Am I getting soft?

Am I? Because last I checked I like a lot of hardcore stuff. Explosions in movies, heavy metal guitars, cutting things and lighting random shit on fire. All the Rocky movies, even five. Hot dog eating competitions.

Really any competition. Even figure skating. Remember Nancy Kerrigan? Because of her I hold out hope that every shitty Olympic competition ends up with a lead pipe in the ice rink and Colonel Mustard.

But I had to question all this recently, as hard as it may be, and ponder: am I getting soft?

Well? I'm actually asking this time. Tell me because if you don't I'll never know. I'll continue getting softer and softer, wearing more and more padding when I go riding a bike, buying more organic foods, and, perhaps worst of all, cutting out coupons. I need to know right now.

Images of Sly trudging through two-feet of Russian snow start to feel like a waste of film.

This is all in question for one reason and one reason only: my losing at minigolf on a date.

My roomie asked me if I lost at minigolf on purpose and I said, "No. I lost straight up." I walked into my room, shut the door and cried myself to sleep. I'm not ashamed of myself, my manhood. I'm just disappointed. Like a father-son relationship gone sour.

She said she wouldn't tell anyone, that it'd be our secret, but I declined. I will tell everyone. I lost at minigolf. It was like when Neo gets his powers sucked out of him in the Matrix. Like when Starr Jones lost all that weight. Like when Ellen told everyone she was lesbian and became unfunny instantly.

I had a ton of excuses prepared, just in case I lost straight up. Wind. Too early in the season. Too many pine needles. My cholesterol spiked. But when it comes down to it, I just flatout lost. I couldn't control the curvy features of the seventh hole. It was like Mickleson trying to get the chip onto the green at Augusta and it rolling back to his feet three consecutive times.

I went down several strokes at that hole, a deficit I could never quite come back from even with a hole-in-one on 15. The damage was done. I will never be the same. I'll fall in love with nature, start reading philosophy and romance novels from the 18th century. I'll get a dog and the alergy shots. I'll start to think Coldplay is awesome.

That is unless you throw hot coffee in my face and tell me to cut the shit. The latter is much more preferred of course.


Question you need to ask yourself: Are you ready for this Jelly?


1. Walked out of my car, saw nothing. Went into Dunky Doos, got a coffee, came back to my car and what do I see? A banana peel right outside my door. Is a cartoon character trying to kill me?
2. The dude that cleans Park Square Credit Union has the most underrated long hair in the history of hairdome.
3. The above story is the most sports-writing I've done in about three months.
4. After not having my check for this week, I threatened my boss that Tito and Ramon would hunt him down. Who knows if this was affective or believable to any amount.
5. Why does every cop that comes into Beef Barn get a bar-b-que chicken sandwich on wheat toast? This goes for Woonsocket, North Smithfield and State Troopers.
6. Telling somebody they're lucky they got sick and lost 12 pounds is a sure-fire sign you have a mental disorder regarding weight, food and empathy.
7. I don't like wasting things, so believe me when I say I hope I get a cold and flu really soon, so the extra tussin, niquil and theraflu will get used.