Normally, the most emotion I can muster towards pro golfers is a combination of mild boredom and irritation at the idea of someone getting paid for a good walk spoiled.
When it comes to the creature known as Tripp Isenhour, however, it's a combination of full-blown anger and disgust. And the "apology" is horseshit; you don't shoot that many balls at a bird and get to say that there was no malice or intent to hit the bird.
I can only hope that some neighbor gets upset with "Tripp" for being too noisy, and decides to teach him the same lesson. One whack with a nine iron in Tripp's own personal golf balls should do the trick.
(link ganked from
pixelfish)
When it comes to the creature known as Tripp Isenhour, however, it's a combination of full-blown anger and disgust. And the "apology" is horseshit; you don't shoot that many balls at a bird and get to say that there was no malice or intent to hit the bird.
I can only hope that some neighbor gets upset with "Tripp" for being too noisy, and decides to teach him the same lesson. One whack with a nine iron in Tripp's own personal golf balls should do the trick.
(link ganked from