Dear Tiger: An Email from Caddy to Employer

Below are excerpts from a few leaked emails written by Steve Williams this week to his boss, Tiger Woods. Read on at your own risk.

Oh hey Tiger,

It's me, Steve. Your caddy. Hey. Cigarette?

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First of all, let me just send my best wishes to you and your family. We're thinking about you. And, listen, if you need a place to crash, our guest room is free. Clearly, crashing at your own place didn't work out so well...Bazingo!! Nailed it. FYI, when my wife threatens me with a golf club, she does so in the privacy of our own bedroom - and we have a "safe word."

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(It's "Anal Palmer" in case you were wondering.) Safety first.

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Which reminds me...so you know how an "Arnold Palmer" is a popular drink that is half iced tea and half lemonade? And a "Jon Daly" is an "Arnold Palmer" plus 3 ounces of bourbon? So what do you think will make up a "Tiger Woods"? Maybe the ingredients don't matter, as long as its blond and you pay for its GED? Maybe we could call it the "Pariah Papaya"? A-Rod could put his name on it, too. Or how about making it a malt ginger ale?

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Man, I hope you got tested...yeesh...don't want your balls to be in a hazard for the rest of your career.

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So, buddy, I heard the news that you will be taking some time off from golf to put the pieces of your life back together... I completely understand and respect this decision, but WTF? What exactly am I supposed to do while you're gone? It's not like I can go to Caddy Grad School where Lee Trevino is headmaster. No, I know, I checked Google. You reaaalllly sandbagged me on this one. I was thinking I might take up gardening, maybe shave a Nike driver into my chest hair, but if you need me to, you know, fabricate a story about Phil Mickelson and a gay Canadian speed skater, you know, to take some of the heat off... I'm like the Tiger Woods of Photoshop, so lemme know...

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Anyway, it's a shame I wasn't on your bag that infamous night. I never would have let Elin attack the car with that lie - even with a rescue club. That was a nice touch, though, Tiger. Your wife was "trying to extract you from the car," which is why she smashed the window with a golf club... LOL! You almost made her a hero. Very Noble. Ha, reminds me of the time I got pulled over for drunk driving: the officer kept insisting that I was drunk, but I told him emphatically that I wasn't drunk, and, in fact, had gallantly refused to smoke the rest of the bag so that I could get my son to soccer practice by 9 am. Those were wild times. Well, stupid times, really, but wild too.

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Let me also say, while I have your attention, that I think it's pretty f***ing unfair that many of the women you've slept with are coming forward to claim lucrative media/book deals and may even be getting hand outs from you to keep quiet. Again, I get burned. I've been cleaning your balls and judging your length for 10 years, what am I, chopped liver? You can just brush that off?

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This is a recession, Tiger. A RECESSION. I need this. I know you're headed into your own great depression, but have a heart. Come on...your wife just bought Sweden...you can spare a dime. Brother.

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Remember when your dad told Sports Illustrated, "Tiger will do more than any other man in history to change the course of humanity"? What do you think he meant by that, exactly?

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You're way too intense Tiger, you need to relax. Have you tried getting lai... oh, right. Sorry.

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Wikipedia says that you believe in most of Buddhism. Seriously. I looked it up. Are you f***ing kidding me? Which parts?

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Tiger?

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Only thing to do now is go on Oprah. Look what she did for Tom Cruise.

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Honestly, I think your d*** needs a caddy, man.
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Rehab?

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I'll wait for you.
No I won't.
Yes I will.

TIIIIIIIGGEEEERRRR

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So I hear that Jaimee Grubbs (your favorite "text messaging partner" and one of your mistresses) is going to be posing for the cover of Maxim Magazine. Seeing that she may have failed to realize why she is now famous, I heard that Irony frantically attempted to send Jaimee a text - but instead decided to dramatically commit suicide. In response, American Culture took an un-ironic bow.

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Your wife is HOT, like really hot, like what were you thinking thirteen times hot?

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In the words of old Bill Blake, which I'm p-p-p-p-retty sure was your father's inspiration for your name: "Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,/ in the shady motels of the night,/ what immortal hand or eye,/ could frame...dude, you're fu**ed. Seriously. Move to Iceland."

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Keep it clean,

Steve

P.S. Call me