Golph

Sometimes when I'm riding all I can think about is a long, tall Arnold Palmer. When I'm in the tent late at night with the crickets chirping and all that, all I can do to get to sleep is imagine an ice cold Arnold Palmer between my weary thighs. The other night I begged Mr. Bungle for an Arnold Palmer, but he jut couldn't provide one. No man could where we were. We were just too deep in the woods. The woods.  I sweated and tossed and turned and cursed life for what it's worth for not giving me  what I ached for deeply that night, every night--an Arnold Palmer. It always finds me when I am near despair: it's silky beads slide down it's velvet frame and rapidly evaporate in the hot sun, as I lift the hard smooth Arnold Palmer  to my yearning lips, and I take as much of it as I can into my mouth.