The New Grotto Master
Forget that golf comeback: Hugh Hefner needs you, Tiger Woods
Tiger Woods, stop apologizing.
It's just not working. It's fake. Say a eulogy for Tiger Woods: All-American Hero. That guy disappeared somewhere around the sixth mistress, and he's not coming back.
But don't worry, Tiger. With loss comes freedom. That golf club your dad glued to your hands in the crib? You can let go now. You've earned a bazillion dollars, changed the game and will go down in history as arguably the best golfer ever.
You no longer have to do what you do. You can do what you love. And obviously what you love is getting your freak on with as many hot, sexually adventurous women as possible.
I've read the texts. I know.
America has had a horndog in chief ever since Hugh Hefner defied the obscenity laws and started cranking out Playboys in 1953. He's joined by an exclusive club — Wilt Chamberlain, Charlie Sheen, Warren Beatty, Bill Clinton, Joe Francis, Eliot Spitzer. But Hef has always been the man.
But Tiger, Hef can't hold the fort down for much longer. The man turns 84 this week, and his seven-girlfriend, Girl Next Door escapades are mostly behind him. When he briefly dated 19-year old twins last year, it was more creepy than titillating. They mostly seemed to be there in case Hef needed oxygen.
The icon needs a heir, and Tiger, you're just the man for the job.
Do you think just anyone can get down with that kind of stamina? The position (no pun intended) requires the physical fortitude, strength and flexibility of a professional athlete in his prime. You can move into the Playboy Mansion, or just designate your Florida pad Playboy East. (Although I recommend going for the original. There's just something about the grotto.) Just think of the parties, the centerfolds, the celebrities who'll flock to your side.
Just think about it, Tiger. In golf, your sexual proclivities have made you an embarrassment and a distraction. In Hollywood, they'll make you king.