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Cell Phone Vigilantes
By Carson Cockman

I am old enough to remember when there were no cell phones. Trust me. The world took a turn toward Armageddon the day the man who invented them sold his soul to the devil.

You are standing on the fairway of number 14. It is spring in God’s country. The sky is so blue you get lost in it. The grass is perfect. The flowers are in bloom and peace and serenity wrap you like a warm shirt from the dryer. You are profoundly engrossed in the beauty of nature. You sincerely desire for the moment to linger long enough for your mind to imprint unforgettably.

Then it happens…

You hear the song: “Who let the Dogs out?” from someone’s cell phone.

I understand the need for fast communication in this hurley-burley world in which we live. I just don’t believe we need them in certain places. Yes, there are definitely places they should be banned.

Bathrooms, for one; they should never be allowed in bathrooms. There is a different kind of business that should be taken care of in bathrooms. There is nothing worse than having your hands otherwise occupied as the phone pumps out the Theme from the Entry of the gods into Valhalla.

They should be banned from places one PAYS to attend. Places such as theaters, should have a sound proof room for addicted cell users. They could all congregate in the booth and play dueling obnoxious phone tunes.

Places of worship should be off limits, too. God doesn’t like cell phones in church. God doesn’t like cell phones…period!

He TOLD me so. If you’d get off the phone, he’d tell YOU, too.



The absolute worst place for a cell phone is the golf course. It has the characteristics of all three. You pay to be there…you pray for a hole in one…and you need a bathroom if you get one!

Unfortunately, there are no sound proof booths on golf courses. One could always go off into the woods to carry on a conversation, but in the South, gators are known to be attracted to wireless microwaves.

I think it might be illegal for one to hire a sniper as one’s caddie.

I also think that a jury of one’s peers might let one's caddie off Scot-free.

There simply HAS to be a better way of removing one’s self from the irritation of a cell phone user’s scream, “Can you hear me NOW?”, that doesn’t require one to serve life in prison without the possibility of parole.

I recommend vigilante committees like we had in the old West.

(Wild West saloon. The name over the door proclaims: THE WATER’N HOLE-IN-ONE SALOON…filled with rough n’ ready cowpokes and desperados.)

(SUDDENLY …THROUGH THE SWINGING DOORS, STEPS…)

BIFF BELLSOUTH( He wears a black five gallon hat, sequined cowboy shirt and carries a neon green cell phone in his holster): Howdy Pardners! Nice day fer it, ain’t it?

DESPERADOS: (Many voices) Yeah…uh huh…awwww shut up and let a fella drink!

BIFF: (saunters up to the bar) Barkeep? I’ll have a … (Phone Rings to the tune of “I’m too sexy for my shirt.”) ‘Scuse me…barkeep. It’ probably my…

(Desperados grab Biff and tie him to a rail)

BIFF: But fellas…Hey! What do you think you are doing? Come on now fellas…the next round is on the Biffster…UNTIE ME, I SAY!

(Desperados dip the Biffster in hot tar and cover him with live chickens…they were too busy to pluck them)

BIFF: Come on now, guys…glub glub glub…(phone rings to the tune of Yankee Doodle)

(Desperados set the Biffster AND the phone on fire)

See? I think we should instantly pass legislation that allows for the formation of cell phone vigilante committees on all private and public golf courses.

God is telling us to do it!


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For more golf humor, please visit author Carson Cockman's Blog Site.

© Copyright 2006 by Carson Cockman

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