This one's a par five. Nink nonk, pinky ponk.
Nonker muttered happily as he shimmied his hips up before the ball as if he were attempting to entice a male of the species for his seed.
I rolled my eyes at my mate Daz who had bought this fucking chump of a man along.
We were playing golf, something I rarely do unless in mortal danger. However, this morning, Daz had caught me unawares by actually phoning me and I was so befuddled by having to use my phone as a phone that I had agreed to a round of golf with him and his nonsense-spouting friend.
Nonker was the friend, a skinny, red-haired, pale and freckled individual who carried more than a passing resemblance to a burning horse in a bin.
He hit the ball and it sailed majestically through the blue sky.
Nink nonk!
Nonker turned at us both and levelled his club at us like a rifle and mimed shooting us down like the dogs we were.
Nice.
Commented Daz stoically. He had three kids and was stoic about everything now.
He used to be quite the life and soul of the party but the third kid had broken something inside of him and now he was just a robotic shell of a man that only came to life when he was shouting at teenagers on Call of Duty MW3 live chat.
Aye, nice shot ya fucking banger. Make way for greatness.
I moved up to take my shot. I was shit at golf, in my opinion, the only time a man should have a stick in his hand was when he was beating the servants.
I took a mighty swing and watched my ball arc high in the air and come down in some fucking rough, no doubt terrorising some rabbits as my balls were wont to do.
No luck with that one there mate.
Smirked Nonker no doubt imagining himself riding a giant mouse into battle against the Voles.
I think my balls know exactly where they are needed, my friend.
It was my turn to smirk as Nonker reddened slightly at the mention of my Kingmakers.
Daz walloped his shot and it veered spectacularly to the right, disappearing into some awful looking rough patch of grass.
Fuck.
He grumbled, staring into the distance as if he could see another Daz out there. A childless Daz doing flamenco with wild ladies and running naked under the moon howling.
We started walking to our balls which despite myself and Daz's pitiful strikes seemed to be in the same relative direction as Nonkers.
That's the thing about golf. It's mostly walking. When a man asks you if you want a game of golf he is essentially asking you if you would like a walk. Like a dog almost but without the secret beefy nibbles.
Aha, Nink nonk, there she is!
Nonker spied his ball and slid his club excitedly between his fingers like a man in his sixties attempting to massage some life into his tired old todger.
This is the life, eh lads?
He wafted a hand out at the rolling hills behind us and the sun above.
It was indeed sunny. In fact, the day was turning out to be a stonker. I looked at Daz expectantly.
What about that one?
I pointed to a low rise facing the sun.
Aye, good enough.
We trudged over to it and sat back on the grass. Daz pulled a couple of bottles of beer from his golf bag and offered me one.
I took it and had a satisfying glug.
Lads, what are ye up to? We have only done two holes?
Nonker came over looking in disgust at the beer that Daz was offering him.
Aye, two holes.
Uttered Daz profoundly.
Two holes are enough for any man. It's the law.
We looked expectantly at Nonker to see if he would pass the test.
Give one over then.
He flopped down beside us and stretched out a hand for a beer that Daz passed over.
He took a sip then held his bottle out for a clink.
Ninky nonk!
We all chuckled. Maybe he wasn't such a plonker after all.
