Crouching Tiger, Hidden Fire Hydrants.
Reading my local tabloid on Tiger Woods today and came across this little snippet. One name jumped out at me, guess which one? Since, yer know, subtlety is such a forte of mine.
A: …There must be a lot of nervous “squeaky clean” sports stars checking the fine print of their prenups, now that open season has been declared. What next? Explosive allegations that Roger Federer left the house without making breakfast-in-bed for the wife?
B: It’s impossible to rule anything out. Thirteen days and 28 breakfast waitresses ago, I thought Tiger Woods was straighter than his three-iron, but now I don’t know which insular, multi-billionaire sportsman, who missed out on a proper childhood, to trust.
A: Still, it’s clearly a recipe for success. Think of all those elite athletes who deny themselves of sex before big events. Now we can expect the likes of Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps to boast their regimen involves protein, weights and three bubble-boobed airheads a day.
B: World records will be at their mercy. Still I can’t see wholesome Roger Federer being capable of such immoral actions. I can’t even imagine him sneaking a peek at a lingerie catalogue. Not with wife Mirka super-glued to his shoulder.
Boo Roger, you goody two shoes! I’m not waitressing YOUR table.