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The Quest

One afternoon in late 2007 I was meandering about and happened upon a full-on drink session between deities. The three big ones were there, really tying one on. The Flying Spaghetti Monster was pounding boilermakers. Ceiling Cat was smoking some serious weed. Vince Lombardi was spiking his own Absinthe with GHB. Things got even a little more strange when The Reverend Chris Korda of the Church of Euthanasia showed up uninvited and started getting her freak on with some crazy concoction involving xylocaine, PVC waterproof glue and kitty litter.

In all, not your standard afternoon tea. So I pulled up a stump, poured myself a scotch and began to wax rhapsodic with the gang.

Our conversation – if you could call it that – ran the gamut of bizarre tales. Ceiling Cat was started in on his support for Darwinism (“Evolooshun iz lots bettr. Cuz den Iz evolvd frum teh tigrs. RAWR! ME EETS YU!”).

His Pastafariness shared excerpts of the First Week of Creation when he put everything together. He started bitching about how hard it was to assemble all the kids’ bikes when I got in his face, positing that transubstantiation doesn’t mean squat since His Body is already a major food group. He was not pleased with this particular line of discussion. I grew concerned. A man turns to charcoal awfully quick when stuck by lightning. I backed off.

Korda went off on some tangent about the ecosystem, her four pillars, voluntary species reduction and the like. Lombardi cold-cocked her when she wasn’t looking. We cheered.

After I got my buzz into high gear an overwhelming thought jolted me awake. I was presented with an opportunity of a lifetime; nay, an opportunity of an eternity. Being face to face with the creators of existence (sort of like SNL’s League of Super Best Friends, but not fake) I needed to ask The Ultimate Question. So I did. And it went something like this:

Me: Where should we go for the HGP this year?

FSM: My child, to understand where you are going you must first ask yourself what you had for lunch and did you have a side of that ravioli.

Me: Uhhh, how does that help me?

FSM: Hmm. Good point. I always liked Myrtle.

Me: Being omnipotent and all, you should already know we’ve hit that destination twice.

FSM: Ah. Right. Have you asked yourself WWAPD?

Me: Most pirates don’t hang out on the links because the eye patch creates eye dominance issues. They typically start with the ball too far back in their stance and end up hooding everything.

FSM: I guess that explains why I always win at our club event.

Me: C’mon, O Great Carb! You delivered the world in five days (and even remembered the breadsticks) but can’t come up with an idea for our next outing? WTF? I mean, really, WTF?!

Ceiling Cat: Oh hai. I liek teh gowf. Yu shood gowf much tymz. Doz greenz in zat Pehbl Beech ar nyse fohr nap. WAI FLYZ BAHVER ME? WAI?

Me: Whoa, dude. You might want to slow down on the heroin-laced cat nip. (Then turning to the group.) Seriously guys, anything here? You’re the goddamn creators, for fuck sake.

Lombardi: You need to do something heroic.

Ceiling Cat: Oh hai. Yu kneed tu du a phantaztik fing. Yu kneed teh kwesd.

Me: The what?

FSM: You need to something truly legendary. Something beyond satisfying. Something bigger than a marinara sauce. You need The Quest.

Me: What, exactly, is The Quest?

FSM: You and all your Type A buddies need a goal. Something that requires your special mix of skills, stamina and stupidity coupled with your love of golf. Something that would look good on your epitaph long after you have shuffled off this mortal coil. Something to prove your worthiness for your entrance into my holy kingdom.

Me: Lay it on me.

FSM: I hereby bestow upon you a calling to play the top 100 public golf courses in the United States as defined by Golf Digest.

Me: (in awe) My god!

FSM: Yes?

Me: No, I meant that as an exclamation, not a reference to you.

FSM: I know. I get that all the time.

Me: This is genius! It is extraordinary! It’s… it’s… it’s heroic!

At this point Lombardi stepped up and channeled greatness.

Lombardi: You are going to chase perfection, knowing full well you will not catch it, because nothing is perfect. But you are going to relentlessly chase it, because in the process you will catch excellence. You will not be remotely interested in just being good.

Me: Wasn’t that your opening line to the Packers when you arrived in ’59?

Lombardi: Fuck off.

Me: So… is it the top 100 courses in 2007 or does it have to be the current year?

FSM: Dammit, man. I came up with the idea. The rest is just details. Now I understand what Hom is constantly bitching about. Do I have to do everything around here?

Me: Sorry, your worshipfulness.

The rest of the day was sort of a blur. I have a vague recollection of outlandish stories, socialites and degenerates coming and going, and consuming obscene amounts of single malt. I dimly recall Tucker Max explaining the finer points of the angry dragon before everything faded to black.

I woke up the next morning with blood all over my foot, my cell phone missing, and $400 had taken a mysterious leave of absence from my wallet. I had also completely torn my cornea (again). Fortunately my potassium levels hadn’t completely bottomed out or it would have been a trip to the ER.

But I now had The Quest. And now so do you. This site will serve as documentation central for your personal Jihad against golf’s greatest challenge.

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