To the person who stole my entire set of golf clubs out of the back of my vehicle: I hope that every time you hit the golf ball with the stolen clubs you shank it into the woods.

I hope you never hit it straight, and that your entire golf round consists of shanks, skulls, fats, tops and worm burners. I hope you get so frustrated with golf that you vow never to steal someone’s golf clubs again.

Of course, you’re probably not even using the clubs, since thieves and pillheads usually don’t golf.

In that case, I hope the $50 or so you got from selling my clubs was not enough to get you high, or you had to purchase inferior dope that made you sick as a dog for days.

You stole my clubs in an instant, probably while my vehicle was parked at Walmart one Friday afternoon. They meant nothing to you, just merchandise of value that could be pawned for drugs. But to me, they had an emotional attachment.

I had collected the set over about 15 years; a driver, fairway woods, irons and a brand new putter. But what I miss the most is the expensive Cobra staff golf bag that my kids bought me. I’d been wanting it for years, and on Father’s Day a few years ago, they presented it to me as a gift.

I’ve had to borrow golf clubs from my friends while I assemble a new set. I’ll be out about $1,000 when I’m finished replacing what was stolen — the exact amount of my insurance deductible.

I’ve checked the pawn shops in London and Corbin and most of them don’t even deal with used golf clubs. Not much demand apparently.

The run of bad luck continued a few days later. To the person who stole my iPod out of my gym bag at Powerhouse Gym: I hope you only like Rap music, cause there ain’t none on it.

I hope listening to James Taylor and the Eagles, with a little Celine Dion and Kenny G thrown in, makes you ill because that’s what you’ll be listening to on my iPod.

Sure, you can erase it and put your own loud crap on it, but it is five years old and the battery won’t hold a charge very long. So, it may not give you enough heavy metal excitement to get you through your next high.

I’m a little shocked at your brazen attitude. You saw that I was in the shower, so you knew you had a few moments to rife through my gym bag and steal my iPod.

I wish I’d stepped out of the shower early and caught you in the act. You would have been pummeled senseless by a wet, naked Kenny G music lover.

The rash of thievery has left me feeling violated, pillaged and vulnerable. I rarely lock my vehicle. It’s 11 years old with 99,000 miles and I really wouldn’t mind if someone stole it. I always left my golf clubs in the back and they were always there, until one day, poof, they were gone.

Now, I’m having to make an extra effort to lock it, even when I step into the store for a few minutes. I’m locking up my gym bag, again with extra effort. I’d rather just trust people, but during this drug scourge, I can’t take the chance anymore. I’m a victim.

The things that were stolen from me are just material items that can be replaced. People are losing a lot more from the crazies who are beating down doors and assaulting them in their homes in search of money and drugs.

Thieves are uprooting heavy air conditioning units just to get the $50 worth of copper inside. They are risking electrocution to remove copper from electrical supply lines. People are desperate for drugs and are willing to do, and risk, anything.

I’m feeling violated, pillaged and vulnerable, but I could be feeling a whole lot worse.


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