#159 In which we order a corned beef on soldier

Once upon a time a man of wealth and taste looked out over the sea from the fairway of his Scottish golf course and saw a wind farm off in the distance. “How can anyone hit a decent seven iron with that eyesore staring back at you?” he asked. He didn’t mind offshore oil derricks or waste from nuclear reactors or even the threat of black lung disease, but an evil, whale-murdering windmill? That was too much for this stable genius. And when he made it to the White House for the second time, that man did something about it. He collected his cabinet of curiosities, even the ones whose jobs had nothing to do with energy, wind, oceans or whales washed up on the otherwise pristine American shores, and told them that is was all hands on deck to make those wind farms go away. A grateful America yet again cheered its monarch.

We here on the ConstiToonies Olympic Miniature Golf Team sympathize with the President. We too, have our differences with windmills. We also hate it when the five-year-old behind us hits his ball into the backs of our legs. 

Golf ain’t easy.