[Hey, You!] He Really Smoked That Ball
Wife and I get a sitter to watch our child on a Saturday so we can play some golf. It’s a gorgeous day. We get paired up with you and some gob-a-goo, both of you visiting from New Jersey. The gob-a-goo is a nice enough fellow, but I see you smoking a cigarette before hitting off the first tee, and then you proceed to light up at every tee box afterward. Nothing like taking a backswing and inhaling your putrid smoke, which you feel is your right to share with others. What a piece of crap you are! Can’t wait for you to be enclosed in an oxygen tank in the hospital, with a tube hanging out of your throat, you inconsiderate scumbag—and by the sound of your hacking cough and wheezing, it’s just around the corner. Thanks for ruining our day, but justice will be served when you go back to your inbreeding clan of mutants in Jersey to die a slow, agonizing death. You have no right to breathe our air, you pathetic loser!
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