I’m Tiger Fuggin’ Woods

Seriously, I am.
Many of you know Malach, like most of the world, is fascinated with Tiger Woods.  I don’t understand it; here in America we normally hate the dominate team/athletes and root for the underdog!  The world hates the Yankees, the Patriots, Jordan, Lance Armstrong, etc, cause they are dominant and dynastic and dammit, we love to see the Cinderella team win.

During March Madness, we all have a Cinderella team (who of course never wins), during the Olympics, we always pic up on these 100 – 1 underdogs, and cheer them on.  But Tiger?  We had maybe the best underdog/Cinderella story a few weeks ago in golf.  48 year old Rocco Mediate, who by all accounts is a great fun loving guy, who has never even sniffed a major tournament win.  Who did we all cheer for?  Superman, Tiger Woods.  We wanted him to stomp out Rocco, and put him back in his place.

I took this fascination with me to my exclusive interview with Tiger yesterday.  I moseyed on down to Windemere, Florida, to his palatial estate that would even make Dr. Murk Jealous.  Tiger met me in his front foyer, riding in a electronic wheelchair that would make Stephen Hawking drool, his bum leg raised up in a cast.  His ride was all tricked out with bling, chrome wheels and tiger stripes, the thing sounded like a cherry bombed out Harley exhaust. 

Tiger pressed a button, and a sidecar popped out of the side, he motioned for me to get in.  Seeing no helmet, I asked for one.

“Shut up you pussy” and Tiger grabbed me, stuffing me head first into the cart, peeled out and off we went at high speed.  I managed to right myself as Tiger sped through his 258 room mansion, and then came to a dead stop on his patio by his pool, throwing me from the sidecar into a plush outdoor chair.

Tiger’s wife immediately brought out some lemonade, and placed glasses before Tiger and myself.

“Leave us bitch”, mumbled Tiger.  He then nodded to me “you may speak whitey”.

“Thank you Eldrick -”

“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!”  TIger was obviously incensed by hearing his first name.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just thought – “

“You are not here to think . . MATTHEW!” He began to laugh.

Damn, I forgot he was more powerful that even Malach the Merciless!  “I am sorry, Tiger – Mr. Woods, just trying to be cute.  Can we start this interview?”

“Go ahead, before you bore me and then I have to release . . THE BEES!”

“Bees?”

“Don’t ask.”  Woods took a packet of blue powder out of his smoking jacket and mixed it in with his lemonade and took a long drink. “You may begin.”

“Thank you Mr. Woods.”  I began our interview.

Malach: Mr. Woods, can we talk a little about your ethnicity?  Specifically your phrase of Cablinasian?

Tiger:  Sure, Tiger is Black, Caucasian, Asian, and Indian.  I got the best of everything, kind of like Barack Obama.  See, I am black, so I get to spread all the Al Sharpton guilt, reparations and such, and also, it makes me cool and good at sports.  My Caucasian side , that allows me to play golf, anywhere, and like country music.  I also allows me ownership rights to certain minorities.  The Asian, well, of course, I know karate, and it helps me count my money, and the Indian (feather not dot)?  Well, I own a piece of Foxwoods cause of that.  The only thing I don’t have is bitch in me.  That I will never have.  TIGER WOODS IS SANS VAGINA!

Malach:  So Mr. Woods, your recent win at the US Open was a inspiration to all us little people, talk us through that.

Tiger:  Well, I bitch slapped the stupid Wop, with a broken leg and blown out knee, how you like me now?  GREATEST ATHLETE IN THE WORLD!  Rocco, he could do nothing but cry at my beauty, I was like the statue of David, only more buff and Cablinasian.

Malach:  How is the leg?

Tiger:  Pretty good, you know I could go out there tomorrow, and wipe up that pansy Phil Mickelson with one leg, right?  I am just giving some other idiot, like that curry eater Vijay Singh a chance.

Malach:  So Mr. Woods, who are some of your inspirations?

Tiger:  Well, you may be surprised, I am not really inspired by any golfer; fat old white guys . . . who are my heroes?

Eazy – E, Josef Stalin, Scarface, Jim Jones, Jesus, you know, cool guys like that, guys like Huey P. Newton, Ghandi, Vlad Dracul, you know, guys like that, real men.

Malach: How about Malach the Merciless

Tiger: Dude softball is for girls.

Malach: Well, I got a few more questions for -

Tiger: Hey Taint Tickler, can you run fast?  Faster than . . . BEES?  (Tiger press a black and yellow striped button on his chair)

Malach:  Huh?  What’s that buzzing sound?

Tiger:  I would run if I was you white boy.

I turned my head slightly to the right to see a dark gathering cloud of buzzing death on the horizon, Tiger began to laugh.

I was out of there, faster than a prom dress at Gloucester High School, and didn’t look back.  Tiger followed in his chair which had suddenly spring 6″ needles all over it’s surface. his wild laugh trailing behind, the bees following, the stinging, literate bees.

“CAN YOU DIG IT!” he screamed as he chased me through his mansion, the bees, the stinging, literate, scary bees, following close behind.  I managed to make it to my Jeep and peel out of there.

The sounds of his maniacal laughing, and 1000’s of bees still haunt my dreams.  Stininging Death . . .

I am Malach and I risk life and limb for my readers.