April Fool: Grandmother derails celebrity romance
Ryan Summerlin April 1, 2013
VILE – Celebrity romance can be as volatile as nitroglycine and more fun to watch than an explosion at a fireworks factory. Vile had its own celebrity hookup-blowup last week, and it was sparked by a 74-year-old grandmother.
The tabloid world went into paparazzi-overdrive recently when golfer Lion Planck and Vile’s darling, ski racer Cindy Blond, announced they were dating. After the announcement, Planck went on to win a pair of golf tournaments while Blond kept up her physical therapy following a gruesome crash during a ski race at Mønt du Pate, France.
Woods flew into town to pay a surprise visit to Blond after winning the recent Kia Rio Aggravational tournament at Notabuick Country Club in Passaic, N.J. The visit started going wrong almost immediately.
According to an anonymous janitor at Vile Manly Medical Center, Planck first stopped by Blond’s condo, only to discover she was in physical therapy that afternoon. He then went to the hospital and asked volunteer Janet Grüvendriver how to buy a dozen roses on the way to visit his downhill diva.
The handsome golfer and still-vivacious grandmother’s eyes met. They talked, about shared experiences, and the joys of a hitting a solid wedge shot out of a bunker. Before long, the two walked together to the hospital’s gift shop, the golfer’s strong right arm draped around the volunteer’s arthritic, but still soft, shoulders.
An anonymous bucket-steriilizer reported that the golfer and grandmother were soon spotted sharing a sofa in the hospital lobby, sharing one bottle of Gatorade with two straws.
About an hour later, a shriek echoed through the hospital lobby. Blond, hobbling past the reception area on custom-made crutches, had spotted Planck and Grüvendriver under her reception desk, their clothes dissheveled. The pair had gone from Gatorade to sparkling wine, with the drained bottle spinning in an ice-filled, stainless steel bedpan. An overturned bucket of hand sanitizer dripped from an open desk drawer.
“What the hell is this?” Blond wailed, while trying to shove her left crutch-tip into the golfer’s now-bloody nose.
“You know how I am, baby,” Plank sobbed into an ace bandage Grüvendriver had pulled from her purse so the golfer could staunch his nasal bleeding.
“I’m just a man – I have needs,” he snorted. “Besides, there’s no Waffle House in this damn town – I had to do something.”
In the wake of his philandering, Planck reportedly has checked himself into the Clinic for the Irredeemably Icky in Las Vegas. Blond, meanwhile, is having a new pair of crutches shipped in.