Wash, rinse, repent

Tiger "Ride Her Cup" Woods' delivered his public mea culpa last week, which apparently was scripted by the Jetson's maid Rosie. You know what else happened last week? The beginning of Lent. I find the timing... interesting. Catholics love golf. Catholics fear love Lent. Was Tiger "Putter? I hardly knew her!" Woods trying appeal to a large bloc of his fandom? (Seriously, just click on Longtime and my list of Tiger porn titles from November, okay? We're very proud.)

As little as I care about this whole PR pickle—you know, we're stepping up our shit in Afghanistan and China hates us this week for meeting with the Dolly Llama—I can't help but notice that Tiger's had several months to address the public since the incident over Thanksgiving. Why now? And speaking of the Dolly, isn't Tiger a Bhuddist?

If he's not taking his sex rehab seriously as it's been reported, I would encourage him to convert to my brand of faith. All he has to do is give up the Ambien sex for 40 days and then he can start back up again. Not too hard, right? (TWSS.) The real secret of Lent is not that you give up something you love in the spirit of sacrifice, it's that you give up something you hate yourself for liking, so you effectively give up hating yourself for 40 days. Lent is really a vacation from guilt. (I gave up Perez Hilton.)

Lest you question my credibility, here is visual proof I cannot quit Catholicism, no matter how hard I try:

(Thanks to Schmoroney for taking the picture and schlepping to St. Patrick's Cathedral during lunch on Wednesday. And yes, it was a bad enough hair day to necessitate the Gibbler ponytail.)