Golfing has always been a passion of mine (kind of like Sharting). The golf course I normal play just so happens to be right next to my house, which comes in handy on getting a quick round in anytime I can. On a warm summer's night, I decided to go play a quick nine holes golf with my old man because I was bored and it was so damn beautiful outside. The first six holes are going wonderfully, I am hitting ball well and just taking my dad to the woodshed. I had zero idea that things were going to take a major turn for the worse.
As we get to the 7th tee, nightfall is coming upon us quickly. The green on 7th hole is the closest to our house, so sometimes we will quit after the 7th hole just for the convince of the walk home. I look at my dad and ask him if he feels like going on after this hole seeing he is not playing the best and both the 8th and 9th hole are tough with water down both the fairways. He however, wanted to keeping trucking on just to try and salvage the beating he was receiving from the clubs I was swing on this night. I wanted to keep going because I had a real chance of shooting par. Little do I know my decision would be made for me very shortly.
The 7th hole is long par five but with a slight bend to left. So I decide to pull out the driver and let one rip, seeing as I was playing so well at this time so I figured I would be able to get to the green in two shots. It just so happens I hit the worst shot of the day and my drive ends up going horribly left and leaves me in a patch of trees. Knowing I would not be able to get the ball to the green in two shots I lay up to around 150 yards out. As I start walking to my ball for the next shot, my stomach begins to ache, it was a feeling I can only describe as the feeling you get right before a giant fart. I didn't even think twice about it and let that fart rip. Everything went smoothly, great sound, great length, it was a fart to be proud of and for a while my stomach pain went away. As I get up to my ball, the pain comes back. So knowing the success of the last fart, I saw no reason that I could not have continued success with these farts. So again I let it rip, again great sound, great length, but this one came surprise, it was the last thing I thought could have happened to me at this time.
It was a glorious Shart, but at the worst possible time. My dad just so happened to me standing next to me at this time, and saw the shear panic that went into my eye. He asked me, "Son, what's wrong." I played it off, "Nothing, nothing at all. That fart just snuck up on me." Little did he know that I defiantly had a small amount of poop in my boxers. There was no way that I was going to pick up my ball and head home at this point, I was in the middle of the fairway, with a good chance at birdie. I take a few practice swings, and I can feel the wetness of the boxers sticking to my ass making me very uncomfortable, which you just don’t want before a big shot like this. I try not to think about the Shart in my shorts right now and make my swing, and by god it looks good, really good. It hits the green and sticks to about 5 feet away from the hole, part of me is excited for this great shot but I know something else is brewing up down there because that pain I had before has come back but increase significantly, I know at this point there is a full out shit coming along with this Shart. As I am walking out to the green, it come more and more clear to me that this shit is coming on hard and coming on fast. I know my time is running short and the last thing I want is for this glorious Shart in my pants to turn into a full shit, which is something not even our world’s most manly men can recover from. I know that squatting down to read this putt is not an option anymore. I quickly decide that taking the bag off to putt is not going to happen either. As I am walking up to my ball on the green I pull the putter out of my bag, walking up to the ball and just quickly take my putt. As it rolls slowly to the cup, I stared thinking, “Could this be…. Am I going to birdie after Sharting.” Just as this is going through my mind, the putt drops into the cup. For a slight moment I forgot about the situation I am in as the feeling of pure excitement for this birdie rushes over me. I want to get my Tiger Woods on and give a big triumphant fist pump, but the feeling of dire need for a bathroom comes back. I turn to my dad who is still 75 yards away from the green and yell in shear panic, “My ball is in the hole, play on without me, cause I am about to shit my pants.” To this day I never heard my dad laugh as hard as he did at the moment. I however, had an epic journey in front of myself. I must penguin walk my ass home, clenching my cheeks together so hard as if it was my first night in prison. My house seems so far away at this point, in my head I’m thinking, “I’m going to make it, I am going to make it,” then all of a sudden, “I am not going to make it, oh my god I’m going to shit myself.” Then finally I get to sliding door at the back of my house, and the worst possible thing happens, IT IS LOCKED! I throw the clubs down on my deck and take of on dead sprint around my house and toward the garage, praying to whatever God was listing at this point, that it was going to be open and that someone was going to be home. Luckily, the garage door is open and I sprint through there and into the house and straight to the bathroom. I hear my mom say something to me and I instantly respond, “I SHARTED ON HOLE SEVEN AND IM GOING TO SHIT MY PANTS!” I barley make it on to the can before the gates of hell spring open and let this evil out of my body. Don’t worry though; I still took the time to look at my boxers to admire the voyage this Shart has taken me though and wonder, is this the greatest birdie in the history of golf.
