(Ron and Jeff sit down in a golf course, drop a slab beside them and start drinking.)
RON: Did I ever tell you how I once pissed on my belt?
RON: Well, I'd just got dressed, right... and I hadn't done my belt up.
JEFF: Uh huh...
RON: So I'm walking around the house, one end of my belt hanging loose in front... and I decide I need to relieve myself. So I go into the toilet... undo the fly... pull out the ol' whatsit, and pssssshhhhh... onto the belt.
JEFF: So that explains that time I found you scrubbing it in the kitchen.
(They sip thoughtfully for a few moments.)
RON: Jeeze I hate golf.
RON: Luxury sport. Cruel to golf balls. Contributes to urban sprawl. I dunno.
JEFF: I should have thought that strolling around a golf course taking potshots at a small white ball with aerodynamic little holes in it was a very relaxing way to spend an afternoon. Better golf than duck shooting.
RON: I'm surprised they haven't combined the two. "Here goes Norman, currently three shots ahead.. Oh yes, he's hit a seagull! It's come down on the green, and the caddy, foaming at the mouth, has raced off to get it. And the Great White Shark strikes again!"
JEFF: Of course, the thing about golf is, it teaches you the finer points of aerodynamics. And how to grovel to the boss by letting him win.
RON: But it's a class thing. I mean, you never see homeless people on the golf course, do you?
(Later still. The remains of the slab surround them. Ron and Jeff are asleep. Ron can be seen sucking his thumb.)
GOLFER 1: Fore!
GOLFER 2: Fore!
GOLFER 3: Fore!
LOADS MORE GOLFERS: Fore! Fore! Fore! Fore! Fore!
(Ron and Jeff wake up with a start. It starts raining golfballs. They run for cover.)
- Ron & Jeff