My head was full of lemons

I was in Chelmsford visitng my buddy Ray's second cousin Joey's stepsister's boss Donny. Joey and his stepsister, Mandy, aren't very close, but Joey and I always have good craic with Donny. Mandy and I get on ok, but it's not like I've ever gotten a handy from Mandy (neither has Joey, this is a factual account of a trip to The Club not some degenerate team skeat crap). Well Donny and I hadn't connected in a while, so we needed some time to celebrate the C's and the B's, but lament their playoff runs. We also grilled up some spicy Italians and ribs. The Italians were good, but we should have paired them with the traditional peppers and onions instead of sauerkraut. Anyway, since Massachusetts doesn't actually get winters anymore, a nearby golf Club was open. My buddy's cousin's stepsister's boss, Donny, calls the best man from his third marriage, Frankie, who then connects us with his golf caddie, Patrick and off we go. Now, we get to the Golf Club, but the rain has soaked everything and the course is unplayable. Fortunately, Patrick's twice removed third cousin Seamus, who is just reading a book of poetry at the 19th hole, says we should go to a different club instead. Now, the issue with this is that The Club he has in mind doesn't open until after sunset in the winter, and we don't want Paddy's wife, Frankie's GF or Frankie's FWB to know that we were at this particular Club. "No worries" says Seamus, "we will just tell them that we were at the greenhouse-grown dandilon convention at the Tsaugus arena." At this point, I figure we should invite my buddy, Ray, since he's sort of the lynch pin that put this group together. Unfortunately, Ray has a prior commitment. He's playing in a grown-ass-man no-check travel hockey league. It's a shame about Ray.

Well, we drive to the club, which is well off the beaten path. This club has much lower alibi potential than Kittens/Tens ("I wanted to go for a walk along the beach") or Millenium ("It's the last exit before tolls: I got off the highway for gas and a grinder").

Now, I'm not gonna lie, I was really hoping that frequent The Club reviewer, Chaindog, would pay his $10 cover and loudly scream "Enter the Chaindog" or possibly announce his departure in a similar manner. Alas, The Chaindog was either absent or icognito on this particular night.