To my father-in-law’s generation, Arnold Palmer was the American icon they all aspired to be.
Hitching his pants over his gut.
Ripping lung darts between holes.
Harvesting souls with his accuracy off the tee and the mechanical precision of his short game.
A favorite son of his sport.
To my generation, he was the the Peyton Manning of our time.
Rental cars, along with that other beloved pitchman OJ Simpson.
He was long off the tee, so to speak.
That he’d won the Grand Slam of male anatomy.
That he was swinging a big driver.
The best club in his bag was his putz.
Long before he mixed lemonade and iced tea, life handed him a sack with two huge lemons.
He was holding up the Claret Junk.
He won both the Wanamaker Trophy and the Ladies WannaMakeHim Trophy.
And I say that with all due respect to women, because I LOVE women.
This was a guy who was ALL MAN.
This man was strong and tough.
And I refuse to say it, but.
When he took the showers with other pros, they came out of there.
They said, Oh my God.
I had to say.
We have women that are highly sophisticated here, but they used to look at Arnold as a man.
For all I know, it’s a tradition.
(We see you back there, blonde in the flag hat and blouse.)
Unfortunately too late to name your Fantasy football team, but just in time to inspire your Halloween costume.
And that would be the heir to Palmer’s dominion.
Theres nothing much to say.
So there you go.
On this issue, Trump wins the only Electoral College that gets a vote, Peg Palmer Wears.
If he wants to say, “Let me tell you, Jerry Thornton is ALL MAN.
Those Relaxed Fit jeans are hiding a baby’s arm holding an apple!
“, he’ll get no argument from me.
in some folksy, they have my approval.
So this is how we elect our nation’s Chief Executive in 2024.
This is how the Founding Fathers wanted all this to work.
And big fan of democracy that I am, I’m here for all of it.
My name is Jerry Thornton, and I approve this message.
