While I’m on vacation, I’m letting some associates, friends, and two lovers steer the ship for me.  That means there will be guest bloggers this week.  Today’s is from Ace Cowboy of Slack LaLane.

I’m not sure where The Artist Formerly Known As Tubbs Muldoon is today, though I’m betting he’s some place where hoooagies are sold. But when Uncle Jase asked me to fill in for him on this here vanity exercise of a website in his absence, I immediately obliged. I mean, a chance to bring my brand of attempted humor to a built-in audience of millions? Well, accepting the gig was just a no-brainer, a total Schiavo.

But then I started to panic, my brow beading up in sweat, my hands shakier than Muhammad Ali operating a jackhammer. Not only did Jason ask me to fill in for him during my worst period of comedic writer’s block (I’ve been slacking on my own blog really badly of late, much to the dismay of my reader), but I’ve also just recently accepted the fact that I’m not very funny in a traditional sense. By any typical humor rubric — with a 1 being rectal lesions and a 10 being hooker rape — I’m about a Richard Marx’s Hold On To The Nights. That’s no gouda. So I started to freeze up backstage at the thought of this cameo…

Then things got even worse: The Letter D kicked off Mulgrew’s guest-blogging extravaganza by setting the bar pretty damn high. How on Earth am I gonna follow this cat’s lead? But I soon realized that I’m a white man, and if The Letter D can do something well, I can and will succeed at this endeavor as the superior being I am. That train of thought switched on the cartoon light bulb, making me realize that what I’ve been looking for has been staring me in my pale face this whole time, the common denominator, the tie that binds us all together: casual-to-mildly overt racism.

So I know the following humorous anecdote may seem like filler to some of youse, but rest assured, it’ll contain a bigger payoff than if you had simply read my completely original drivel. This is a joke my father sent me via the electronic mailing system about a year and a half ago, and every once in a while I read it to remind myself how funny it is that I get e-mails like this from my pops all the time. But, hey, it totally beats the off-color jokes about blowjobs that my grandmother sends out from time to time, no joke. So without any further (Freddy) ado, I present to you this joke about robot caddies…

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A man goes to a public golf course. He approaches the man behind the counter in the pro shop and says, "I would like 18 holes of golf and a caddie."

The man behind the counter says, "The 18 holes of golf is no problem, but all of the caddies are out on the course. What I will do for you is this. We just got 8 brand new robot golf caddies. If you’re willing to take one with you out on the course and if you will come back and tell me how well it works, your round of golf is on me today."

The golfer obviously accepted the man’s offer. He approached the first tee, looked at the fairway and said to himself, "I think my driver will do the job." The robot caddie turned to the man and said, "No sir. Use your 3 wood. A driver is far too much club for this hole."

Hesitantly, the golfer pulled out his 3 wood, made good contact with the ball, and the ball landed about 10 feet to the right front of the hole on the green. The golfer, delighted, turned to the robot and thanked him for his assistance.

As the golfer pulled out his putter, he said, "I think this green is gonna break left to right." The robot then again spoke up and said, "No sir. I do believe this green will break right to left."

Thinking about the last time the robot corrected his prediction, he decided again to listen to the machine. He made his putt and birdied the hole, thanks to the robot and his advice. But his luck didn’t end there. His entire game was the best game he ever played, thanks to the assistance of the new robot golf caddie.

Upon returning to the clubhouse, the man behind the counter asked, "How was your game?"

The golfer stated, "It was, by far, the BEST game I ever played. Thank you very much for letting me take one of your robots. See you next week."

A week passed, and excited, the golfer returned to the pro shop. Upon entering the pro shop he turned to the man behind the counter and said, "I would like 18 holes of golf and one of those robot golf caddies, please."

The gentleman from behind the counter turned to the man and said, "Well, the 18 holes is no problem. However, we had to get rid of the robots. We had too many complaints."

Confused, the golfer cried, "COMPLAINTS? Who in the heck could’ve complained about those robots? They were incredible."

The man sighed and said, "Well, it wasn’t their performance. It was that they were shiny silver metal, and the glare from the machine was blinding to other golfers on the fairway."

The golfer said, "So then why didn’t you just paint them black?"

The man nodded sadly and replied, "We did. And then four of ‘em didn’t show up for work, two filed for unemployment, and the other two robbed the pro shop."
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Mulgrew will be back shortly, and soon you’ll return to your regularly scheduled programming of food, dick and body hair jokes. Me, I wait around for the weekly Six Songs, the only redeeming quality about this blog or Jason in general. See I dig music, dig it like Russell Hammond on a Topeka rooftop, and since the segue door is closing here, allow me to do what I did on the [redacted] blog this week and cash in my favor from Muldoon right now.
 
If any of youse enjoy live music — rock bands, GoodGod funk, [in Cosby voice] the jazz music, classics, the popular rock band Phish — head on over to a fairly new blog we recently launched called Hidden Track. Like Men’s Wearhouse, our slogan is also "You’re gonna like the way you look." Nah, I wish. But go there anyway.
 
Have a good weekend, and if anyone wants to send me pictures of their boobs like they do Jason, I can be reached at slacklalane@yahoo.com. I’m just kidding…I only like cock shots.