Notes
after this run, at around 11:37 pm, me, my cousin, my friend, and two of my canadian acquaintances (who happen to be twins) decided that it would be the best thing since sliced bread to go to an abandoned mini putt course, because in a matter of days it is destined to be destroyed. my dad was a legend at that course, he made the leader board with a score of 28, and i aspired to follow in his footsteps. the sight of this course without costumers hurt me, and i decided i must play one last time. we gathered what putters we could find, and a few balls we had found in the woods in the preceding weeks. we arrived in our state of the art station wagon, still dressed in our classy attire from the cocktail party we attended previously. we took a few photos before starting our round, and discussed how we would go about the run-downedness of the course. glass and rocks lay strewn across the greens, the hills were warped, the walls be-riddled with dead spots, and the holes were not entirely round. i got third, in the end, only due to the fact that i was to busy having more fun than my comrades to play well. afterwards, we took a few more pictures and soon realized that we had no transportation back to our house. it was only about a mile and a half walk, but it was, after all, around one in the morning. we decided to play a game on our way home, a polo of sorts. we ran through the back streets of downtown la malbaie, bearing putters and hitting a half pink, half white ball. we nearly hit many cars, and almost getting hit ourselves a few times. we ran through some of the golf course, until sadly loosing our ball somewhere in the middle of the fairway. we walked the rest of the way, sadly next to a freshly manured last few holes of the golf course. we stopped at our friends house, by the name of Brehead, to quench our thirst with some apple juice. we also discussed the ways in which certain alcohols (if they were humans in the forest at midnight) would kill you. it was a riveting conversation, to tell you the truth. at about two thirty, we left their establishment, and continued our trek to our house, by the name of Ugandae. our driveway is precisely .1708 miles long, and lacks light. we had a flashlight, but nonetheless the stories of bears, axe murderers and alcohol had given us quite a fright. (especially since the night before we had seen eyes of an unknown organism at around the same time of night) as soon as we saw the lights to the house, we were relived. this was short lived however, because two middle-aged family friends had happened to be hiding in the bushes waiting to scare the nuts and bolts out of us. and that they did, quite well indeed. remember that all this time we were carrying golf clubs to protect us from bears, or in this case, orangutans. my cousin was merely a good 2 feet from striking our friend when he came to his senses and did not whack him upside the head with a foot-shaped putter. i, on the other hand, had no such club, and simply shone my flashlight in the eyes of the offenders with as much gusto as i could muster. i cant quite remember, but im almost sure that i also was screaming relatively loudly, yet still not loud enough for my parents to hear and understand the wrongdoings that had just occured. for all of this adventuring, and a great story to occupy your time, i ask you, david panush, to allow me to log at least 4 fake runs. good day.