student athletes are overworked in this nation and supports an argument of strong social connections over a successful career.

Now knowing this we must look at when this ad aired. It seems ironic to post this advertisement during the super bowl, one of the most famous events on the planet which celebrates the best professional athletes. A contradiction is created here where Michelob ULTRA seems to be telling their audience that to be truly happy all you need is a healthy social life, as those same people watch the Super Bowl, and event that is arguably one of the happiest moments for the winning team. It’s important to understand however that a championship victory, although a happy event, is not the key to long term happiness. Understanding the parallel between the robotic characters and student athletes is important because it highlights a group of people and their unfair struggle to find the time to be happy. The ad calls to light a mindset Americans have that success will bring you happiness which is a false mindset. The ad unknowingly shows how this mentality towards happiness is not only wrong but also unhealthy. Student athletes, because they either commit to this idea of being successful or feel like they do not have the option of saying no, they sacrifice their social life which can lead to feeling unhappy or stressed. A study by the pack 12 showed that 73% of athletes felt that voluntary activities were mandatory.[2] This mindset being also being displayed by the coaches of these athletes proves that Americans believe success is the priority and nothing is exempt from being cut in the pursuit of success. The importance of understanding this mindset exists is very important to discovering individual happiness and the ad by Michelob ULTRA, although unintentional, can be seen as bringing light to this issue and it should be recognized as doing so.

Citations

NCAA. (2008). The Student-Athlete Perspective of the College Experience. Retrieved from http://www.ncaa.org/sites/default/files/The Student-Athlete Perspective of the College Experience.pdf

Penn Schoen Berland. (2015, April). Student-Athlete Time Demands. Retrieved from http://sports.cbsimg.net/images/Pac-12-Student-Athlete-Time-Demands-Obtained-by-CBS-Sports.pdf

[1] (NCAA, "The Student-Athlete Perspective of the College Experience", 2008, pp. 24-26)

[2] (Penn Schoen Berland, "Student-Athlete Time Demands", 2015, p. 3)

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mountainghost-blog · 6 years

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Golf Equipment Manufacturing Market Pegged for Robust Expansion During 2020

Golf equipment consists of the various items, which are used to play the sports of golf. Golf equipments includes golf ball, golf bag, golf cart, ball retrievers, gloves, sunglasses, umbrella, head covers, towels, tees, ball washer, electric cars, pull and push cart, cart cover, golf footwear and other golf accessories. Increasing golf course developments, growing people participation in golf, rising disposable income are some of factors responsible for the growth of golf equipment market.

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Adopting aggressive marketing strategies and various endorsement events by companies leads to influence the consumer preferences towards golf equipment products. These events also help in increasing consumer interest and awareness towards various brands offering in golf equipment by leading players. A combination of golf associations, promotion of sporting programs such as golf for public and government supports is driving the demand in the golf equipment market.

Growth of golf equipment market depends on the abilities of the companies to create best in class product and maintain their various price ranges. A counterfeited product poses major threat to this industry. These products are cheaper one as compared to original one. Low cost offering of these products further increase the pressure on original manufactures to reduce their cost. Despite various challenges, the golf equipment industry is increasing, as number participants among adult, men and women is growing. This further leads to increase in demand of golf equipment products such as golf ball, golf footwear and golf accessories.

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North America accounts the largest market for golf equipment across the world. Increasing numbers of golfers in China, India and Australia in all age groups offers large market opportunities for golf equipment market in Asia Pacific region. Golf participation in emerging countries including Lithuania, Bulgaria and Serbia helps to further growth in golf equipment market in Europe.

Some of the major companies operating in global golf equipment manufacturing market are Aldila, Inc., Amer Sports Corporation, Wilson Sporting Goods Company, Bridgestone Golf, Inc., Callaway Golf Company, Dixon Golf, Dunlop Sports Co. Ltd., Roger Cleveland Golf Company Inc., Etonic, Fila Golf, Golfsmith International, Inc., Hippo Golf, Mizuno USA Inc., Nike, Inc., PING Inc., Taylor Made Golf Company, Inc., Adams Golf, True Temper Sports Inc, Fortune Brands Inc, Karsten Manufacturing Corporation, MacGregor Golf Company, NIKE Inc and Sports Limited.

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#Golf Equipment Manufacturing Market

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bhattmohit43-blog · 6 years

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Golf Ball Market 2018 Global Share, Trend and Opportunities Forecast To 2025

Excell Reports include new market research report “Golf Ball Market” to its huge collection of research reports at the global and regional level. This report presents the worldwide Golf Ball market size (value, Capacity, production and consumption), splits the breakdown (data status 2013-2018 and forecast to 2023), by manufacturers, region, type and application. The global Golf Ball market is expected to grow at a significant CAGR during the forecast period. A stringent emission regulation is anticipated to drive the growth prospects for the market for the coming years.

Golf equipment comprises various items that are used to play the sport of golf. Different types of equipment include the golf ball, implements designed for striking the golf ball, devices that used to play a stroke, and items that in some way enrich the playing experience. Other equipment includes balls, clubs, gloves, shoes, ball markers, tees, club head covers, ball mark repair tools and other aids such as golf bag and golf carts.

Golf balls were made of a hardwood such as a beech, whereas more expensive golf balls were made of leather skin stuffed with down feathers. There are three major types of clubs including woods, irons, and putters. A tee is an object, wooden or plastic, that is pushed into or placed on the ground to rest a ball on top of for an easier shot. The golfer typically transports golf clubs in a golf bag. Modern golf bags are made of nylon, canvas and/or leather, with plastic or metal reinforcement and framing. Golf carts are vehicles used to transport golf bags and golfers along the golf course during a round of golf. Other equipment includes towels, club head covers, ball mark repair tool, other aids such as ball retrievers, rangefinders, stroke counters, positional guides, ball washers, golf training aids.

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Golf Ball are gaining rapid popularity in wide range of end use applications. Golf Ball are used for efficient filtration of liquids, having high to moderate viscosity, with the continuous flow without any interruption. Use of Golf Ball offers various advantages and benefits such as it increases production rate, enhance the product quality, reduced cost of filter replacement, maintenance cost and reduced contamination, among others. Integrated Golf Ball help to protect the equipment from scaling, fouling and from blocking. The objective of the study is to define market sizes of different segments & countries in recent years and to forecast the values to the coming Five years.

The global Golf Ball market report, studies the market size, trends, ad forecasts for the period 2013 to 2023. The market is categorized on the basis of product, type, application, and end-use. The study also focuses on key regions including North America (U.S., Canada, and Mexico), South America (Brazil, Argentina etc.), Europe (Germany, U.K., France, Italy, Russia, and Spain etc.), Asia Pacific, and Middle East & Africa (Saudi Arabia, South Africa etc.), Japan, China, India.

The major manufacturers covered in this report Acushnet Company (US) Aldila (US) Amer Sports (Finland) Wilson Sporting Goods (US) Bridgestone Golf (US) Callaway Golf (US) Dixon Golf (US) Dunlop Sports (Japan) Roger Cleveland Golf (US) Etonic (US) Fila Golf (Canada) Golfsmith International (US) Mizuno USA (US) Nike (US) PING (USA) TaylorMade-adidas Golf (US) True Temper Sports (US)

The report features:

Overview of the industry, including definitions, classification and segmentation on the basis of application, product, geography and competitive market share

All-inclusive assessment of the market

Industry validated and statistically-supported market data

Facts and statistics

Business outlook and developments

Market forecasts for the projected time frame

Qualitative analyses (including SWOT analysis), product profiles and commercial developments.

Key participants, company profiles, market trends, and business strategies

Some Points from Table of Content:

Global Introduction of Golf Ball Industry

Manufacturing Technology of Golf Ball

Analysis of Global Key Manufacturers

2013-2018 Global and Chinese Market of Golf Ball

Market Status of Golf Ball Industry

Market Forecast of Global and Chinese Golf Ball Industry

Analysis of Golf Ball Industry Chain

Global and Chinese Economic Impact on Golf Ball Industry

Market Dynamics of Golf Ball Industry

Proposals for New Project

To view the complete table of contents and know more details please visit:

https://www.excellreports.com/product/consumer-retail/world-golf-ball-market-by-product-type-market-players-and-regions-forecast-to-2023/

The report includes the forecasts, Analysis and discussion of important industry trends, market size, market share estimates and profiles of the leading industry Players.

Global Golf Ball Market: Application Segment Analysis Global Golf Ball Market: Regional Segment Analysis

USA

Europe

Japan

China

India

South East Asia The Players mentioned in our report

Titleist

Callaway

Srixon

DUNLOP

XXIO

Maruman

MacGregorGOIf

HONMA GOLF

PING

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#Golf Ball Golf Ball Market Golf Ball Analysis Golf Ball Industry Golf Ball Market Forecast Golf Ball Market Share Golf Ball Market Size Golf

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