Mojo does not like golf. It's not like she HATES it or anything. If you like golf, fine. Mojo doesn't think any less of you. She just never got into it. Perhaps if she had, instead of lounging around the house dabbling on the computer, Mojo might have ended up the CEO of some Fortune 500 company. Yeah, that's why she never made it into the big leagues. 'Cuz she never took up golf. That's the ticket. Yeah. It's not her fault; it's the golf.
She had an opportunity once, but she threw it away, and now lives a life of regret and longing. No, not really; even I can't say that with a straight face. But her dad, who never once showed any real interest in golf besides watching it on television on occasion, had a set of clubs in the basement. Apparently he played a bit in college. And when Mojo found those clubs as a wee lass, she begged him to teach her how to play golf.
One day he acquiesced. He brought up his bag of clubs (it was about the size of Mojo, which shows you just how small she was), gave her a club and instead of giving her a regular golf ball he gave her a hollow plastic "whiffle" golf ball. Mojo set about trying to imitate Jack Nicklaus or whoever was great at golf back then, but as hard as she tried she couldn't hit that ball further than twenty or thirty feet. This was very frustrating, since she saw the guys on television sock those things totally out of sight.
In vain she begged again (perhaps now you have a glimpse of just how tiresome it was to grow up with Mojo; I mean, you think she's obnoxious now, you should have seen her as a kid) for her father to give her a REAL golf ball to hit instead of the "whiffle" ball. Her cruel father steadfastly refused. You see, her father was an engineer, and hence had a deep understanding and abiding respect for the Laws of Physics. Mojo has inherited that trait, but when one is only eight or ten sometimes it takes a while for the reality of What Could Happen to sink in. So she begged her dad to hit real golf balls in their suburban backyard, but he would not let her.
Now, if I wanted to make this a really cool fun story I have it all set up so you can imagine me sneaking into the little zipper pocket on my father's golf bag and stealing a REAL golf ball and letting fly not fifty feet from the neighbor's house. But Mojo needs to be honest--despite her obnoxiousness she was and is a well-behaved individual who rarely did things behind her parents' backs ... well, at least she rarely got caught. So as luck would have it for the neighborhood, she accepted her father's admonition to NEVER use real golf balls in the backyard, only the whiffle balls. Since it was just a phase and she had no burning desire to continue her golf lessons, it never occurred to her to give it a try. And to reward her for her good behavior, once her dad brought her and the golf bag out to the athletic fields of the high school and let her tee up and hit a REAL golf ball. Once. Mojo smacked that baby like a homerun, and watched with immense satisfaction as it sailed away and finally hit the ground way off on the other side of the field.
Two things happened, both internal. She immediately realized as that little white missle took off just WHY her dad didn't want her terrorizing the neighborhood with them. If you were around then you would have seen the slow dawning on her face, like the chimp-men at the beginning of the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey". One of those big evolutionary moments when the synapses suddenly coalesce. And then--as if that were not enough brain power expended in one day--it also slowly dawned on her that she would have to go fetch the ball she just hit herself. She did that ... once. Like playing "52 Pickup", she never had any great desire to repeat the process. Thus ended her golf career, as well as this pointless anecdote.
Maybe your thing isn't golf. Maybe your thing is, say, a collection of incredibly ugly teapots. Again, Mojo does not judge you for your bizarre behavior, no matter how freaky she personally finds it. No, Mojo is magnanimous. She is happy that your incredibly ugly teapots bring you joy, so long as you do not endlessly pester her with boring descriptions of how much joy your collection of ugly teapots brings you. I mean, Mojo likes horsies, but do you hear her going on and on about how beautiful she thinks Friesians are? No. She keeps them to herself. And that's how it should be, in Mojo's world.
And yet in the spirit of cultural exchange and the meetingplace of differing opinions and ideas, Mojo extends her hand in friendship to golf people and/or ugly teapot people with this. It's a golf teapot. An ugly golf teapot. At least in Mojo's eyes. She finds it ugly. That is why she does not want it. But if for some reason you have been searching and searching for an ugly ceramic golf-themed teapot and sobbing into your pillow late at night because this, the Holy Grail of ugly golf teapots, has thus far eluded you your whole entire worthless pathetic life....well, things may be looking up. And if Mojo can have a hand in bringing you this small tiny piece of joy, she will do so gladly. Because nothing pleases Mojo more than the occasional, brief happiness of total strangers. It's what she lives for. That, and getting things out of her house.
So here ya go. A ceramic golf teapot, about 6.5inches tall and 8.5 inches long, just waiting to be added to your golf teapot collection. It is made in Taiwan and (according to the sticker on the bottom) should only be washed by hand. I think he looks a bit like a worried Babe Ruth who has just realized he has squandered his life and talents on pointless pursuits, like golf and collecting teapots and reading stupid item descriptions on eBay. Because Mojo is such a nice person (and she wants to get rid of all this golf-themed crap) she will throw in two clock-bearing paperweighty golf ball sort of desk-clock thingies. Good luck getting the clocks out of them to reset them. I suspect it's not going to happen.One of the clocks says "Mira" and the other says "Elgin" (I think--the hour hand is slightly obscuring things). I have never heard of either one of them, but I am certain they stand for the high quality one can expect from a Craptacular item.
Good luck, good day, happy bidding, all that stuff. If you're into golf, or ugly teapots, or both, or you know someone who is ... well, you're way ahead of me, 'cuz I don't know anyone like that. But that's probably because I have no friends. Only you, Pretend Friend on eBay. So bid away!