Epictetus, considered the Grand Poobah of the Philosophical Movement called Stoicism which originated in the Hellenistic Era of that great freaking failed social experiment otherwise known as the Roman Empire, once remarked “Control thy passions lest they take vengeance on thee”. This quote is stated, or rather invoked, with full authority as I am an unwilling, yet completely engrossed, witness to an unfolding situation that can only be described as the gang rape/beating scene from the Shawshank Redemption meets Dumb and Dumber II (the whole movie) whilst sitting in the warmth and comfort of my living room. The world is aflutter with “what hath Tiger wrought”. Only in this version of pre-Apocalyptic dimwitted groupthink arousal, the Golf Channel becomes the universal center for the Humanities by allowing farmer-tanned Golf Pros (with only the most remote of claudistic connections to the Hominidae family branch of literate Homo Sapiens) to spout prodigious amounts of pop-psychology.

Given only the briefest period of respite from the last fruit-loop parade caused when the “gloved one” decided to use the arithmetic fundament all-too-common for drug abusers… if one injection feels good, then forty must feel REALLY GOOD, has the cumulative carnival freak show called “American Culture” been able to shove it into 5th gear while grinning through missing teeth slurring, “… it must be a Hemi!”. Dearest of Readers, is this a lesson about misogynistic arrogance? Is this a re-run morality play involving the world’s oldest profession? Dare I state this is about us? There exists an old Irish saying, “Your trouble is our trouble and your joy is our joy”. Alas, we are all in this together. We’ve hit a new inflection point in society – one that seems to continually re-trench lower and lower into the bottomless pit of our stinking, mindless, and trash-filled culture. Thus sick hilarity ensues… Sir Tiger Woods, as self-described Lord Archbishop of the Inverted White Chick Pogo Hump, snidely declares his “transgressions” as a private family matter while the media uncovers and circulates evidence of him “on the prowl” in the public domain with a giggling, star-struck, mentally-and-morally deficient gal on his libido-drenched radar.

Obviously not an item to be ignored by a country just barely surviving the worst economic conditions since the Great Depression, Wood’s overuse of his wood issue is being force-fed into every home around the world via television, radio, and internet – which, at the expense of reiteration, undoubtedly makes this about us. A glaring reflection on how we comprehend the world. As a matter of fact, did you know that American Soldiers were caught in a cross-fire ambush yesterday in Afghanistan? Probably not, but you did know about Gatorade announcing they were dropping Tiger as a spokesperson… WAIT! So there is finally a tangible consequence to be had for Tiger’s booty romp action (beyond having his ass kicked in his front yard by his Viking-bred wife). YET BEHOLD thy newest twist! Gatorade then follows-up with stating that their decision had been made some time ago and didn’t have anything to do with “the situation”. Pure yellow-bellied, feeble crap, I say! Salt-infused, sugar water-making cowards, I bellow! Then it hits me, “is it possible their electrolytes were too low?” Only time will tell. Because we are all in this together, I certainly hope there are lessons — painful, deep, and unforgettable lessons shown to el Tigre. Shown to dear Rachel, Jaimee, Kalika, et. al. (heretofore known as the collective “pogo humped”) as well. Redemption, if issued, should be truly earned.

Similar to a teenager who just accidentally spilled the dirty water out of his extra large hookah bong onto his mother’s new duvet cover that was recently purchased from Linens-in-Things because it looked “oh so much like” a Laura Ashley original – Tiger’s future remains up-for-grabs. Also up-for-grabs is how we, cumulatively, decide to allow the evolution of norms, cues, and rules of our “civil society” to drift away from its puritanical social moorings. Some change is good; too much of anything makes us look and act like Flavor Flav. In summation, this entire ass clown circus being disseminated, debated, and discussed (ad nauseum) by the masses without regard to socioeconomic status, religion, education, sex, or race, should offer a clear message. Right now St. Peter’s book shows that due to our sewer-strewn cultural membership, we are scheduled to carry the epitaph etching of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” across the tombstone of our collective community. When the time comes – as it does for all living things – we will realize, albeit belatedly as is the human condition, that it tolls for thee – You, Me, Him, and Her.

It tolls for thee.