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.”
A woman golfer suffers a nasty bee sting and leaves the course to go see her doctor about it.
“What happened?” asked the doctor.
“I got stung between the first and second hole,” replied the lady golfer.
The doctor replied, “You must have an awfully wide stance!”
Toward the end of the golf course, Harry somehow managed to hit his ball into the woods finding it in a patch of pretty yellow buttercups. Trying to get his ball back in play, he ended up thrashing just about every buttercup in the patch. All of a sudden, POOF!, in a flash and puff of smoke, a little old woman appeared. She said, “I’m Mother Nature! Do you know how long it took me to make those buttercups? Just for that, you won’t have any butter for your popcorn the rest of your life; better still; you won’t have any butter for your toast for the rest of your life….. as a matter of fact, you won’t have any butter for anything the rest of your life!” THEN POOF!….she was gone.
After Harry got a hold of himself, he hollered for his friend, Fred. “Fred, where are you?”
Fred yells back, “I’m over here, in the Pussywillows.”
Harry yells back……”DON’T SWING FRED!!!” “For God sake, DON’T SWING!!”
Golf and Taxes
Q. How is golf like taxes?
A. Well, you drive hard to get to the green, and then you wind up in the hole.
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.”