PUT A TIGER IN YOUR ----

Even as Tiger is planning his phoenix-like return to golf, new reports on his storied affairs are coming out. I think we're up to 147 mistresses. This guy must be going for some kind of record, though Wilt Chamberlain reportedly told him during one of his sex addiction classes that the key is to not keep going back to the same ones. I have to admit, though, I am impressed: I'm married to just one woman and do not engage in any extramarital activities, yet I can't even seem to find the time to slip in one round of golf every few months. This guy plays all the time! What time management. Franklin-Covey needs to be sponsoring this guy.

I want to share a little conversation I had with my wife this morning. She called to inform me that a porn star has come forward concerning her two-year affair with... well... everyone, but Tiger Woods specifically. (I told my wife she would have already known this if she got all of her celebrity news from South Park like me.) I think I know why Tiger had all these affairs. Hell, every man knows why - not that we'd do it, mind you. But we know why. Women are pouring themselves at your feet like a rock star, Tiger: you felt wanted and got addicted to that feeling. The Manly Power that comes with sleeping with lots of women. Could happen to anyone... except Ryan Seacrest.

But at some point shouldn't it become clear that they're not attracted to you, but to your position, Tiger? Sure, you worked hard to become the greatest golfer in the world and deserve a little reward (some might suggest a Scandinavian model-wife and a gazillion dollars to be a fairly bountiful reward, but to each his own). And, yes, a cocktail waitress, stewardess, exotic dancer, and perfume counter attendant can all theoretically be impressed by your raw sexual Axe Effect... and the fact that you can afford to tip over 15%. But a wallered out porn star? Dude, you ain't that great. Without the wallet and hat you look kinda goofy; you were up with Elin, waaay up. But with this porn star didn't at some point you stop and think, "Man... maybe she's faking it?" I mean, c'mon... you're no Jesse James.*

My wife said that if she were Elin she would divorce him and set him on fire. I joked, "Yeah, like 'Your honor, I was just setting the gas can on top of the canopy bed and it accidentally went off.'" Benita, my wife and a God-fearing, loving individual, replied:

No, my defense would be: But your Honor, he asked me to put the sleeping pills in his dinner then tie him up in the bed, pour hot wax in his throat and nostrils, set him on fire, chop him up into little pieces, and send those pieces to each of his lovers with a note that read: "Now you have a piece of Tiger, but I have all the money."

I got an invitation in the mail to hang out in Tiger's VIP lounge at the Masters. I think I'll stay home.



* I had to add this; got it in an email from my wife, referring to Jesse James:
"Hmmmm, he needs to be tied to the back of a motorcycle and dragged over spikes and nails, then through a pool of alcohol, then through a pit of scorpions (drive through this and the alcohol area slowly for the full effect). After that, his tats should be skinned off of his body with a dull knife and hot glued across the tat model's face and neck......then peeled back off with her skin until both are just bloody stumps of their former selves.....sounds good to me!"