I Wept Because I Had No Titanium Drivers, Until I Met a Man Who Had No Top Flight Balls; Or, Going John Golf

In which a man who has made mid-eight figures (including nearly $50M last year) income for hitting a ball around giant lawns across the planet informs us of his most sorrowful plight. Not only might he have to flee the slums of La Jolla, not only will he no longer be able to buy the Padres, he may have to retire, at the ripe old age of 42. Talk about going John Golf. (See what I did there?)

I hope you takers are happy now. Keep poor ol' Phil's fate-worse-than-death in mind next time you're trying to figure out how to pay your utility bill and buy groceries at the same time. That's what you get for going to (snicker) college, instead of learning how to whack a fucking ball real well. Suckaz.