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Golf Jokes II
If you think you might be offended by the use of religious figures, certain nationalities, races, genders, or anything else, then you probably won't think these are funny.
Nick, an avid golfer, got married to Sarah. The marriage was problematic because he was playing golf five days a week. They finally talked about it, and Sarah asked Nick if he could teach her golf, so that way they both could enjoy the game and improve their marriage.
Nick argued that golf is a serious game and that she is just trying to destroy the one good thing in life. After some arguing, Nick agreed to have her go to the course with him.
They went to the course and Sarah signed up to take some lessons with the local pro. The lessons went on every day, and Nick was happy Sarah didn’t bother him. One day, Nick’s buddy Joe asked him how the marriage was going.
“It is great,” Nick replied. “Ever since she started taking golf lessons, she doesn’t bother me and lets me play all the golf I want.”
Joe replied with a sad shake of his head, “Really? Then I guess you don’t know that she is screwing around with the golf pro!”
Nick’s eyes turned red, smoke came out of his ears and he became quite scary. He exploded, “I knew it couldn’t last! I knew she would make a mockery of the game!
As he was walking his dog one weekday afternoon, Fred, the bookie the bettors loved to hate, saw a young man on the local links.
Fred stopped for a moment to watch him tee off and followed along when he saw that the boy had talent. The young man had holed his tee shot. He was about to call out his congratulations when the lad teed up again, and holed out a second time.
Now Fred, never one to let an opportunity pass, walked up to the youngster, congratulated him and asked, “How old are you?”
“11, sir,” the young person replied.
“Has anyone else here seen you play?” Fred inquired.
Having received the assurance that no one had, Fred proposed a match the next day with the club champion. The odds were handsome – 10 to 1 against the new young player.
The boy, however, took an 11 on the first hole and went on around the course in much the same way. Of course he lost badly. Fred was furious.
“You’ve made me look a fool!” he scolded. “What’s with the idea of pretending you can’t play?”
“Listen” the wiley youngster whispered, “next week you’ll get 100 to 1.”
Bob stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity. He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn’t start his back swing.
Finally his exasperated partner asked, “What the hell is taking so long?”
“My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse,” Bob explained. “I want to make a perfect shot.”
“Good lord!” his companion exclaimed. “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of hitting her from here.”
A Chinese businessman visited his newly acquired business in the United States. As a gesture of good will, the executives of his newly acquired business took him to a golf course for a round of golf. He had never played the game before.
Upon his return to China, his family asked what he had done in the United States. He replied, “I played most interesting game. You hit little white ball with long stick in large cow pasture. The name of game is 'Oh, shit.’”
Lady Luck was seldom kind to Sam.
Although Sam had a real zest for life he was constantly beset by bad luck. He loved poker, but poker did not love him. He played the stock market with great anticipation, but always seemed to be the one who bought high and sold low.
His life seemed to be full of more downs than ups. His greatest delight was his golf game.
Not that Sam was a great golfer; in fact, he never managed to break 100, but the odd shot that somehow ended up in the general area he had in mind was enough to keep his hopes alive.
Finally, Sam became ill and passed away.
But just before he died, he asked that his remains be cremated and his ashes scattered just off the fairway on the ninth hole of his home course.
Accordingly, a gathering assembled to carry out Sam’s wishes. It was a bright sunny day and was going well.
Then, as the ashes were being strewn, a gust of wind came up and blew Sam out of bounds.
Police are called to an home in the suburbs and find a man standing, holding a 5 iron in his hands, looking at the lifeless body of a woman on the floor.
The detective asks, “Sir, is that your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit her with that golf club?”
“Yes, yes, I did.” The man stifles a sob, drops the club, and puts his hands on his head.
“How many times did you hit her?”
“I don’t know. Six, maybe seven... Ahh, just put me down for a five.”
Fred was moderately successful golfer, but as he got older, he was increasingly hampered by incredible headaches. While his golf, personal hygiene and love life started to suffer, he managed to push on, but when his game turned really sour, he finally sought medical help.
After being referred from one specialist to another, he finally came across a doctor who solved the problem.
“The good news is I can cure your headaches. The bad news is that it will require castration,” the doctor said. “You have a very rare condition which causes your testicles to press up against the base of your spine. The pressure creates one hell of a headache. The only way to relieve the pressure and allow your swing to work again is to remove your testicles.”
Fred was shocked and depressed. He wondered if he had anything left to live for, but figured at least he could play reasonable golf again. He decided he had no choice but to go under the knife.
After the surgery, he left the hospital with a clear mind, but he felt like he was missing an important part of himself. As he walked down the street, he realized that he felt like a different person. He could make a new beginning, swing free and live a new life.
He went to the golf club for a drink and as he walked past the pro shop thought, “That’s what I need: a new outfit.”
He entered the shop and told the salesman, “I’d like some new golf slacks.”
The salesman eyed him briefly and said, “Let’s see. Size 44 long.”
Fred laughed, “That’s right, how did you know?”
“It’s my job,” the salesman responded.
Fred tried on the slacks, they fit perfectly. As Fred admired himself in the mirror, the salesman asked, “How about a new shirt? I’ve got some great new Nicklaus stock.”
Fred thought for a moment and then said, “Sure.”
The salesman eyed Fred and said,”Let’s see, 34 sleeve and 16.5 and neck.”
Fred was surprised, “That’s right, how did you know?”
“It’s my job,” he said.
Fred tried on the shirt, and it fit perfectly. As Fred adjusted the collar in the mirror, the salesman asked, “How about new shoes? We just got new stock with soft spikes.”
Fred was on a roll and agreed. The salesman said, “Let’s see. Size 9.5, wide.”
Fred was astonished, “That’s right, how did you know?”
“It’s my job,” the salesman repeated.
Fred tried on the shoes and they fit perfectly. Fred was feeling great, when the salesman asked, “How about some new underwear? I’ve got some great new imported stock.”
Fred thought for a second and said, “Sure.”
The salesman stepped back, eyed Fred’s waist and said, “Let’s see, size 36.”
Fred laughed, “No, I’ve worn size 34 since I was 18 years old.”
The salesman shook his head, “You can’t wear a size 34. Every time you swing it would press your testicles up against the base of your spine and give you one hell of a headache.”
Two guys grew up together, but after college, one moved to Michigan and the other to Florida. They agree to meet every 10 years in Vero Beach and play golf.
At age 30, they finish their round of golf and go to lunch.
“Where do you wanna go?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” was Jimmy’s reply.
“Why?” Matt inquired further.
“Well, you know, they’ve got the pretty girls there,” Jimmy said.
“Okay,” Matt conceded.
10 years later at age, 40 they play again.
“Where do you wanna go?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” Jimmy said.
“Why?” Matt asked again.
“Well, you know, they got cold beer and the big screen TVs and everybody has a little action on the games,” Jimmy said.
At age 50, the two meet up again, play a round of golf and get ready for lunch.
“Where do you wanna go?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” Jimmy said.
“Why?” Matt said, waiting for the new answer.
“The food is pretty good and there is plenty of parking,” Jimmy said.
”Okay,” Matt agreed.
At age 60, they meet, play and go to eat.
“Where do you wanna go?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” Jimmy said.
“Why?” Matt prodded again, knowing his buddy would have a fresh reason this time around.
“Wings are half price,” Jimmy said.
“Okay,” Matt said.
Getting up there in age, they meet to play at age 70. Following the round the same refrain came.
“Where do you wanna go?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” Jimmy said.
“Why?” Matt asked another time.
“They have 6 handicap parking spaces right by the door,” came Jimmy’s reasoning.
“Okay,” Matt said.
80 years old, losing their hearing, hair and memories, the two meet up one last time.
“Where do you wanna go for lunch?” Matt asked.
“Hooters,” Jimmy said eagerly.
“Why this time?” Matt said
“We’ve never been there before,” Jimmy said.
Marvin was a 14-handicapper, but one day he walked up to his club pro – a scratch golfer – and challenged him to a match. He proposed they put up $100 each on the outcome.
“But since you’re so much better than me, you have to give me two ‘gotchas’, Marvin said to the pro.
“A ‘gotcha’?” the golf pro asked. “What’s that?”
“Don’t worry,” Marvin replied, “I’ll use one of my ‘gotchas’ on the first tee and you’ll understand.”
The golf pro figured that whatever ‘gotchas’ were, giving up only two of them was no big deal – especially if one had to be used on the first tee. He agreed to the bet, and the pro and Marvin headed to the first tee to start their match.
Around four hours later, club members were amazed to see the pro handing Marvin a $100 bill.
The club members waited for the pro to enter the clubhouse, then asked him what happened. “Well,” the pro said, “I took the club back on the first tee, and as I started my downswing, Marvin knelt behind me, reached up between my legs and grabbed my crotch, and yelled ‘Gotcha!’”
The club pro just shook his head. “Have you ever tried to play 18 holes waiting for the second ‘gotcha’?”
Dear Abby,
I’ve never written to you before, but I really need your advice. I have suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me. The usual signs. Phone rings but if I answer, the caller hangs up. My wife has been going out with “the girls” a lot recently although when I ask their names she always says, “Just some friends from work, you don’t know them.”
I always try to stay awake to look out for her coming home, but I usually fall asleep. Anyway, I have never approached the subject with my wife. I think deep down I just didn’t want to know the truth, but last night she went out again and I decided to really check on her. Around midnight, I decided to hide in the garage behind my golf clubs so I could get a good view of the whole street when she arrived home from a night out with “the girls.”
It was at that moment, crouching behind my clubs, that I noticed that the graphite shaft on my driver appeared to have a hairline crack right by the club head.
Is this something I can fix myself or should I take it back to the pro shop where I bought it?
Signed,
Perplexed
Tom was a man of faith, and a man of the golf course. He played golf every Sunday religiously, but only after attending church services.
Tom was getting on in years, and one day after feeling ill, he said to his wife, “I sure hope there is golf in the afterlife. I feel terrible!”
His wife told him not to overreact with talk about the afterlife. “Go to church and say a little prayer,” she suggested, “and you’ll feel better.”
So Tom headed to church. As he kneeled at the pew, Tom whispered a prayer: “Oh Lord, thank you for everything, my health, my wife and my golf game. I hope that when I reach Heaven I can still play golf.”
As soon as he finished, a voice thundered: “Tom, this is the Lord. I hear you and will answer your question. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
Tom was startled. “Well, give me the good news,” he said.
The Lord replied, “The good news is that in Heaven, we have thousands of championship golf courses, play is never slow, it’s always free and you will never lose a golf ball.”
Tom was ecstatic, “That’s wonderful! You’ve answered my prayer! But what is the bad news?”
The Lord replied, “You have an 8:00 AM tee time tomorrow morning.”
A golfer, now into his golden years, had a lifelong ambition to play the 17th hole at TPC Sawgrass, exactly the way the pros do.
The pros drive the ball out over the water onto a green that is on a small spit of land. It was something the golfer had tried hundreds of times without success. His ball had always fallen short, and into the water.
Because of this, he never used a new ball on this particular hole. He always picked out one that had a cut or a nick, as did many other “average” golfers when negotiating very challenging holes.
Recently he went to Sawgrass to try again. When he came to the fateful hole, he teed up an old, cut ball as usual, and said a silent prayer.
However, before he could hit the ball, a powerful voice from above seemed to be booming out from the clouds, said:
“Wait! Replace that old ball with a brand new Titleist.”
The golfer complied, with some slight misgivings, despite the fact that this same force seemed to be implying that he was going to finally achieve his lifelong ambition.
As he stepped up to the tee once more, the voice came down again:
“Wait. Step back. Take a practice swing.”
So he stepped back and took a practice swing, certain now that this heavenly force was going to make his dream come true. Then voice boomed out again:
“Take another practice swing.”
Dutifully, he did. He stopped expectantly and waited. A long silence followed, then the voice again:
“Use the old ball!”
A golfer was on vacation in Ireland and he made a hole-in-one.
With that a leprechaun jumps out from the trees and says, “I am the lucky leprechaun of the 13th hole. I’ll grant you any wish.”
The player thought a bit and said, “Could you make me weeny a bit larger.”
“Wish granted.” says the leprechaun, as he skips away.
Well, by the time he got to the 14th tee it was showin’ below his shorts.
He continued his game and on the 15th hole it was draggin’ along behind him. By the 18th he could hardly make it to the green.
He went straight to the pro shop and asked the pro how to fix it. The pro tells him that legend has it that you must go back and make another ace and see the leprechaun again.
After purchasing five buckets of balls he made his way back to the 13th and frantically began hitting shot after shot until finally he made the hole-in-one.
Again the leprechaun offered any wish.
The player asked, “Could ya make me legs a bit longer?”
A young man and a priest are playing together.
At a short par-3 the priest asks, “What are you going to use on this hole my son?”
The young man says, “An 8-iron, father. How about you?”
The priest says, “I’m going to hit a soft seven and pray.”
The young man hits his 8-iron and puts the ball on the green. The priest tops his 7-iron and dribbles the ball out a few yards.
The young man says, “I don’t know about you father, but in my church when we pray, we keep our head down.”
A foursome of senior golfers hit the course with waning enthusiasm for the sport. “These hills are getting steeper as the years go by,” one complained.
“These fairways seem to be getting longer, too,” said one of the others.
“The sand traps seem to be bigger than I remember them,” said the third senior.
After hearing enough from his senior buddies, the oldest, and the wisest of the four of them at 87 years old, piped up and said, “Just be thankful we’re still on the right side of the grass!”
