Golfing With The Wife

A lovely afternoon finds one fellow and his wife golfing.

They have had a wonderful time and the man has had a near perfect game.

The final hole, by far the most difficult, wraps around an old barn.

With a terrible slice the man puts the barn between his ball and the green.

Knowing that the strokes that it will take to get around the barn will destroy his score, he begins to rant and rave.

His wife hating to see him ruin such a great afternoon makes a suggestion.

"What if I were to hold open the barn doors? That way you could send it right through the barn onto the green."

He thinks this over and decides that it will work.

With his wife holding open the barn door he lines up with the hole and gives the ball a terrific "whack"!

The ball shoots through the air and right into the head of his wife, killing her instantly.

Months go by, the man mourning all the while.

His friends, hating to see him in such a state, convince him to go golfing with them.

They end up at the same course and on the final hole, oddly enough; another terrible slice puts the old barn between his ball and the green.

Again he begins to rant and rave at what this dilemma will do to his score.

His friend, wanting to please him, makes a suggestion.

"What if I were to hold open the barn doors? That way you could send it right through the barn onto the green."

"No," the man replies, "last time I did that I got a double bogey."

 

 

In My Hand I Hold A Ball,

 

White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.

Oh How Bland It Does Appear,

This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.

By Its Size I Could Not Guess,

Of The Awesome Strength

It Does Possess.

But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,

I've Wandered Through

The Fires Of Hell.

My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,

Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.

It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,

A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.

It Has Made Me Curse

And Made Me Cry,

And Hate Myself And Want To Die.

It Promises Me A Thing Called Par,

If I Hit It Straight And Far.

To Master Such A Tiny Ball,

Should Not Be Very Hard At All.

But My Desires The Ball Refuses,

And Does Exactly As It Chooses.

It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,

And Disappears Before My Eyes.

Often It Will Have A Whim,

To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.

With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,

It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.

Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,

If Only It Would Find The Hole.

It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,

And Swear That I Will Give It Up.

And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,

But The Ball Knows ...

I'll Be Back Tomorrow.