How Golfer's Dream Magazine Changed My Life

BEFORE: This is me before I started

reading Golfer's Dream Magazine...

overweight, poor, unhappy and alone.

The other day at 103 West as I was waiting for an attendant to retrieve my chocolate brown Porsche Boxter, the world-famous athlete I'd been noshing with said, "Say, Bill, how did an unassuming guy like yourself come to be so rich, so trim, so...sexy?"                        

My eyes grew misty. "It wasn't always this way Johnny, old buddy..."

My mind raced back to the Bad Times before the investment tips, the real estate empire, the villa in Italy, even before I began racing my Lola on the Can-Am circuit.

Once I was a lot like you.

Working at a nowhere job, hitting the singles bars, watching reruns of the Gong Show in my free time. I tipped the scales at a hefty 257, but my bank balance couldn't have tipped the busboy at The Varsity. When I tried to use my ATM card, mechanical hands reached out of the machine to grab me.

Finally I hit bottom...picked up by the cops for panhandling outside the Fox after a concert.

My last friend in this lonely world, Hardy Gustavsen, put up my bail and set me straight while he was driving me back to my walkup flat above a used tire store in Forest park.

"Bill!" Hardy expostulated. 'Get hold of yourself! Start reading Golfer's Dream Magazine!"

"Gosh, Hardy, don't they write all those in-depth stories and use a lot of big words? I'm not sure I cotton to all that highbrow stuff."

Hardy didn't reply, but looking into his steely blue eyes, I suddenly realized that he was right.

I'd lived in Atlanta all my life, but I knew absolutely nothing about my own home town.

I resolved to give Golfer's Dream Magazine a shot.

At first it was painful. Learning all those new names and places was confusing. I didn't know a 3-iron from a sand wedge. I didn't know Northwestern from Ping. And most important I didn't know any power terms like "hit a house", "you're still away", or "inside the leather."

But in a few short months, I started to feel the beautiful effects of reading Golfer's Dream Magazine.

In no time, I was using napkins when I ate a hotdog. I switched from port wines to an unpretentious Montrachet. I moved from Forest Park to Roswell and joined The Golf Club of Georgia.

And everywhere I went, people stood in stunned admiration as I told them what was really going on in the Atlanta sports community, quoting straight from the pages of Golfer's Dream Magazine.

Then I met Marlene. She was a SWPF, non-smoker I ran into while relaxing by the pool at St. Ives. Today I'm on top of the world with a wonderful wife, close friends in high places and a promising career in golf real-estate manipulation.

Can Golfer's Dream Magazine

do for you what it did for me?

A few years back, scientists exposed a random sample of illiterate Armenian peasants to Golfer's Dream Magazine. After just three months, a remarkable 88% had moved to Dunwoody, Buckhead, Roswell or Alpharetta, enrolled their children at Galloway, Pace or Westminster and had begun making large speculative golf real estate investments!

You might use Golfer's Dream Magazine to control disgusting personal habits and make new friends. The possibilities are endless!

Can you afford Golfer's Dream Magazine?

Do Ted Turner and Jane Fonda do the Tomahawk Chop?

Marketing surveys show that Golfer's Dream Magazine's readers are the most affluent people in Atlanta. You can secure your rung up the ladder by subscribing today for just a buck and some change each quarter - less than you'd have spent on Doritos and Ripple in the Old Days.

AFTER: This is after seven short

months as a Golfer's Dream Magazine reader...

rich, thin and terribly sexy.

Get the Golfer's Dream Magazine habit today!

Remember, the longest journey begins by getting dressed. Don't let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Fill out a subscription card NOW, while you're thinking about it.

And get ready for a spectacular improvement in your life.

Warn your family and friends that you may start dressing for dinner.

You may lose your taste for Doritos.

And the next time you're on the expressway thinking about playing with your nose, you'll find yourself asking:

Really. Would a Golfer's Dream Magazine reader do this?