The captains of industry produce rubbish for the masses. The masses use that rubbish for a short while. The masses then throw the rubbish on a rubbish dump. Subsequently the captains of industry let the lowly manual labourers from the masses lay some shallow turf upon that rubbish dump. The lowly manual labourers from the masses are then hired to keep the turf biologically dead and free of worms by means of poison and noisy lawn mowers. The captains of industry experience a gigantic joy, just like young kids with air balloons, when they are allowed shoot a little piece of white round hard plastic - being rubbish itself, too, of course - that always flies into the wrong direction, whilst standing on one of those poorly camouflaged rubbish dumps. The rubbish dump is preferably situated along a highway. The captains of industry get a special mental kick there because they then feel being observed by the masses in their cars, racing along or standing still in a traffic jam because the captains of industry wrongly assume that the masses envy them because they have the privilege of being allowed to play with heir balls on a rubbish dump. The noise along the highway and the exhaust fumes hamper severely the envisaged business conversation of the captains of industry on the rubbish dump. Actually, it should be expected that the captains of industry therefore can only come up with a lower number of bad new ideas for producing new kinds of rubbish. Thus automatically one day the creation of new golf courses will come to a halt. Building those courses could be stopped right away if I just could toelt alongside those rubbish dumps fierily on my Icelandic horse frequently enough. Each time I do that I observe the craving looks from the captains of industry and especially from their spouses in those electric rubbish dump chairs pointed towards the proud stature and the flowing manes of my little horse - a very lively creature and not just a piece of white plastic to be shot into the wrong direction, invented by some captain of industry.
P.S.: Do you still have sex or do you already play golf??