I’m going to write a play (someday) called ‘Cowboy Golf. It will be The Last Round-up in perfect existentialism.
Synopsis: Four golfer tee-off at Fidler’s Green…Mark Gall, Sam Elliot, Zalensky, John Presco….Two Jews and two Gentiles. On the second hole my late friend, Alberta Hurt, appears and reminds The Four Amigos its almost time for Cowboy Church. Zelensky gets a call on his cellphone. “Shit! That fucker just blew down my T,V. tower!” “Bummer!” “You’re up. I’d use a three wood here!”
This is my ‘Waiting For Gadot’. There will be a old ragged tree up against the barbed-wire that keeps the sheep away from the golfers. The smell of feces and urine is powerful. Coming back from Cowboy Church at sundown I told Alberta we are in the movie ‘The Misfits. She had lived on a Hippie-Jesus farm outside Springfield. They were young, and soon moved away. Needing a work force, she got prisoners to come out to the farm on work furlough.
“Weren’t you sacred?”
“Sure I was. Some of these guys were tough and mean. I prayed to Jesus allot!”
I wish we had run into Sam Elliot. We would take him to our regular bisquet and gravy
“You’re up John. Hurry it up before Alberta does another time-check!”
“I’m waiting for our professor to stop analyzing his last shot – aloud!”
Alberta took me for a ride into the country to see her burial plot. Then she pointed to some ground next to her ground.
“This is for sale. I want you buried next to me!”
“FOUR!”
Folks will ask to playthrough because we four are locked in a very interesting conversation. One group are….The Bundy Boys!
“We are a Nation of Misfits and Troublemakers, Aunt Bertie. We are just two of them.”
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