Fug File: Fug The Cover

This feels more like Maxim to me.

Granted, she’s probably wearing too much fabric for Maxim. But unless Golf takes a lad-mag turn, I can’t imagine where else BUT Maxim you’d actually expect to see a pose I can only describe as, “Hey there, Big Boy, am I gripping your driver or your iron?” Especially when you couple it with an embarrassingly reductive cover line that I’m either sad she uttered, or was taken weirdly out of context. It certainly is a strange choice for Cosmopolitan. Maybe incorporating a putter is “your new secret weapon for hotter sex,” or there’s an insane bedroom maneuver called The Bunker Pitch, or Hooking It Out Of The Deep Rough, or perhaps your five-second stress buster is pretending to take a club to someone’s car. The trouble is, I’m probably not going to open the magazine to find out, because it’s SO discordant that unless the rest of the Internet tells me that Pantomime Squat Golf is going to burn a thousand calories in ten minutes, I’m not terribly compelled.