
Big day today for my man Tiger Woods. He will address the media today at 11am. Apparently, Elin will not be there but Air Jordan will. Makes sense. If I was gonna apologize for bangin’ every girl in America, I’d definitely bring the most famous adulturers of all-time to take the attention off me. I’d have Bill Clinton introduce me to the crowd and do the interview in an A-Rod jersey. I’d get Charlie Sheen and Hugh Grant to sit beside me, and have Brad Pitt ask all the questions while holding up a picture of JFK. People would forget why we were even there. It would eventually turn into a party. Fuck it, bring some of those ho’s in and have them dance on camera. America would have no choice but to see why I cheated on my wife.
While this won’t happen, my advice to Tiger would be to only apologize to Elin and her family. Fuck everyone else. I’ve even taken the time to write Tiger a speech, should he opt to go off course:
“Hello everyone…. You’re welcome, bitches! While there were wars and a nationwide depression going on, I diverted everyone’s attention because I crashed a fucking car and had sex a lot. Sue me. Seriously, go ahead and try and sue me. I gave my wife half my money, and I’m still a billionaire. And screw my lame sponsors for dropping me. Half those assholes were up in the club cheating on their wives with me. Fuckin’ hypocrites. I don’t need your sponsorships because on any given day, I can stroll onto a golf course, play with one arm, and walk away with a check bigger than your car.
To my wife Elin, I’m sorry girl, but these broads were freaks. I respect you way too much to ask you to do what they did. I’m in rehab now, but that shit is boring. I’m only attending to hear some good stories from the other people. I’m gonna try to change, but if I don’t, don’t be surprised. As for golf, I’m back, bitches! The PGA tour needs me. Without me, that shit will die. And if you got a problem with me, kick me out — I don’t care. I have enough money to buy Rhode Island. When I win the Master’s in April, I am getting diamond studs put on the back of that jacket in the shape of a middle finger. Fuck y’all, I’m out!”
Tiger, your PR team clearly blows. You need to upgrade. Holler at your boy Weems. And don’t worry about your sponsors. Where’s Weems is prepared to sign you to a lifetime deal. We can’t offer any money, but we got all the t-shirts and booze a man of your caliber could ever want. See you at 11, brother.