When I first heard about Tiger Woods getting in his accident last week, the first thing I thought to myself was, "Oh snap! Tiger's got that baby mama drama!" But I also figured that he would handle his business and the whole thing would blow over.
Clearly it did not. So I guess I need to get involved.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I condone T. Woods teeing off on other chicks all over the world (*Get it? "Teeing off!" Because he plays golf, AND because he boned a bunch of chicks. Genius*). But what I am saying is that someone needs to help him to see the error of his ways so that he doesn't
get caught repeat his same mistakes ever again.
That's why this week; I'm taking a break from my normal erotic insights to write this very special open letter to golf's new #1 pussy-hound, Mr. Tiger Woods.
Hey, it's me Patrick. Sorry I haven't been in touch lately, but I kind of needed some space after you got me in all that trouble with those
hookers club promoters in Vegas a few months ago. Anyways, I've been watching all of this drama go down over the past week with the text messages, the allegations and everything else, and I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry you're dealing with all this shit. But seriously dude, you brought this on yourself.
No, I don't mean because you were cheating; I mean because of your stupid voicemail.
In case you've forgotten what you said, allow me to remind you:
"Hey, it's Tiger. I need you to do me a huge favor. Can you please take your name off your phone? My wife went through my phone and may be calling you. So if you can, please take your name off that. Just have it as a number on the voicemail. You got to do this for me. Huge. Quickly. Bye."
Where do I even begin?
First thing, did you really need to tell her it was you? You're Tiger f'ing Woods! You're one of the biggest sports stars in the world! Just start talking! Let me ask you, when Carrot Top hollers at chicks, do you think he starts his messages with, "Hey, it's Carrot"?
Of course not. Because he's legendary. Just like you.
The other major issue I have with the voicemail is the fact that you sound calm, rational and not coked up. Bad move.
Remember Pat O'Brien? He had multiple voicemails that leaked, all of which were 100 times dirtier than anything most normal guys could come up with on their own. He was talking about threesomes, coke and just being a complete train wreck. And guess what? It totally saved him.
Anyone who listened to those voicemails immediately thought, "Whoa, that guy is on some serious coke. I can't hold him accountable for what he's saying." Did he mean everything coming out of his mouth? Absolutely. Was he all coked out at the time? Maybe or maybe not. The bottom line is that Pat made his voicemail so dirty and out of control, that he could actually use it as his own alibi later on.
But you? You sounded like a scared high school kid whose girlfriend found out that he got a handy J from her friend on Halloween in his parent's basement, freaking out and trying to save his two-month-old relationship.
(Author's note: Hey Carrie, in case you're reading this, I SWEAR nothing happened with Jessica that night. Call me.)
I know that it's a little late to be giving you these critiques now, but hopefully you can use this info in the future.
Anywho, it totally sucks that you're probably going to have to shell out like $300 million to your wife, and that you might lose some sweet endorsement deals. But on the bright side, if all else fails I guarantee you can get on the celebrity edition of Tool Academy!
I love you,