Harry’s Harem
OK, Tiger. You can finally give up the charade. You’ve been in the pressure cooker long enough. You see, Tiger’s one of my best friends (yeah, I know, a tiger and a hamster, who would have thought?). And after I helped him out in his last major by tunneling under the 18th hole and tipping the ball in on the putt, he’s owed me big time. So, when it was about to come out that I was a womanizer, well, he stepped in to take the heat for me.
Yeah, that’s right. The hamster’s the hound. What can I say, I’m addicted to supermodels. So, these past two weeks he’s been taking a lot of heat for me and he’s even lost a lot of money. I feel bad, so I’m coming forward to take responsibility for all of these affairs.
Rachel Uchitel, the club hostess? I met her during the same golf tournament that Tiger met her. The reality show contestant and cocktail waitress? She had a thing for small, hairy mammals with big pouchy cheeks. The swimsuit model? Yup, tapped that.
I also feel bad because I’ve been counseling the Tiger on his media relations these past two weeks. I even wrote some statements for him to put on his Web site, to try and knock down all of the speculation that’s been surrounding him since he lied for me. But, that didn’t work too well, either. Tiger, buddy, I’m sorry. You can have all of my yogurt treats for the next month, man. All yours.
As for the thing with the SUV and the tree and the fire hydrant? That was all Tiger. I’m way too small to drive an Escalade. I roll in a Prius, baby.
