A dozen years ago, in an effort to scientifically determine the effect of alcohol on the golf swing, Golf Digest sent me and three of my regular golf buddies -- Barney, Jim, and Hacker (real name) -- to Las Vegas for four days, and gave us unlimited access to golf, casinos, and beer. They also recruited a second foursome, whose members included Jimmy Kimmel (then of the Man Show) and Carson Daly (then of MTV).
The format was nine-hole scramble. On the fourth tee, Barney made a rude noise in my backswing, and Kimmel said, "If Sal had asked me beforehand, 'What are the chances that one of them will fart before one of us?', I would have said a million to one." After that, we were pals. On the fifth tee, Kimmel asked me, "Do you meet a lot of lesbians in your line of work?" On the seventh hole, he drove a cart onto the green, parked it next to the hole, and asked, "Am I in anyone's line?"
Playing nine holes took four hours, during which the average intake was a dozen beers and a couple of Bloody Marys. My friends and I won the match (five-up, two under par), and when it was over Hacker threw a pair of golf shoes into the lake. Then Kimmel lay on the ground, placed a ball on a tee clenched between his teeth, and let me hit it with a pitching wedge:
Here's how I hit that shot: I don't remember. You can read about the whole adventure here.