The Golfman Cometh (part 2)

Aaaugh!! Aaaugh!! Aaaugh!!







Tigger! Wake up, hun! … What’s wrong?







I … I had this horrible nightmare … Dreamed my corporate sponsors were retrospecting me … Portraying me as another stereotypical, showboating, shifty black Negro.





Well, hun, you’re safe and sound now ...


























Here in the good ol’ financially and morally rock-solid Woods family mansion.



… Yeah, sigh















Welp, now that I’m up, guess I’ll go mass email the Tigger Woods Hot White Female Fan Club.






What about this time?







Officer elections. 8pm. Jerry’s Jacuzitorium. Swimsuits optional.







Again? That’s like the fourth round of elections this month!







Lots of seats the fill, Elynn … Lots of seats to fill.







Gotta have hos—I mean, honorable representatives—in each of our great nation’s different area codes.






… Whatever pays the private jet and helicopter notes, hun.







By the way, Tigger, you were an absolute animal in bed last night.







I … I was?







And I know this sounds weird …







What’s that?







Oh, T, it’s just … By the clarity with which you were articulating your “Oh, baby’s” and “What’s my name’s” last night, the silky texture of your sweat-drenched hair …
























In the darkness of the bedroom, I could have almost sworn, for a few minutes there, that you were white!



I was what?!







I know it sounds crazy—







No ... No, actually, Elynn, I can expla—







And then, during our post-coital cuddling, in the darkness, still, as I reached toward the nightstand for our after-intercourse cigarette, you grabbed my hand and told me, “No Kools tonight, baby. Hand me one of those Marlboro Reds!"




… And so that’s why it feels like there’s a tar pit in my esophagus this morning.






Tigger, hun, it was like our dearest dream had finally come true!
























It’s remarkable that you, being merely Tigger Woods’s chauffeur …



Are able to narrate, word-for-word, this intimate private bedroom conversation …






For several chapters in your tell-all book, Charley.











Yes, well, you see … I am highly skilled at lip-reading.















… Kept a set of binoculars downstairs, in the limo’s glove box …















… Tigger and Elynn never closed their bedroom blinds …


























… Night vision goggles …







Fascinating … Well, moving on … What was this “dream” that Elynn was referring to?






Certainly not the dream the Reverend Dr. King had in mind, Connie …



















[But, instead, one that, for Tigger and his wife, would soon become a living nightmare.]


To be continued ...


Short and sweet this week, folks ... I'm gone skiing!!
New Cake & Potatoes next week!

A Gap in the Literature (part 2)

Why the long faces, folks?







Our professor shot down our research project idea.








The one we spent an hour brainstorming for and outlining last week? Pointing out a gap in the existing literature on African American male heart disease rates?





Yep, the one that was to address how making a scholarly examination of the stressful impact of racially discriminatory acts that are common to the African American experience could inform how the medical field on taking a more holistic curative approach to African American health.





Well said, Taneisha … What happened?







Our professor told us our topic was inappropriate.








And then she made an announcement to the entire class: THE GOAL OF ACADEMIC SCHOLARSHIP IS TO BUILD UPON THE ALREADY EXISTING POOL OF KNOWLEDGE, NOT TO POINT OUT WEAKNESSES AND BRING NEW PERSPECTIVES TO THE DEBATE!!














She then proceeded to storm out of the classroom in an indignant huff.








Only to return exactly 14 minutes later, further quashing our hopes of getting out of class early by order of the unwritten “Fifteen-Minute Rule.”






That’s the most absurd assertion I’ve every heard! What’s your professor’s name?






Dr. Draekon. First name, Fierbitheen.








???







It’s, like, German or something. I Googled it.








Well, I think I better pay this Fierbritheen Draekon a visit.







Later ...






























Are you waiting to see the professor, too?







No, I’m Dr. Draekon’s TA.







Ah, hence the stack of undergraduate essays. I remember my good ol’ days working as a Teaching Assistant—






No, not “Teaching Assistant” … “Troll At-large.”





















I screen out all the whiny underclassmen seeking grade changes and random Negroes off the street constantly trying to barge in to see the Doctor.



… Which one are you?







Neither … I’m with RACES, the university’s Reading And Composition Extension Service—






Ha! A low-end staffer. What, do you empty the trash there? Mop the floors?







No, actually, I’m a writing tutor.







Ha! Little more than a glorified Residence Life employee!







… Did you even go to college?







Listen, Igor, I’m not the one chained to an aluminum desk in a chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway on a gorgeous spring afternoon.






I can have the shackles unlocked anytime I wan—







Is your master in or what?







Halt! Anyone wishing to attend the Doctor’s office hours must first answer me riddles three.






I don’t know if you can, in good conscience, call Dr. Draekon’s availability “office hours.” It’s more like “office moments.” But anyway, go ahead—shoot.






Number one: Name the artifact—







Lawrence Sterne’s “hobby horse.”







Whu—? How did—? Well, uh … Number two: What nineteenth-century—







Henry James, Jr.’s “The Beast in the Jungle.”







How did you—? I … well, I … uh, Number thr—







The Madeleine and a cup a tea.







How did you know what I was going to—?







Ha! Ph.D. students … so predictable.







Hey, wait! Before you go in, can I bum a smoke?







Whistle whistle







Some Axe body spray?





















Slam



… Would you get me … a cup … of … coffee??







...







… Sob sob sob …







I need the cup more than the beverage.







Meanwhile ...












































... The first move is yours.







Gulp















... I ...







{{First person personal pronoun, affirming the self … Insecure? Self-centered? Misogynistic? Afrocentric? Be on alert for further cues …}}






... have ...







{{Transitive or auxiliary verb?? Is he touting ownership, or has he slipped into the present perfect as a stalling tactic?? Clarify this, momentarily …}}






... come to ...







{{Past participle and a preposition??? What is this, Mars Attacks??? “I HAVE COME …”??? “I HAVE COME …”??? Well, that’s obvious; why is he squandering precious seconds by prefacing his message with this meaningless garble?}}




...















Ah, to hell with it: Why did you reject Richie, Taneisha, and Frank’s research paper proposal on studies in African American male heart disease?






Gasp!!







Double gasp!!







Tactless!







Boorish!







Sub-academic!







Problematic on so many levels!







Mr. Polk … I … I don’t … I don’t even know where to begin.







???







Never … in my entire academic career have I ever been subjected to such a patriarchal, race-baiting, classist-ageist-ableist, non-collegial, and downright offensive manner of address!





How in the world could you have gleaned all those things from one little question?






Great! Now I have to instruct a member of our fine university staff on the fundamentals of rhetorical analysis!






What’s next? You’d have her hand out course syllabi to the functionally illiterate at the nearest homeless shelter?






… I, uh … apologize? … Maybe it’d be best if I just leave—







NO! YOU WILL LISTEN!!







You will SIT in that PLUSH leather office chair, and you will LISTEN!!







Good gracious! I feel like Manute Bol trying to make snow angels in a minefield!






Mr. Polk, I don’t know how you address your Afro-American thug associates in the streets …














… Uh, Dr. Draekon, your hair tie—







But we, members of this esteemed university community, and the greater scholarly coalition of ivory towers …














… Dr. Draekon, you’re getting agitated … your hair tie is coming loo—







Expect a base minimum level of—







POP!!!! K-CHWN!! K-CHWN!!



Dang … rubber band almost popped me in my …

























... eye ...
















... You're ...
















... black ...
















... passing ...
















... as—







Yeah, yeah, “as white” … “Black passing as white.” Good job, Magnum P.I.







... And you're kinda fly, too.







… This … this doesn’t leave this office. Understand?








… Can … I leave this office?







... Certainly.

























You are a worthy adversary, Charles … Such a shame to waste all that intelligence pursuing a mere MFA.







...







Learn to use the SMART side of the Academy, Charley … Only then will you be credentialed enough to save students like your precious Richie, Taneisha, and Frank.






Well, word up, let me get them "credentials," i.e., digits, and we can rap about academia anytime you want ... over a candlelight dinner, my place, mayhaps?






...








I'll even splurge on those expensive microwave dinners ... pour us refrigerated box wine into my good 32-oz plastic drive-thru cups ... crank up the thermostat to 65 ... What do you say?





Mr. Polk ... not even if you were the last token Negro on campus.