Answer #25 - Alcohol & Putt-Putt Golf Don't Mix

I meant to study up on Happy Hour the world over - give some real, meaningful information - you know, in response to the alcoholic statement: 'It's Happy Hour somewhere!  Bottoms Up!'

I didn't get around to it.

I know it's Happy Hour at 6:00p in Scotland.  Of course, Happy Hour is 5:00p here in the U.S.  In New Orleans and the entire state of Florida, Happy Hour is whatever hour it happens to be. 

I lived in both Louisiana and Florida, so I know whereof I speak.  There's a tacit agreement in the State of Florida that says: We're On Vacation.  Perpetually.  Doesn't make for graceful aging necessarily.  But when you're carpe-ing the diem, what the hell is the future? And besides, there's botox, microdermasomething and they can inject fat cells from your ass directly into the lips that the blistering sun shrivels.  How cool is that? 

Anyway, I owned a restaurant in Marathon ('A Drinking Town with a Fishing Problem'), Florida Keys.  This was after I lived in Southeast Asia & Louisiana, and prior to my move to Indiana.  It was called Deadhead George's Mexicali Grill.  I don't mean to rip off Dave Barry but, well,  I'm not making this up.  I still have the t-shirts and some of the Deadhead memorabilia.  I'm not a Deadhead, but I was previously married to a Deadhead, and, well, it just seemed to make sense at the time.

The t-shirts had a couple of phrases on them: "It's like a piece of heaven, if heaven tastes like that"  (a derivative kind of line based on the Talking Heads song 'Heaven') - and, my personal favorite: "Deadhead George's - Where the staff is as drunk as you are".

Again, not making it up.

My Landlord greeted me with a raised Bud Light every morning at about 7:00am from his boat - heading out to catch fish he didn't like to eat.  Interesting guy who'd made a fortune building a putt-putt golf course somewhere in Pennsylvania, where no one said it could be done!  Imagine!  Putting a putt-putt there!?  Whoa, Roger! It can't be done! 

Actually, I've tried to imagine a couple of times, but to no end.  Here in Bloomington, the woman who owned the big Putt Putt golf course shot and killed the man who owned it with her.  Er, her husband.  It's next door to the Jiffy Treet.  Big scandal.  Probably some tryst betwixt soft-serve maven & putt putt land baron - leading to late night, liquor-soaked confrontation.  But that's just idle speculation.

What the hell is your point?

Well, that's obvious.  Mixing Alcohol and Putt-Putt golf can only lead to no good.  Don't do it.  It's impossible to avoid the combination of the Grateful Dead and Mexicali-type food, but, well, do it in moderation.  But, whatever happens, if you're considering picking up that lime green golf ball, put down the Bud Light.  Before it's too late.