Funny thing happened on the way by the trash can. A golf magazine, that just came in the mail, was perched on top awaiting its demise. My wife, the smart one, instinctively knew I wouldn’t be the least bit interested, so she “pitched it.” On a hunch, I decided to bend over…ouch…& snatch it from a life at the land fill…so I could share it with my loyal legion of readers….both of them.
Just this once I’m going to call it a magazine…from here on it’s a mag. The mag is 200 plus (gag) pages in length. Here’s the breakdown..not counting the table of contents (yeah right) and the brainless editorial. There are more ads than pages. Not giddy with full page and face to face ads they “add dud” a fold out for those who never receive a pop-out birthday card.
I scanned the insane golf tips for you. They will send your game to the can faster than you can say, “Gang way… I think I’ve got the flu!” The mag is a fashion rag for yuppies. The models wouldn’t know which end of the caddy to grip. How many trees had to die, so this “thing” could live? Warning for the rats living at the landfill Do NOT eat..causes indigestion!
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