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Tiger Mistress “Not Like Those Other Girls”

Mmmm. Hot, fresh schadenfreude topped with thick blithering hypocrisy sauce.
As I’ve said, it comes as no surprise to me that the world’s first billionaire professional athlete, who has totally dominated his sport since college and married a super model, was the target of skanky star fucker groupies. Nor does it shock that the man who has had pretty much every single thing he could ever even consider wanting handed to him on a silver platter (borne by a team of identical quintuplet midgets) might have wheeled the whole dessert cart back to his suite when he thought no one was looking.
None of this should surprise anyone in the least, save a slightly arched eyebrow at the sheer numbers now lining up for their fifteen minutes of skankroll fame.

Cori Rist, a New York woman who has been linked to Tiger Woods, appeared on the “Today” show this morning and revealed new details about her alleged affair with the golfer. Rist claims that her physical relationship with Woods lasted six months, but their friendship lasted two-and-a-half years, during which time Woods still “pursued” her. Asked to compare herself with the other women rumored to have slept with Woods, Rist said “I’m not like most of these girls,” but also added that she was “not judging them.”

Apparently Ms. Rist has three tits and her vagina is mounted sideways…or something.
Different? How in the hell is she different? She was fucking Tiger Woods. She knew he was married. Now she’s appearing, for money, on television talk shows to publicly wallow in her shame. This is like Geraldo insisting he’s not the same as Jerry Springer. Let’s check the facts: Neo-nazis…flying chairs…broken noses. I can’t tell the difference. Can you tell the difference?
As if that weren’t enough, she sprinkles on brainless, inherent contradiction like a handful of crushed almonds – she’s not judging those other girls…she just knows that SHE’S not like THEM.
Listen, sweetheart. If you aren’t judging them, then you have no basis whatsoever for claiming that you aren’t exactly like them.
Are you really so fucking deluded that you think you were the only one who really knew Tiger? Who really loved him? That your connection with him was ever so much more special and real than the one he had with his wife? Or any of the other dirty dozen?

Rist continued:

“…he has a way to make you believe that he’s a very honest and good man…. I don’t think he’s an honest man.”

Really? What was your first fucking clue?
Sitting on the Today Show, shedding crocodile tears of shame. Oh, I recall those halcyon days of yore when shame was something experienced behind closed doors and drawn shades. When did shame and the public spotlight develop a 1:1 relationship? Like most things, it’s probably Oprah’s fault.

Rumours now circulating that wife Elin has presented El Tigre with an ultimatum: Wife and kids or golf. Can you say extended vacation followed by divorce?
In the meantime, off the pro tour and with sponsorship contracts withering and dying on the vine – some due to “morals clause” and some simply because a non-golfing Tiger is, sooner rather than later, worth zilch to Nike – Tiger’s game will decline. Golf ain’t like riding a bicycle. There’s a Lance Armstrong joke in there somewhere…

In any case, this rollercoaster ride is just getting started. The real twists and turns are still down the road, some awaiting the rest of the ho’s that are lawyering up and preparing to go public.
Timing is, of course, everything. Number 18 will get a book deal because the title, “I was Tiger’s 18th HOle” is too good to pass up.
Number 19 will be lucky to get a job flipping the letters on Larry Flynt’s version of Wheel of Fortune.

The only thing that is inevitable is Tiger’s eventual return to the tour…after entering rehab, seeking counseling, taking the program, being chemically castrated and developing a severe hitch in his back swing.
Will he take interviews? Will he answer questions about the busload of skanks? Will he still be married? Will he make the cut? Will the crowds cheer or boo? Will he still have game? Will he be paired with Jesper Parnevik? Will he have two caddies – one employed by Elin, who NEVER leaves his side, ever, for any reason?

I’m conflicted. I don’t give a rats ass, yet I’m oddly fascinated by the whole thing. Especially the faux contrition and regret expressed by women who willingly went Tiger hunting and now take millions of dollars to spill the details of when, where and exactly what they got up to between the sheets.

Vado concubitus per vestri!

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6 Responses

  1. “Apparently Ms. Rist has three tits and her vagina is mounted sideways…or something.”

    I am so there.

  2. Anybody want to start a pool on when Tiger finds Jesus? I give him two weeks, max.

  3. Sports is like religion. Most worshipers will forgive any transgression from their priests.

    You can pump yourself full of steroids until your nuts shrink right up into your body cavity and become ovaries. You could be caught with more guns and coke than Scarface. You could be caught on tape beating up an employee and stealing from a store. You could get liquored up, hop in your car and and kill a bus load of seniors on their way to help starving orphans. You could rape a paraplegic dying of cancer. You could torture dogs to death for the sheer fun of it.

    But as long as you can still play at a professional level, your church will welcome you back with open arms and nearly all your parishioners will forgive you. You will keep your job and, even if your bosses knew about and/or covered up your misbehavior for years, the seats will remain full and so will the collection plate.

    Those with blind faith generally remain that way. Not only will they refuse to reexamine their expensive faith (in sports), their adherence to a particular denomination (sport) or even a particular church (team), most will carry on supporting the offending athlete himself without a moment’s thought.

    The biggest difference is that fucking boys is out. It may fly with Catholics, but even a whiff of consenting homosexuality doesn’t fly with sports devotees.

    Sure, there’s a monetary hit. Even though they knew you were a total douche-bag from day one, most of the corporate vermin will abandon your ship like the rats they are, citing “Morals Clauses”. In our post-Enron, post bailout, era, corporations putting Morals Clauses in contracts is particularly hysterical. Because, no matter how much of a douche you are, they probably have much worse morals than you. After all, they paid you to whore for them in the first place.

    Like I said in another topic, other than Tiger having details of his sex life exposed by traitorous cunts looking for an easy payday from amoral media outlets who are looking for an easy payday from bored silly plebeians with nothing higher to aspire to and nothing better to do than pry into the private lives of people who actually have lives…other than that Tiger will do just fine as long as he can still play.

    Because, at the end of the day, all that matters is your ability to throw/hit/sink/kick a ball or shoot a puck. Even Hitler would have been forgiven if he was the top striker in the Bundesliga.

  4. Except for blog posts from people who have interesting perspectives on this issue, like you and your blog, I don’t give a fuck about the trangressions of Amerian athletes in general, or this story in particular. Professional sports breeds a sense of entitlement from these athletic douchebags and frankly the less their collective ego gets fed by the ad nauseum media coverage, the better. Sorry, Tiger, but your life isn’t worth my time. Now if only the media would just shut the fuck up about the whole goddamned thing.

  5. But… but… Tiger can hit a little ball, and… and… it goes into a hole, see, and…
    Forget it. Send him another 10 million bucks.

  6. Hi. When I’m not busy having sex with tramps who work in the hospitality industry, I like to play a few rounds of golf. I’m here today to tell you to buy this car, which I don’t drive, because the company who builds it thinks that you will buy one if a guy who is good at putting a ball in a hole tells you to…So buy this car…Ok, where’s my $25 million? Make it snappy because the slut I met in makeup is waiting for me.

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