Monster Links

A real-estate developer named MacDonald terrifies a coastal Oregon community, threatening its idyllic way of life. Exclusive video footage tracks the path of the monster, who bears a scary resemblance to golf firebrands Charles Blair Macdonald (1855-1939) and Donald Trump (1946 to present).

Bandon Dunes Golf Resort before MacDonald makeover
Bandon Dunes
Pacific Dunes
Bandon Trails
Old Macdonald
Bandon Preserve

After makeover
MacDonald I
MacDonald II
MacDonald III
New MacDonald
MacDonald V

Enter MacDonald (solus with smartphone):

I do NOT convene emergency board meetings when there is no emergency. I am at Bandon Dunes Golf Resort in backward Oregon, forced to walk – WALK!


 
Look at your screens: This wilderness is as advertised, a golf course without carts! The invention of the wheel must not have made the local news. The natives must eat raw meat with their bare hands. Let’s investigate the pros and cons of a hostile takeover. Carts would liven up this wasteland. So would a stable of Segways, Vespas and customized jets, made to order for fast rounds and every body size!

Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!

And another thing: the ocean. See it? It could be any body of water. Who named it “Pacific,” a spineless, nonsensical name for an ocean! It sends the wrong message. Beside the waves, normal people expect a picturesque village with stone harbor; bobbing masts; stray dog; grinning, faintly sinister old salt; and a pub – like a toy replica in a model train exhibit, like the one occupied by their fishing ancestors. Somebody write this down: Sea of MacDonald. I like the sound of that. Identify legal obstacles to ocean naming rights. Brainstorm, people!

Item: Naval fleet off the coast. Big ships with the works: cedar hulls, cloth sails, iron cannons, spidery rigging with heavy spars whose swings pack a punch, a lonely crow’s nest. Somebody crack a book; the ships should be exact replicas, down to the captain’s parrot. The crew should be underfed and suffering from the effects of scurvy and alcoholism. Item: Find out the brand of liquor drunk by Nelson’s men at Trafalgar. I bet the company exists today by appointment of the Queen. We’ll feature it in our ads. Memo: Our Jack Tars are to be up at the crack of dawn to swab the decks and load shells into guns arrayed port and starboard. Once the early golfers are within range, then it’s “Bombs away!” Dummy rounds loud enough to wake the Japanese, if the wind is right. That will teach their golfing community to pay attention!

Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!

Write this down: Scottish atmosphere, auld lang syne, home of golf. On some level, all the world admires the entrepreneurial spirit of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. His Lady was no slouch either. Who forgets the line about dashing out the brains of a smiling babe? She meant business. If Bandon has one virtue, it’s its caddie program. Our caddie program could be formed from unemployed actors who can imitate Scottish accents. We would stand out from the sniveling competition, aye. Order kilts and parade flags. No bagpipes – I draw the line at bagpipes. Fencing lessons – a caddie that can’t double as a fight coach is no good to me. It takes training and technique to sink a battleaxe into a target. In fact, the same skills transfer to golf. Accidents are inevitable, but a vacation package seasoned with the spice of mortal danger is a proven commodity, and the occasional spectacle of mayhem will keep the turnstiles turning all week instead of only during tournaments!

Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!

I can see them now, the Three Witches or Weird Sisters, or whatever the good old Bard called them, gainfully employed on beverage carts patrolling the acreage, arising from the mists circulating the property like specters of death – I mean, like go-go girls from birthday cakes. The ladies can earn something on the side in the red-flag districts tucked into these monster dunes, which, by the way, are killing my feet!


 
Item: Each hole to commemorate a celebrated military engagement. Birnam Wood comes to Bandon Dunes via Dunsinade. Issue a call to reenacters; Revolutionary or Civil, I don’t care which war – reenactors can be repurposed. We have sea breezes to carry the smells and cries of battle across the property. Hoof prints and dented, overturned helmets strewn across the landscape like presents around the Christmas tree. Any standing pools of blood should drain efficiently into the sand-based turf!

Item: deluxe castles along the fairways, their great halls crammed with swords, bucklers, trumpets, long rough-hewn banquet tables, roaring spitting fireplaces. Aromas of roasted meat, serving wenches and chamber pots. Plates of haggis, the national dish, passed 24/7. For the high rollers, a recipe with the best of ingredients: sheep’s pluck, as the natives call it, a hot mess of lungs, heart and liver; minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices and salt; mixed with stock; encased in the animal’s stomach; simmered for three hours.

Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!

Also on the menu: a watered down version, such as you would find at McDonald’s, prepared in sausage casing rather than stomach. Mothers will be pleased to see their sons eating well. The caddies can double as farm hands, working nights in the fields, planting crops for the table. This is arable land! Find us a celebrity chef! Old MacDonald has a farm!


 
Here, a lush Bermuda fairway. Who else has the guts to plant azalea, dogwood and Georgia pine on the “Pacific” Northwest coast? There, an immaculate green guarded by white crushed-marble bunkers. Sounds high maintenance in this setting, but with the technology to bill for wear and tear on every last blade of grass, who knows? Let’s try it. The media love a ballsy proposition!


 
Christian burial is too civilized for the sadists behind the walking-only policy. They need a good shake and a brisk run through a gauntlet of pikes!


 
When the next tsunami causes sections of Portland and Seattle to wash up on our shore, we will have some culture too! If I am not around then, I have the satisfaction of knowing that my children, or my children’s children, will execute a developer’s dream in my name. Ah yes, to rebuild Bandon Dunes from scratch!

Stay on the line while I line up my next shot! The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell! Out of bounds again?! No, hold on: It’s playable! Let’s wrap this up! You have your marching orders! Over and out!