Golf Stories

A golfer set up his ball on the first tee, took a mighty swing and hit
his ball into a clump of trees.  He found his ball and saw an opening
between two trees he thought he could hit through.  Taking out his 3-wood, he took another mighty swing, the ball hit a tree, bounced back, hit him in the forehead and killed him.

As he approached the gates of Heaven, St. Peter saw him coming and
asked "Are you a good golfer"?  The man replied: 
"Got here in two, didn't I?"


The bride came down the aisle and when she reached the altar, the
groom was standing there with his golf bag and clubs at his side.
She said: "What are your golf clubs doing here

He looked her right in the eye and asked,

"This isn't going to take all day, is it?"


 An octogenarian who was an avid golfer moved to a new town and
joined the local Country Club. He went to the Club for the first time to
play but was told that there wasn't anybody he could play with because they
were already out on the course.  He repeated several times that he
really wanted to play today.

Finally, the assistant Pro said he would play with him and asked
him how many strokes he wanted for a bet. The 80-year-old said, "I really don't need any strokes, as I have been playing quite well lately.
The only real problem I have is getting out of sand traps." 

And play well he did.

Coming to the par four 18th they were all even. The Pro had a nice
drive and was able to get on the green and make a par. The old man
 had a nice drive, but his approach shot landed in a sand trap nex
to the green. 

Playing from the bunker he hit a high ball that landed on the green and rolled into the cup. Birdie, match and all the money!

The Pro rushed over to the sand trap where his opponent was still
standing, and said: "Nice shot, but I thought you said you have a problem getting out of sand traps?" 

Replied the octogenarian, "I do, could you please give me a hand."


A woman goes to the local newspaper office to see that the obituary
for her recently deceased husband is published.

The obit editor informs her that there is a charge of 50 cents per word. 

She pauses, reflects, and then says, "Well, then, let it read: 'Fred Brown died'."

Amused at the woman's thrift, the editor tells her that there is a
seven word minimum for all obituaries.  She thinks it over and in a few seconds says,

"In that case, let it read, 'Fred Brown died: golf clubs for sale'"


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