UnScripts:A Typical Broadcast Round of Women's Golf

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A Typical Broadcast Round of Women's Golf is part of

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Ahh... Women's Golf... A sport that somehow manages to get shown only 2 hours every week... On The Golf Channel. Clearly, it is one of the least popular of the many sports played by those of the female persuasion, and that is really saying something. The following is an actual transcript, copied by an extremely devoted (Read as: bored) person who only managed to stay awake through the competition by downing 10 Red Bulls beforehand.

Cheap 3D designs flow across the TV screen, hoping to make the oncoming game seem more appealing to those with short attention spans... The camera zooms onto an extremely green golf course and then onto the desk at which John Fetuskiller and Samantha Wonderbra, the announcers of the game, sit. John is a brown haired middle aged man with a thick moustache, and Samantha is a buxom, blonde woman who must be barely 20. John is half asleep, while Samantha jumps up and down constantly, showing off her cleavage.

JOHN: Welcome to the 2007 Women's Golf World Championship Round... This is the biggest day in Women's golf, all year. For those of you just tuning in, you're on Channel 73... That's the Golf Channel. You're probably looking for Channel 72, which is Comedy Central, and hit the wrong button on your remote... I hear South Park should be coming on in a few minutes, so you should hurry and change the channel before you miss some of it... For those of you who already know this is The Golf Channel, we are broadcasting Women's Golf, which means that none of the players playing today have penises, though I'm a bit skeptical about Chung Xi, China's contender. So, don't expect to say halfway decent playing... Oh, and there won't be any infomercials during this broadcast advertising solar-powered flashlights of inflatable mattresses, so don't get your hopes up. All right. Now, for whoever's left, I think we're ready to start.

SAMANTHA: John! Why do you always have to say all that? We must have already lost half of our viewers! We're supposed to be like, supporting this sport!

JOHN: Oh, Samantha, you know I'm only doing this gig until I pay for that new patio furniture... So, I should be out of here sometime next year. Besides, you and I both know these women are horrible golfers, so I should let the viewers know what they're getting themselves into.

SAMANTHA: You're such a chauvanist pig! You're degrading women and making them seem like stupid broads... Oh, darn... It seems like I dropped my pencil between my breasts. Would you mind getting it for me?

JOHN: (Chuckles)... Of course... That's what I'm here for, after all. (Pulls pencil out of Samantha's bra).

Just look at that hazy sky.... Those peaceful green fields.... The wind rustling through the trees... The gently rippling water.... You should be getting sleepy... Very sleepy.... Sleeeeeppp.....

JOHN: Anyway, I think the viewers would appreciate not having to sit through watching this incredibly boring sport, so, I'm going to constantly show footage of our peaceful, green, oh so green course, as well as speak in a quiet British accent, from now on, hoping to lull you all to sleep... It's the best thing for us to do...

SAMANTHA: Uhm, okay then. Now a word from our sponsors.... Oh wait, we don't have any sponsors, do we? So should we just start talking about like golf and the game and stuff?

JOHN: Yeah.

SAMANTHA: I don't really know much about golf...

JOHN: Me neither. But let's just keep talking in these quiet British accents, and hope they won't notice.

SAMANTHA: Okay.

JOHN: I think they started playing, already. It looks like half the women are done with the first hole. Oh well, it doesn't matter. Anybody who wants to keep score can do it themselves... You know how to count, don't you? Alright... I think I should start introducing the players, right Samantha?

SAMANTHA: Yeah.

Let's just hope she figures out where to put the club, this time... Catch my drift?

JOHN: Okay, well, up now is some blonde lady. I'm guessing... A B-Cup? I don't know what her name is, but I don't care enough to find out.... Okay, now my supervisor is mouthing "Janet".... Don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I'll just go ahead and call her "B-Cup" from now on.

SAMANTHA: I'm a lot hotter than her. I hope that slut loses.

JOHN: Jealous?

SAMANTHA: No!

JOHN: I'll take your word for it... Anyway, the next player up is China's own Chung Xi... That's a hard last name to pronounce... I'll call her "Asian Whore" instead.

SAMANTHA: Whatever... You're the man.

JOHN: Yeah, the only one watching.

Oh, man. This hole is even sleepier than the last one. That one had all that water sloshing around, which could make you really nervous, right? Well, here, there's only a tree or two and lots of grass... Sounds like you should go to sleep and stop watching...

JOHN: Alright, well, it looks like they're onto the second hole now... My supervisor is telling me to cut the small talk and start narrating. I guess I have to do that...

SAMANTHA: The Asian one is on her 15th stroke already... She should get it in that hole soon, or else she might not get a par.

JOHN: Wait, how could she still get a par if she's playing so terribly?

SAMANTHA: That's an easy one! In women's golf, the rule of thumb is to make scoring super leniant, so the women feel like they're actually good! She'd have to get 50 strokes before she'd even get a bogey!

JOHN: That's pretty pathetic... But I guess women are women.

SAMANTHA: For those watching at home, isn't that some greeeeeeen grass? it's getting late... You might want to go to sleep. You're not missing out on much. Just some grass swaying in the wind. Back and forth. Back and forth... Back and forth.

JOHN: We're still trying to get them to all fall asleep?

SAMANTHA: Yes.... It's so late at night, and that grass is so green. They should all be getting sleepy....

Get it out of there, goddamn it! We don't have all day! Wait... She actually got the ball to go BACKWARDS when she hit it? That's just sad...

JOHN: Alright, it looks like we have another player up. The ball rolled into a bunker. She's swinging at it... And swinging at it... And swinging at it... Wait, it's moving... And she somehow made it go backwards, folks.... Wait! It looks like it got out, on that crappy shot! It's rolling down the green.... And into another sandtrap. This one's even bigger then the last one. Alright, she's swinging... And swinging... And swinging... Got any food, Samantha?

SAMANTHA: No, but we can run down to that grocery store a few blocks away from here and get some... We've got time.

JOHN: Alright. Let's go.

Five Hours Later...

JOHN: Wow, that fancy restaurant they just built over by the market was really ritzy. And I'm glad we got to go to the movies and check out that new Adam Sandler film, aren't you?

SAMANTHA: Yeah, this was a good day... We made it back in time and everything. Oh, wait, it looks like she finally got it out of the bunker!

JOHN: Thank God! One of the audience members told me that she managed to somehow land the ball in every bunker on the entire course, twice, in that hole alone.

SAMANTHA: Do you know what this means? Something that boring....

JOHN: Oh my god! You're right! All the viewers must be sound asleep... Not to mention....

SAMANTHA: The network executives that censor everything!

JOHN: Now... I can say... FUCK!!! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! Fuck!!!! Fuck fuck! Fuck. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah! Hose that biatch down! Whooo!!! Booze for everyone!! Damn, that's one happy audience!

SAMANTHA: Haha, this is great! What should we do now?

JOHN: There's only one thing to do... PARTY! I'll get the keg.

SAMANTHA: I just took off my shirt.

JOHN: Guess I should get the hose, too...

SAMANTHA: I think the cameraman wants some fun, now. You should finish up.

JOHN: Alright. Uhm, that concludes today's broadcast of the Women's Golf World Championship Round... See us again at the same time tomorrow, on the off chance we don't get cancelled. And, from everybody at The Golf Channel, I wish you.... (Belches loudly and points middle finger at the camera).

THE BROADCAST ENDS HERE