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Adventures in Lilliputt

And so we set forth to seek more adventure. Over the next eight hours we surmount many hazards: sand, water and, at Hawaiian Rumble, the Pampers some mini-minigolfer left in the fairway. We play till dusk, when Daisy's strength is almost finished. The two of us call it a night at Jurassic Golf, a course for people who think Fred Couples is a Bedrock dating service. With the scorecard in her pocket and a runty pencil between her clenched teeth, she rolls her purple ball into a tunnel, down a path and into the cup. "Haven't we played this hole before?" she says.

We resume the following morning. We play in palaces and on plains and plateaus. We play in the cavernous mountains and mountainous caverns of Mayday Golf, where the main attraction—a nose-diving Lockheed PV-2 Harpoon—gives new dimension to the phrase "crash course." You're supposed to yell "Mayday!" if your ball slices into a waterfall. Mine does; I don't.

Our quest ends at Mt. Atlanticus Minotaur Goff, a $3 million facility that could have been created by the set designer of A Nymphoid Barbarian in Dinosaur Hell. Outside, the course climbs to the third floor of a thatched hut. Inside, the walls are hung with paintings of extinct creatures and cave babes. A sign reads MINOTAUR GOFF. At the register sits an elderly man in a coat of armor.

"What's minotaur goff?" I ask.

"Down here, people don't say "golf,'" he explains. "They say "goff.'"

I nod.

The old knight informs us that Mt. Atlanticus was discovered by a mysterious minigoff visionary. "On March 29, 1998, he sighted a land mass two miles offshore from Myrtle Beach Pavilion," he says. "A few days later, the mass settled here, two blocks from the ocean."

Daisy nods.

"It was a minotaur-goff island resort, some 50,000 years old. It had broken off the sunken continent of Atlantis and drifted to the Carolina coast."

We both nod.


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