One Sunday morning, a priest wakes up and decides to go golfing. He calls his boss and says that he feels very sick, and won’t be able to go to work.
Way up in heaven, Saint Peter sees all this and asks God, “Are you really going to let him get away with this?”
“No, I guess not, ” says God.
The priest drives about five to six hours away, so he doesn’t bump into anyone he knows. The golf course is empty when he gets there. So he takes his first swing, drives the ball 495 yards away and gets a hole in one.
Saint Peter watches in disbelief and asks, ” Why did you let him do that?”
To this God says, “Who’s he going to tell?”
10 Minutes Late
So, there are three golfers, (Bob, Max and Ted) who are looking for a fourth.
Bob mentions that his friend George is a pretty good golfer, so they decide to invite him for the following Saturday.
“Sure, I’d love to play,” says George, “but I may be about ten minutes late, so wait for me.”
So Saturday rolls around. Bob, Max, and Ted arrive promptly at 9:00 and find George already waiting for them. He plays right-handed and beats them all.
Quite pleased with their new fourth, they ask him if he’d like to play again the following Saturday.
“Yeah, sounds great,” says George. “But I maybe about ten minutes late, so wait for me.”
The following Saturday, again, all four golfers show up on time, but this time George plays left-handed and beats them all. As they’re getting ready to leave, George says, “See you next Saturday, but I may be about ten minutes late, so wait for me.”
Every week, George is right on time and plays great with whichever hand he decides to use. And every week, he departs with the same message.
After a couple months, Ted is pretty tired of this routine, so he says, “Wait a minute, George. Every week you say you may be about ten minutes late, but you’re right on time. You beat us either left-handed or right-handed. What’s the story?”
“Well,” George says, “I’m kind of superstitious. When I get up in the morning, I look at my wife. If she’s sleeping on her left side, I play left-handed, and if she’s sleeping on her right side, I play right-handed.”
“So what do you do if she’s sleeping on her back?” Bob asks.
“Well… That’s when I’m about ten minutes late.”
A Perfect Shot
A golfer stands over his tee shot for what seems an eternity to his partner. He looks up, looks down, measures the distance and figures the wind direction and speed. The longer he takes, the more his partner fidgets.
Finally his exasperated partner says, “What’s taking so long? Hit the blasted ball.”
The guy answers, “My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse. I want to make this a perfect shot.”
“Forget it, man,” the partner says. “You’ll never hit her from here.”
Golf Love Poem
I think that I shall never see
a hazard rougher than an tree;
A tree o’er which my ball must fly
if on the green it is to lie;
A tree which stands that green to guard,
and makes the shot extremely hard;
A tree whose leafy arms extend
to kill the six iron shot I send;
A tree that stands in silence there,
while angry golfers rave and swear.
Irons were made for fools like me
who cannot ever miss a tree.
A couple of women were playing golf one sunny Saturday morning. The first of the twosome teed off and watched in horror as her ball headed directly toward a foursome of men playing the next hole.
Indeed, the ball hit one of the men, and he immediately clasped his hands together at his crotch, fell to the ground and proceeded to roll around in evident agony.
The woman rushed down to the man and immediately began to apologize. She explained that she was a physical therapist: “Please allow me to help. I’m a physical therapist and I know I could relieve your pain if you’d allow me!”, she told him earnestly.
“Ummph, oooh, nnooo, I’ll be alright…I’ll be fine in a few minutes”, he replied breathlessly as he remained in the fetal position still clasping his hands together at his crotch.
But she persisted, and finally allowed her to help him. She gently took his hands away an laid them to the side, she loosened his pants, and she put her hands inside. She began to massage him. She then asked him: “How does that feel?”
To which he replied: “It feels great, but my thumb still hurts like hell.”