Chicken Licken muses on the “11th Hole”

Listen up. If you’re wringing your hands or down on your knees over the Breaking News that the alleged former mistress (the line forms here) of Tiger Woods is not only in town, but billing herself as the “11th  Hole,” take heart. Anyone with the grit to strip at a local club (in this case, it’s Silk), deserves some consideration.

So what’s wrong with having fun, even if her shows do happen to coincide with the former golden boy-cum-player’s tour stops? I do wonder though, if she’ll perform in golf shoes and nothing else, or maybe be a little Tam and a wee Shanter, what ever that is.

I mean take for instance Silk itself, which I’ve never seen. But yesterday, I drove past a Gentleman’s Club, so I’m guessing they’re pretty much the same. You know, standard. Well, this one was, with its coat of chocolate paint. The only exotic touch was a pair of stately plastic palms standing erect, their coconut balls waving gently in the summer breeze wafting from Lake Michigan a few blocks east.

Frankly, I always liked “Art’s Performing Center,” and don’tcha know, it’s across from the Performing Arts Center. Is it still there?

But what I’m hoping is that the “11th Hole” won’t launch a tsunami of strippers bent on attaching themselves to Tiger’s tail. She seems to be the first, albeit the 11th, but why am I thinking she won’t be the last? Only her agent knows for sure.

Envision this: Presenting for the first time ever: Miss Missed Hole, Hole In One, Halve A Hole, or for a change of pace: Dorita Divit, Grassie Green, Inna Rough, etc., feel free to add a few comments.

But then again, fame is fleeting, and when Tiger moves on to tour his tour, her traveling show (what a trouper!) will have to pack up and move too. Her fame depends on his game. What a shame.

As a former stripper billed as “Chicken Licken,” I’ve taken my share of licks across the country, as I bravely trouped from coop to coop, earning a bushel and a peck and I gotta tell you, the rewards were chicken feed. Take for instance, the damned feathers hot-glued to my butt. They itched like mad. Plus, if I swiveled too close to some guy waving a ten under my yellow beak (did I mention that?) it was downright dangerous, even more so if he was smoking a stogie. Myself, I never touch tobacco.

At one point in my flaming career, I changed my billing to “Henny Penny,” and entered the stage by being hatched from a giant styrofoam egg. After my implants I was, for a time, billed as “Big Bigger Biggest Byrd.” Eventually though, it was “Chicken Licken” that got me where I am today.

And so I say to you, “11th Hole…”

Too bad it allegedly didn’t work out with Tiger. Your Silk show opened last night and runs through Sunday. Perhaps you’ll meet a nice plastic surgeon who will get you off the road, and keep you looking good in your old age. Until then, may all your gigs be Birdies.