Rabbi Chaim Horowitz to his Putter, July 2002

I would shove you up your own ass if you had one

Dear Odyssey Model-Fucking Asshole Turdmuncher,

You goddamned mother-fucking cuntrag. I should drown you in a fucking lake, you worthless piece of shit. Seriously, I am going to take you out into the parking lot and run over you in my car.

I honestly cannot believe you would do this to me. I bought you for $200. I could have bought any putter in that store and I picked you. What a horrible mistake that was. Now I’m stuck with a cocksucking pile of trash that thinks it’s funny to lip out twice from three feet IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING CLUB FUCKING CHAMPION-FUCKING-SHIP. Lee Trevino’s putter never did that to him, and it was Mexican.

You are lucky I don’t tie you to the bumper of my car and drag you to Des Moines. You know what? I’m considering it, you two-bit shiteater. I bet you’d like it, pervert. What’s the goddamn point of lessons if you decide to go cockeyed on the 18TH FUCKING HOLE? I HOPE YOU GET HERPES YOU GODDAMNED FAGGOT DYKE CUNT COCKSUCKER ASSHOLE SHIT BALLS PUSSY KUMQUAT.

If you keep this up for my match with Reverend Twatto on Sunday, I will wrap you around a fucking tree and leave you to be eaten by a bear. Which is better than you deserve, you metal dildo-looking motherfucker.

Fuck you,


P.S. I think my handicap is going up a shot thanks to you, you bitch-ass ball licker.


First of all, we’d like to apologize if any of the terms Rabbi Horowitz used offend our readers. The world of letter history is not always pretty. But we think it’s important not to censor the letters we see, but rather to share them with the public so that everyone can be horrified together.

We scholars were not shocked to see a man of God cursing so much at a golf putter. Any scholar of the history of letters knows that clergy have the biggest potty mouths. Pope John Paul II’s collected letters have been banned in 78 countries, including Vatican City.

But if we look beyond the words, it becomes clear that Rabbi Horowitz was addressing not only his frustration with his golf game, but also the common human frustration with failure. In a way, this letter asks, “What does it all mean?” (or rather, “What the cunt does it all mean?”).

And that’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves.


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