Forgive Me iPhone, for I Have Sinned

I must confess, the main reason that I never converted to Catholicism is the same reason my t-shirt business folded: bookkeeping. I hated keeping track of every single purchase, sale, sales tax, transaction and never really knew what the hell I was supposed to report to Uncle Sam on my quarterly reports.

Given that the default mode on my moral compass points to “sin” (key word “default,” mom…) I cannot imagine trying to keep track of all my sins and accurately reporting them to the Catholic God’s taxmen, priests. Whereas a mistake on my business ledger might merit an audit from the IRS, a slip-up on my quarterly sin count may lead to being smote down in front of all my friends, eternal damnation, or God forbid, hand washing jock straps for the Notre Dame football team for the rest of my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Catholicism or any other religion for that matter. All of my best friends, other than Jesus, have joined an organized religion. My problem with ascribing to any particular religion is all the damned rules (like using damn as a damn adjective). Nearly everything I’ve joined in my life, I’ve ended up quitting before too long — the one exception being the human race. But I’m telling you, some members in the latter group have been pushing all the wrong buttons and pulling all the wrong levers. I’m so close to falling over the edge. However, I would never kill myself; that would be suicide.

Converting (can you actually convert if you are not already in a religion?) to Catholicism presents the added burden of keeping track of all your sins, so when you climb into an outhouse-shaped confessional booth (see image below), you’ll spill ALL of your sins to the priest in the adjacent stall, receive a check list of Penance that needs to be checked off before you come back and drop your next load of burdens. Then, like Superman donning a cape and dipped in synthetic red and blue polyester, you emerge from the booth, conditionally absolved and feeling lighter, as if you can fly – or in the immortal words of Buzz Lightyear: “fall gracefully”.

No Priest on Duty: Enter at Own Risk!

Although, thoughts of converting to Catholicism just became more tempting with the new Roman Catholic App for your iPhone or iPad or iSin. The new app is designed to help penitents examine their Conscience based upon pre-programmed factors such as age, sex and vocation. Better yet, the app helps keep a running count and organize sins based on contrition. Moreover, you can add sins not listed in the standard examination of conscience such as “Third-Degree Blog Blasphemy.” The long-awaited app replaces the archaic Sin Abacus, which, with a couple of sharp turns en route to confession could shift your beaded sin count to absolution — something coined by some deceitful sinners, usually teenagers or closeted televangelists, as “The Absolution Sin Solution (ASS).”

Thank God for technology, eh? It’s only a matter of time before the Man upstairs, Steve Jobs, comes out with an ankle tracking device, the Sinulator, that monitors your sins as you commit them and simultaneously stores your history of sins in a nearby Catholic church’s mainframe and the Library of Congress. The only way you can get your Sinulator cleared is by going to confession and completely purging yourself, at which point the priest assigns Penance before entering the daily calibrated, secret code that wipes your slate free of sin. Should you keep procrastinating confession, your sins will merely accumulate until it reaches the Smite Point, explodes and smotes you down on the spot.

Kaboom!!!

I imagine God already has a Smite app on his IPad, which He plays with in between Facebooking, tweeting and playing Grand Theft Auto IV on His Xbox-360.

However irrational it may seem at this point in time, the prospect of having a Sinulator permanently strapped around my ankle is enough to deter me from signing on to the Catholic Church. I often have visions of returning home from a weekend in Vegas, still coming down from the roofies slipped in the Molotov cocktail I drank Saturday night, and walking blindly into a sin intervention, or Sinnervention. I am not one for surprise parties or being the center of attention, so the thought of being surrounded by family, friends, Therapist Bob and the neighborhood Exorcist scares the hell out of me.

“The reason we’ve gathered here, T.M., is to help you confront your conscience,” Therapist Bob would say, taking the lead. “But first you need to take the first step and tell us about this,” he continues, pulling the remains of my charred Sinulator from a cardboard box. “Your neighbor heard a loud explosion coming from your house early Sunday morning and the fire department found this among the remains.”

That said, I must confess that I won’t be converting to Catholicism or purchasing the confession app any time soon. And the only piece of advice I have for any of you contemplating either of these is the following:

During confession, if you ever feel a priest’s foot tapping against your foot underneath the adjacent stall, I suggest you take a peek and make sure he doesn’t have a Sinulator strapped around either one of his ankles…

THE END Kaboom!

Why Do Sharks Hate Our American Way of Life?

The "War on Terror"

While America’s Homeland Insecurity focused most of its attention on strip-searching potential terrorists at airport terminals in 2010, the biggest threat of terrorism managed to swim under the radar undetected and attacked 32 unsuspecting Americans in our homewaters.

By terrorist, I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill firebrand of terrorists such as Al-Qaeda, BP Oil, or a beached Rush Limbaugh; rather, I’m talking about, Chief Martin Brody forbid, Sharks!

Dudum…

That’s right, sharks. US researchers reported 79 unprovoked shark attacks on humans last year, 32 of which were on Americans. The big question is why these amphibious terrorists are disproportionally preying on Americans when compared to our fleshy global counterparts. In essence: Why do they hate our way of life?

Dudum…

Now I’ll be the first to admit that, thanks to Steven’s Spielberg’s anti-shark propaganda attack in 1976 (i.e. “Jaws”), I hate sharks. Don’t get me wrong though; I’m not a sharkist by any means. Some of my best friends are land sharks.

But when I first saw “Jaws” on the big screen at the impressionable age of eight, sharks scared the shit out of me, thus opening a can of deep seeded, irrational fears. I refused to bathe in the bath tub for months afterward, thinking baby sharks were bred in the sewers of my landlocked habitat and would swim up through the drain and take a bite out of my budding manhood. While at summer camp at a peaceful resort, similar to the one in the “Friday the 13th” flicks (which came out later and stoked new fears of sleeping with hot, scantily-clad girls in the woods at night), I was convinced that there were fresh-water sharks circling under me, deciding whose turn it was to gnaw on my dangling legs, while I waited for the water-ski rope to return. The only things I hated more than sharks during those pre-pubescent years were Brussels sprouts and “The Lawrence Welk Show.”

Dudum…

I’m sure I’m not alone in my hatred for these dorsal-finned, man-hating killing bastards, so it’s no wonder sharks aren’t too fond of us either. Maybe that and the fact that humans kill an average of 30 to 70 million sharks a year. Besides the obvious motive of revenge, a University of Florida’s international shark attack report contends that the terrorist attack rate is going up in America due to a rise in population, coupled with a rising interest in aquatic recreation. But this simplistic “Us versus Them” analysis merely serves to drown out the truth, something SSF’s investigative journalists had no choice but to uncover, harpoon and expose to the public.

Du du du du du du…

Real Reasons Why Sharks Are Increasingly Terrorizing Americans & Threatening Our Drylander Way of Life

1. Americans are fat and juicy: Got Americans? Why settle for a lean piece of meat elsewhere when you can sink your teeth into a bobbing, buoyant, fatty slab of all-American meat. Can’t blame them, now can we.

2. It’s the economy, stupid!

3. Jaws IV sequel?: rumors have been surfacing down under that yet another Jaws sequel is in the works.

4. Recent spike in politicians jumping the shark: potential GOP Presidential wannabes are lining up to see who can best jump the shark as they ramp up their bid by channeling Ronald Reagan to see who among them is the Real Conservative candidate.

A young Mitt Romney makes his second bid to jump the shark.

5. Want bite out of 15 minutes of fame: as they audition for the Discovery Channels ever-popular “Shark Week” – the “American Idol” of the underwater shark world.

Despite the jump in shark attacks and the growing sharkist mentality in America, there have been some recent strides in building tolerance among Drylanders towards sharks.

-Card sharks, once viewed in a negative light in the Vegas desert, became less derogatory in the late ’80 thanks to the tamed game show “Card Sharks.” Moreover, the growing popularity of Texas Hold’Em made poker a televised “sport” and card sharks evolved into professional card players, who hide their beady little shark eyes behind Blue Bloc sunglasses, so other players can’t smell the blood leading to their tarnished souls.

-Loan sharks — despised by many-a-poor man down on his luck and loathed for charging exorbitant usury rates (an act condemned by “The Bible”) to its customers — are now called “Credit Lenders”.

-The success of UNLV Runnin’ Rebels basketball coach, Jerry Tarkanian (a.k.a. ‘Tark the Shark”) who gained notoriety for habitually chewing on gym towels (dipped in human blood, presumably) during stressful moments during the game.

-When the sharks’ house band Great White covered “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” in 1989 and the single drew blood at #5 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Great White: “Once Bitten, Twice Shy”

The Daily T’wit: Twitter Killed the Media Star

Daily Tweet T’wit: 15 Tweets of Fame: Jay Cutler and LeBron James remind world they’re like rest of us & one tweet away from only making six figures.

Granted, Twitter is not the first media tool to take down cultural icons and institutions, which has been documented in the following historical montage of techno-kills:

“A Brief History of Techno-Killing in America: Part I”

Television Killed the Literary Star (1950s)

Video Killed the Radio Star (1979)

Porno Killed the Porn Star (1988)

John Homes died in 1988

24-Hour Cable News Killed Free Thinking (1980s to Armageddon, which, by the way, will be covered around the clock)

Youtube Killed the Political Star (2004)

To Be Continued in a Theater Living Vegetation Room Near You…

To get your daily dose of tweets, be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

(Warning: follow Say Something Funny on Twitter at your own risk, making sure to take a hard left just before falling into the Apocalypse…)

Aside

Daily Tweet T’wit: Rumor has it Charlie Sheen left “Two and a Half Men” over contract disputes over who will be the half man when Angus Turner Jones turns 18 in October.

To get your daily dose of tweets, be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

(Warning: Follow Say Something Funny on Twitter at your own risk, making sure to take a hard left just before falling into the Apocalypse…)

Resurrecting Say Something Funny One Tweet at a Time

After months of neglecting this blog, Say Something, the D.I.S. (Department of Inhuman Services) finally stepped in, DIS’ed me and threatened to take my blog away unless I started producing. Truth be known, I was recently voted kicked off The Island of Misfit Blogs by that stupid King Moonracer and his Misbegotten Blogger minions.

King Moonracer poses with finalist bloggers on Island of Misfit Blogs (Not Pictured: Say Something Funny)

The Boomerang-of-Hate comes back to hit Mel Gibson upside the head, when he was added to the "no-fly" list while trying to board a flight from LA to Australia.

Therapist Bob suggested this was a tell-tale sign that I needed to resurrect Say Something Funny. He also suggested that I wait three full days, so the blog’s rebirth would be grounded in biblical allusions. Thanks, but no thanks, Therapist Bob. I’ve seen Mel “Serpent Tongue” Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ” to know that’s not a sound piece of advice. (I still think I could make bank selling W.W.M.S? (What Would Mel Spew?) bracelets…)

For months now, Say Something Funny has been on life support and WordPress was about to pull the plug, until word-of-social media got out and made its rounds up on Corporate Hill in D.C. via Twitter. News of Say Something Funny’s imminent peril spread like wildfire and bubbling brimstone among the Right to Cyber-Lifers, who recently hijacked the House — killing Democracy in the crossfire. Rest in Peace, Democracy; you’ll be missed.

As if struck by a miracle, these folks, temporarily blinded by humanity, put their pitchforks aside and came to my rescue. Overwhelmed by their willingness to sacrifice their time obstructing bills, writing new bills that will thwart the recent spread of civil rights and taking turns washing the Tea Baggers’ soiled tea bags by hand, Say Something Funny had no other choice but to unhook the artificial breathing apparatus and begin breathing on its own.

To help facilitate the resurrection and inspire a revolution, I’ve decided to call upon Twitter, who has agreed to tweet down from the mountain and spend time away from the burning bush before the rest of its eyebrows are completely singed. Now to build a following one tweet at a time… Well, that and actually producing material that will keep the minions coming back for more…

Initial Tweet: Vive Say Something Funny! Building a satiric revolution one tweet at a time…

Be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

And stayed tuned for the inaugural post and The Daily Tweet T’wit (To wit)…

I’m So Broke That…

Having finally paid off the first installment of this bit, I’ve finally managed to scrape together enough material for a second installment of:

I’m so broke that…

I asked the Tea Party to refund my membership dues.

I couldn’t pay full homage to the late Ronnie James Dio.

I’m STILL saving up to file for bankruptcy.

I pawned one of my kidneys.

I’ve considered emigrating to Mexico.

A Census worker counted me as .4 — which is less than half the man I used to be.

My accountant* fired me (*Turbo Tax).

My wallet, after feeling empty and unfulfilled, ran off with my neighbor’s coin purse.

I voted for change, thinking I was voting for literal change (talk about shortchanging voters, eh?).

I STILL owe myself an apology for actually posting this cents-less dribble.

Now’s your chance, Dear Reader, to say something funny by adding your two cents (no I Owe Yous, please; I’m broke enough as it is) in the COMMENTS section below.

Pssst…Don’t Tell Anyone I’m Hetero

Never in a million year did I imagine myself agreeing with former Vice President Dick Cheney, but I confess dear Civilian, I recently found myself taking my first step into the Dark Side by agreeing with Cheney that the military should repeal its “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) policy. However, truth be told, which is not an option for gays currently serving in the military, it was Cheney who agreed with me — since I opposed this half-baked (but not exhaled) policy the moment President Bill Clinton bent over on his campaign promises in 1993 and let the homophobic Congress have their way with him. (I know: bad pun; but in my defense, I am not writing about the unwritten “Don’t Ask, Don’t Pun” policy.)

Now I entrust that you, dear Civilian, will not tell anyone about my dirty little secret, for public knowledge of my foray into the Dark Side will not only disrupt the unique conditions of my civilian service to humanity but will undermine the unit cohesion of my community, which includes but is not limited to my fiancé, three impressionable sons, extended progressive political family, fellow Cold War veterans, substitute mail carrier, the neighbor’s dog Pookie and my spiritual and economic adviser Therapist Bob. Most of these folks are still reeling from the psychological ripple effects from the day I jumped out of the closet and scared the crap out of them by outing myself by finally coming to terms with my repressed heterosexuality. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Since I served in the Army during the rear-end of the Cold War (yeah, yeah, sue me…the courts always side on behalf of bad puns) during the latter part of the ‘80s, before DADT kicked in and the wall in Berlin fell, I’m not sure what it’s like to serve under this policy now — especially while the current metaphorical war, “The War on Terror,” is being waged. You know, the kind of war where people actually get killed, rather than the metaphorical death by boredom while sitting around waiting, waiting for something – anything to happen.

The previous paragraph was underwritten by America's New WAR

Flash forward to today. One of the most commonly used arguments used by opponents against the repeal of DADT, including Republican Sen. John “What Happens in A Vietnamese War Prison, Stays in a Vietnamese War Prison” McCain of Arizona, is that it will disrupt unit cohesion and effectiveness. This, by the way, is one of the underlying arguments as to why the policy was originally implemented. Based on my firsthand experiences in the Army, if the military was genuinely interested in using a policy to keep unit cohesion intact, they would have expanded the DADT policy to include racists, bigots, xenophobes, homophobes, libertarians, Christians, Mormons, Jews, Muslims, Catholics, atheists, fundamentalists, bestiality aficionados, Pastafarians and your run-of-the-mill assholes who don’t think their shit stinks.

Once the military has silenced everyone whose ideologies and/or lifestyles pose a threat to anyone elses’ comfort zone, thus threatening unit cohesion, our country would be left with an army of mimes to defend our freedoms. And the last thing we need is an army of mimes plopped into a theater of war, where, using their white-gloved hands, they’re left to defend Democracy by boxing themselves inside miniature fortresses fortified with invisible walls. Besides, if the disproportion of hate targeted at mimes in America is universal, sending mimes into battle will only fuel the hate of our enemies, who no doubt will have no reservations shooting a mime.

An Army of One: "Saving Democracy One Mime at a Time"

(For the record: let it be known that I do not condone any form of violence perpetuated on the mime community.)

Moreover, the last people we need making life-and-death decisions about what does and what does not define a cohesive unit is Congress, most of whom have never served in the military. The current deluge of bipartisanship that has flooded the Hill in D.C. has carved out a gulf so wide that the entire 8th Infantry Division, Mechanized (You heard me right, dear Civilian, I said Mechanized!) could plow down the center aisle of either chamber during a pivotal debate and nobody would even notice, their childish shouts drowning out the division’s slow, methodical advance:

Democrats: We got the majority, yes we do. We got the majority, how ‘bout you!?

Republicans: We got filibusters, yes we do. We got filibusters, watcha gonna do?

Democrats: (like an army of mimes, remain painfully silent — their painted frowns looking pathetic)

Fearing the Republicans will push the bipartisanship to the brink of going nuclear, the Democrats will inevitably concede and return to the dark recesses of the chamber closet, where they look for their teddy bears or a secret door to Narnia.

Instead of deploying an army of gay soldiers or mimes to the war front, maybe we should conscript our Do-Nothing Congress and ship them off to the front lines. However, I confess dear Civilian, the thought of dropping Congress on to the front lines of “The War on Terror” stokes more terror within the fiber of my being than the manufactured Terror that lurks in the shadows behind the Military Industrial Complex’s bloated budget.

But who am I to talk, I’m just a closeted mime. Please don’t tell anyone, dear Civilian. You know I won’t.

Originally posted on my Axis-of-Evil Step-Sister Site Confessions of a Cold War Veteran

Sen. “Tough Shit” Bunning: Get a REAL Job

I don’t imagine the 1.2 unemployed Americans waiting to see if their benefits will be extended another 30 days were amused by the latest episode of C-SPAN’s latest episode, “A Democracy of One,” on The Obstructionist (a spin-off from Seinfeld’s “show about nothing”) that aired the other night. If Seinfeld is a “show about nothing,” then The Obstructionist is “much adieu about nothing.”

Flying solo, Sen. Jim Bunning, R-Ky, hosted the show and, using an anti-democratic procedural maneuver, vowed to repeatedly block any attempts by the Senate to pass a bill that would extend unemployed benefits set to expire this weekend, despite overwhelming support from both sides of the Red-Ink Sea.

During a recent Congressional Hearing about nothing, Sen. Bunning of Kentucky uses hands to exaggerate size of his latest obstruction

But lo and behold, T.S. Bunning took the altar, stuck to his guns and objected to every attempt at trying to move forward with a vote on the bill – despite all the guilt trips left at his self-anointed feet. In fact, Sen. Jeff Merkely, D-Ore., even lowered himself to beg the Self-Anointed One, but ol’ Bunning would have none of it and replied: “Tough Shit.”

Others joined in with T.S. Bunning’s “Crusade on the Desolate,” claiming an extension of benefits will merely serve as a disincentive for these desolate people to actively seek employment. If there is a will, there’s a way right? All these folks have to do is find the Holy Grail and they will discover a stack of job applications weighted down by this glorified paper weight.

Ironically, what T.S. Bunning does not realize is that sitting on top of this illusionary heap is a stack of applications for “Do-Nothing Congressman.” Now there’s a job I would like to get my hands on. Who needs a REAL job when we can get paid to do nothing, not to mention we would get face-time on the TV to help market ourselves for a revolving-door lobbying job when we get tired of doing nothing all day long. Although as a lobbyist, we would have to shift from doing nothing to ensuring that other people do nothing.

It’s the “ensuring” part that sounds so exhausting, but when you consider your salary will grow exponentially and you’ll be able to abandon your measly Cadillac Health Insurance benefits for a Rolls-Royce policy that requires providers to pay you a co-payment every time you use their services, “ensuring” doesn’t sound so exhausting after all. So while the Desolate are out giving blood and donating plasma to help make ends meet, these fat cats are making bank on routine checkups for their kids. Unfortunately, T.S. Bunning is merely a cancerous speed bump in the current Obstructionist Movement that has spread through Congress and plagued the democratic process, which has evolved from Majority Rule to Super-Majority Rule.

Congress have become so dysfunctional (“How dysfunctional has it?”), Jerry Springer has requested to air his show live on the chamber floors as both sides of the aisle air their dirty laundry out on cable television while lawmakers in the peanut gallery flash their nipples (Don’t do it Barney, we’re begging you Mr. Frank…) for a set of beads and 15-minutes of fame on Jerry Springer’s uncut DVDs. Although no meaningful legislation will ever get enacted, at least Americans get a chance to watch old people smash chairs over each others’ heads and get restrained by formerly unemployed bouncers at D.C.’s swankiest gentlemen clubs.

After shoveling shit for 7 hours during a filibuster on the Senate floor, Mike Rowe of “Dirty Jobs” take a break off-set during a recent shooting of an upcoming episode

I wish I worked for a company that had a policy wherein if one employee doesn’t like the direction the company is moving, he or she can call in sick and the rest of the employees get to stay home as well. I mean, do we really need a full-time Congress anymore? Couldn’t we get by with hiring temp politicians, so we could cut out all their benefits, beginning with health insurance?

Better yet, like rural communities who depend on a volunteer fire department, shouldn’t we turn to a volunteer Congress to keep our citizens safe – not only from what they do do but what they do not do as well. Either way, given the way Congress is currently run, it’s like playing Russian Roulette.

Another remedy to the current Obstructionist Movement would be to give Congress a transfusion and replace all of the obstructionists with scab politicians who are willing to cross the line and make money to feed their families. With around 10 percent of our workforce unemployed, I’m sure we could find plenty of qualified people to fill these seats. What job skills do you need besides saying “aye,” “nay” and occasionally having to read aloud a script composed by a team of lobbyists?

And if Sen. Bunning has a problem with scab politicians from Kentucky crossing the line and taking his non-job, I have two words for him: “Tough Shit!”

Originally posted on my evil step-sister site Political Fallout

Jon Stewart’s Take on Sen. Bunning: The GOP’s Next Top Obstructionist

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‘Confessions of a Cold War Veteran’ Sounds Off

Surprise, surprise: I’ve launched yet another blog, “Confessions of a Cold War Veteran.”

Part memoir, part humor/satire, part pop-culture, and like our government’s annual budget — 50 percent Military Industrial Complex.

And from the ashes of the Cold War, Confessions of a Cold War Veteran rises

Delay cadence/Count cadence/Delay cadence/Count!

One!…

I confess, dear Civilian, I am not a Catholic nor am I a war veteran, rather I am a veteran of the Cold War, not to mention a narcissist. Regarding the latter, why else would I create my own blog, the fifth to date? If I weren’t narcissistic, I wouldn’t be able to convince myself that there is some niche of readers floating in Cyberland who gives a damn about me and what I have to say or what thoughts are trip-wired in my brain, especially when the primary subject is Me.

Hey everyone, look at me! Over here, look at me…!

Or maybe the niche I have created is a mere figment of my imagination that consists of an audience of one? In that case, please do excuse me, dear Civilian, if at times you catch me talking to myself; the theory being that if you cannot hold a conversation with yourself, the notion of carrying on a conversation with fellow members of your species is futile. At least that’s what Therapist Bob tells me. Speaking of whom, it was Therapist Bob, my psychological and spiritual and financial adviser, who recommended that I start yet another blog as a means of publicly purging my experiences while actively serving in the Army during the tail-end of the Cold War during the late ‘80s, thus tearing down the wall erected between the right and left sides of my brain.

Moreover, based on Therapist Bob’s recommendations, Confessions of a Cold War Veteran will provide me with a safe, nuclear-free space to share my insights as a Cold War Veteran on contemporary issues, military and otherwise.

Hence, a blog was born: Confessions of a Cold War Veteran

Read rest of debut post at Confessions of a Cold War Veteran and don’t forget to bookmark page and tell all of your friends, your IRS agent and the neighbor down the street who is described as a quiet, lonely man who keeps to himself (but does not live in his mother’s basement, where he spends his waking hours blogging).

Top Ten Women Tiger Woods Has NOT Slept With

America's Next Top Swinger

Once all the women who allegedly slept with America’s No. 1 Player Tiger Woods have officially stepped forward, it was only a matter of time before the remaining women left in America who have NOT slept with the golf ace would come crawling out of the woodwork (I know, I know…bad pun).

Fortunately for the latter population of women, a social networking group has started up on Facebook, “I have not slept with Tiger Woods,” – a place for the scarcity of women in America who feel left out and have a place to share their non-sexual experiences with one another. The group has already swelled to nearly 1,400 members, who allegedly did not sleep with Tiger Woods, and I imagine FOX News is tapping this source for up-and-coming ambush interviews.

Inspired by the Tiger Wood’s sexual prowess and the neglected holes he left behind, I thought I would do my part by creating the following list:

Top Ten Women Tiger Woods Has NOT Slept With

10. _____________________________

9. Ibid

8. Ibid

7. Ibid

6. Ibid

Tiger Woods pumps his fist in the air to celebrate finishing off the back-9 at a high-end brother outside of Las Vegas

5. Ibid

4. Ibid

3. Ibid

2. Ibid

1. Ibid

If you or anyone you know or don’t know has NOT slept with Tiger Woods, feel free to add their name in the COMMENTS section below.