The Ballad of Tiger Woods
The first sighting of disgraced golfer Tiger Woods in sex rehab has our resident poet waxing lyrical.
-Betty’s Poet Laureate
Well hello, Tiger Woods, it seems you have finally been found,
You’ve remained in hiding while we searched the world round.
You’ve been off the grid like one of America’s Most Wanted,
While your camp spread false rumors, the media was taunted.
But here you appear at a Mississippi center for sex rehabilitation,
Bringing an end to your two-month long clandestine operation.
(Though it’s not breaking news that you might have a sexual addiction,
Your wife took off her ring and from your home you received eviction.)
Elin found out about your mistress and then everything went wrong,
And you crashed your Escalade into a fire hydrant on your front lawn.
What came next was a lesson in failed management and public relations,
You hid from the cops, then came the famous outpouring of allegations.
You never returned to your gated community called Windermere,
Suddenly, poof, you were gone—you managed to straight-up disappear.
Mistresses came out of the woodwork, some starred in films pornographic,
There was a lingerie model, pancake waitress, girls of every demographic.
You’ve been sighted more times than Elvis since your Escalade collision,
You were with Arnold Palmer, then with Jim Dolan, owner of Cablevision.
You were spirited away to a hospital, then to sex addiction rehab in Arizona,
You were in Palm Beach with mistress number one drinking a Corona.
You were with friends on a yacht named Privacy en route to the Bahamas,
You were paying off secret girlfriends and not one but two baby mamas.
You were in New York staying at the Trump Hotel in a luxury suite,
You were off somewhere in Africa on a safari wilderness retreat.
Rumors abounded and there were sightings of you everywhere,
But the only place we could prove was on the cover of Vanity Fair.
If this photo really is of you, we’ve finally gotten our elusive confirmation,
We hope in therapy, Tiger, you’re learning the benefits of sex in moderation.
Betty’s Poet Laureate spends more time than she’d like to admit reclining on her sofa, eating grapes and writing love sonnets to Robert Downey Jr.
Photo Source 2