Sports, Satire and Bad Jokes

Can we all agree that “Under Construction” is the best album ever?

This story would have surfaced much quicker, but the tabloids seem to have been wasting their time on all the other victims of the Tiger Attacks. People fail to realize that I am from Long Island, New York. If you don’t know the golf significance of that, here you go (exact distance from my favorite bar to Bethpage Black). I just want you to know, that I went to the US Open in 2009, but that is almost irrelevant. It was the after party that got hectic. Where I was raped by Tiger Woods…

…and The Gally Blog has paid me to release my story. I have been given a Berstreet hair-doll, the second half of Gimp’s Valtrex and $2.12 from Gally. I think I got a better deal than the chick from Tool Academy. She had to date that guy from the show. Yuck.

Alright. So this is very hard for me to type. Awhile ago, I reached local celebrity status when I did a cover for a fitness magazine.

Turns out, athletes read that magazine. I was at a local Bethpage club and it got a little intense. Derek Jeter was there doing a promotion for the local sports radio station, WFAN and all the best golfers in the world were there. It was a costume party, so you knew things would get out of hand.  This is where I was first approached…by him. Tiger recognized me from the cover of my magazine. He bought me a shot of Goldschlager and said something about it being the same shot Tommy Lee bought Pamela Anderson when they first met. I took the shot, and blushed. And I don’t normally converse with half-breeds (you don’t know where their allegiance lies).

Then a crowd of girls, and myself, was invited to the VIP only section of this high end club. It had fancy blue ropes and everything! Then, a random guy that no one really knew but went by the name of “Sway” broke out some Ambien and all the cool kids were sniffing it, so I said why not? After a bunch of rails, I took my Captain Morgan and Ginger Ale and sat down for a bit to relax. I noticed Derek Jeter saying goodbye to Tiger and this was getting “too out of hand” for him. Mark Gastineau was tripping on Peyote and thought these two girls kissing were lizards that were eating each other. We all laughed. The next thing I know, I was standing up and I got punched in the face as hard as I’ve ever been punched before….

I wake up in a dark SUV with comfortable seat warmers. I was okay. Not even a concussion or a bruise. Maybe I just passed out from the Ambien. I don’t know. I see I’m in the car with a lot of people but it was dark. I didn’t see who it was until once I got in the living room of this mansion, I was tripped and stripped down naked. It didn’t take long because I was dressed like a hussy for the costume party. I probably deserved this rape.

Looking up in my daze, I see a light-skinned, yet dark man pull down his pants. The first thing I notice? He was dressed as a stupid ironic Tiger. Second thing I notice? Missy Elliot putting a gun to my throat (play the above song, now). The third? This half-bred man had a Mandarin character tattooed on his pubic region. My Mandarin is a little rusty, but I think it read “Crush Pussy”. Then I heard this man mutter, “Sorry. I don’t use roofies. Right hooks are much cheaper.” And that’s when the Missy Elliot backwards talk from “Work it” really freaked me out, because I could have sworn I just lost my asshole virginity. I looked around the room. I see Pete Wentz huddled in the corner crying…was he next? One could only hope. Jeremy Piven is sitting there grinning like an idiot. I think he just liked to watch. Then I noticed; “What the fuck? No reach around?”

So after I was passed around this party of Missy Elliot, Tiger Woods and Steve Phillips (whose house I assumed we were at…beautiful grout job on the tile); the Nike condoms were piling up throughout the room. That’s when Lindsay Lohan started shooting them like whiskey shots saying, “My father told me to never waste a drop. It gives you a better singing voice.”

The rest was kind of black. My head was slammed against Phillips’ cool marble floor a bunch of times, and I hope it was a strap on that Missy Elliot was using. I heard the brain tries to block out traumatizing situations, like the girl who had her face eaten by a monkey. I don’t know. It was hazy, but it went on for hours. He worked me. I was ashamed from it all. I spent my next night in front a mirror putting on lipstick, telling myself, “You’re dirty girl. You don’t deserve to go to prom!” while in my sister’s prom dress. Then it was just hours on hours of a cold shower to wash the filth off of me.

So I don’t know what the count is up to. It was 9 when I left home for work and now even a homeless man is saying he slept with Tiger, too. I hope I was at least before him, or I may need to get check for VD. The saddest part about this all? I had to leave HIM a voicemail! His response? “Stop calling me. I don’t remember that.” But then he’d wink at me in passing and put 1 finger over his mouth to signal, “Hush, sweet prince”. Welp, That’s my story. My only regret? It wasn’t Brady Quinn. RAWR! I guess it was all my fault for being such an irresistible slut, huh?

This is the life of Logic…You thought you knew…But you have no idea…

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