All posts tagged Golf
At dawn the telephone rings, “Hello, Señor Roy? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to advise you, Señor Roy, that your parrot, he is dead”.
“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International competition?”
“Si, Señor, that’s the one.”
“Damn! That’s a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did he die from?”
“From eating the rotten meat, Señor Roy.”
“Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?”
“Nobody, Señor. He ate the meat of the dead horse.”
“Dead horse? What dead horse?”
“The thoroughbred, Señor Roy.”
“My prize thoroughbred is dead?”
“Yes, Señor Roy, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.”
“Are you insane? What water cart?”
“The one we used to put out the fire, Señor.”
“Good Lord! What fire are you talking about, man?”
“The one at your house, Señor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.”
“What the hell? Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle?!”
“Yes, Señor Roy.”
“But there’s electricity at the house! What was the candle for?”
“For the funeral, Señor Roy.”
“WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!”
“Your wife’s, Señor Roy. She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Ping G20 204g titanium head golf club with the TFC 149D graphite shaft.”
VERY LONG SILENCE…………
“Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you’re in deep shit.”
Posted by John Mills on November 4, 2014
Posted by John Mills on November 1, 2014
‘What troubles you, Sister ?’ asked the Mother Superior. ‘I thought this was the day you spent with your family.’
‘I seem to recall that,’ said Mother Superior. ‘So I take it your day of recreation was not relaxing ?’
‘Goodness, Sister!’ gasped the Mother Superior, astonished. ‘You must tell me all about it !’
‘Well, we were on the fifth tee – and this hole is a monster, Mother -540 yard Par 5,
with a nasty dogleg right and a hidden green…and I hit the drive of my life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made.
And it’s flying straight and true, right along the line I wanted…and it hits a bird in mid-flight !’
‘Oh my !’ commiserated the Mother. ‘How unfortunate. But surely that didn’t make you blaspheme, Sister !’
‘No, that wasn’t it,’ admitted Sister. ‘While I was still trying to fathom what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods,
grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway !’
‘Oh, that would have made me blaspheme !’ sympathized the Mother.
‘But I didn’t, Mother !’ sobbed the Sister. ‘And I was so proud of myself, eh. And while I was pondering whether this was a sign from God, this hawk swoops
out of the sky and grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his paws.’
‘So that’s when you cursed,’ said the Mother with a knowing smile.
‘Nope, that wasn’t it either,’ cried the Sister, anguished, ‘because as the hawk started to fly out of sight,
the squirrel started struggling, and the hawk dropped him right there on the green,
and the ball popped out of his paws and rolled to about 18 inches from the cup !’
Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, fixed the Sister with a baleful stare and said . . .
‘You missed the f—ing putt, didn’t you ?’
Posted by John Mills on September 19, 2014
Two women were playing golf. One teed off and watched in horror as her ball headed directly toward a foursome of men playing the next hole.
The ball hit one of the men. He immediately clasped his hands together at his groin, fell to the ground and proceeded to roll around in agony.
The woman rushed down to the man, and immediately began to apologize. “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.
‘Oh, no, I’ll be all right. I’ll be fine in a few minutes,’ the man replied. He was in obvious agony, lying in the fetal position, still clasping his hands at his groin.
At her persistence, however, he finally allowed her to help. She gently took his hands away and laid them to the side, loosened his pants and put her hands inside. She administered tender and artful massage for several long moments and asked, “How does that feel?”
“Feels great” he replied, “but I still think my thumb’s broken.”
Posted by John Mills on March 22, 2014
(Reported false by Snopes I post this variation for its punch line. – Ed)
Manure… An interesting fact Manure : In the 16th and 17th centuries, everything for export had to be transported by ship. It was also before the invention of commercial fertilizers, so large shipments of manure were quite common.
It was shipped dry, because in dry form it weighed a lot less than when wet, but once water (at sea) hit it, not only did it become heavier, but the process of fermentation began again, of which a by-product is methane gas. As the stuff was stored below decks in bundles you can see what could (and did) happen.
Methane began to build up below decks and the first time someone came below at night with a lantern, BOOOOM!
Several ships were destroyed in this manner before it was determined just what was happening
After that, the bundles of manure were always stamped with the instruction ‘ Stow high in transit ‘ on them, which meant for the sailors to stow it high enough off the lower decks so that any water that came into the hold would not touch this “volatile” cargo and start the production of methane.
Thus evolved the term ‘ S.H.I.T ‘ , (Stow High In Transit) which has come down through the centuries and is in use to this very day.
You probably did not know the true history of this word.
Neither did I.
I had always thought it was a golf term
Posted by John Mills on March 16, 2014
Posted by John Mills on September 23, 2013
In disbelief, he asks, “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”
She replies, “I rowed over from the other side of the island where I landed when my cruise ship sank.”
“Amazing,” he notes. “You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.”
“Oh, this thing?” explains the woman.”I made the boat out of some raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm tree branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree.”
“But, where did you get the tools?”
“Oh, that was no problem,” replied the woman. “On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron and I used that to make tools and used the tools to make the hardware.”
The guy is stunned.
“Let’s row over to my place,” she says “and I’ll give you a tour.” So, after a short time of rowing, she soon docks the boat at a small wharf. As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is a long stone walk leading to a cabin and tree house.
While the woman ties up the row boat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, “It’s not much, but I call it home. Please sit down.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“No! No thank you,” the man blurts out, still dazed. “I can’t take another drop of coconut juice.”
“Oh it’s not coconut juice,” winks the woman. “I have a still. How would you like a Tropical Spritz?”
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they exchange their individual survival stories, the woman announces, I’m going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There’s a razor in the bathroom cabinet upstairs.”
“This woman is amazing,” he muses. “What’s next?”
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but some small flowers on tiny vines, each strategically positioned, she smelled faintly of gardenias. She then beckons for him to sit down next to her.
“Tell me,” she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, “we’ve both been out here for many months. You must have been lonely. When was the last time you played around? She stares into his eyes.
He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You mean…” he swallows excitedly as tears start to form in his eyes, “You’ve built a Golf Course?”
Posted by John Mills on August 13, 2013
Posted by John Mills on August 8, 2013
it, so don’t try to coach me on how to play my shots.”With that the guys agreed to relax and invited her to drive first.
All eyes were fastened on her shapely behind as she bent to place her ball on the tee. She then took her driver and hit the ball 270 yards down the middle, right in front of the green.
The father’s mouth was agape. “That was beautiful,” he said.
The blonde put her driver away and said, “I really didn’t get into it, and I faded it a little.”
After the three guys hit their drives and their second shots, the blonde took out an eight iron and lofted the ball within five feet of the hole. (She was closest to the pin.)
The son said, “Damn, lady, you played that perfectly.”
The blonde frowned and said, “It was a little
weak, but even an easy seven would have been too much club. I’ve left a tricky little putt.” She then tapped in the five-footer for a birdie.Having the honors, she drove first on the second hole, knocked the heck out of the ball, and it landed nearly 300 yards away smack in the middle of the fairway.
For the rest of the round the statuesque blonde continued to amaze the guys, quietly and methodically shooting for par or less on every
When they arrived at the 18th green, the blonde was three under par, and had a very nasty 12-foot putt on an undulating green for a
She turned to the three guys and said, “I really want to thank you all for not acting like a bunch of chauvinists and telling me what club to use
or how to play a shot, but I need this putt for a 69 and I’d really like to break 70 on this course.
If any one of you can tell me how to make par on this hole I’ll take him back to my apartment, pour some 35-year-old Single Malt Strath Mill Scotch in him, fix him a steak dinner and then show him a very good time the rest of the night.”
The yuppie son jumped at the thought! He strolled across the green, carefully eyeing the line of the putt and finally said, “Honey, aim about 6 inches to the right of the hole and hit it firm. It will get over that little hump and break right into the cup.”
The father knelt down and sighted the putt using his putter as a plumb. “Don’t listen to the kid, darlin’, you want to hit it softly 10 inches to the right and let it run left down that little hogback, so it falls into the cup.”
The old gray-haired grandfather walked over to the blonde’s ball, picked it up and handed it to her and said, “That’s a gimme, sweetheart.”
The blonde smiled and said, “Your car or mine?”
Posted by John Mills on October 21, 2012