Ghetto Cat Loop

I walked the Ghetto Cat Loop at 9 a.m., drove to Crutch's house in Russellville, watched Mississippi use a running back named McCluster to beat the hell out of Arkansas, heard Crutch say, "Here's a headline for you: Razorbacks' defense a McCluster fuck," scored a 96 at the Russellville Country Club with 2 pars, 12 bogies, 2 doubles, and 2 quadruples, ate two Cornish hens cooked by Amy according to a culinarily masterful Mediterranean recipe from which we sponged the greasy-sweet, bacon-crusted essence with perfectly buttered, mushy new potatoes, and ate small soft, crisp rolls Crutch insisted we dip into a bowl of room-temperature butter, then drove home stuffed, a little drunk, content as two motherfuckers.