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(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?
JEFF: Nope.
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.
RON: Yup.
(They sip thoughtfully for a few moments.)
RON: Jeeze I hate golf.
JEFF: Why?
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?
JEFF: Well...
(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.)
2: More Religion
