Golf Jokes Vol 4

A prominent psychiatrist was relaxing at the clubhouse after a round when a fellow member walked up to him in a state of high excitement. 'Doctor, you have to help me!' the member exclaimed. 'I was playing behind Bob today, and he brought his retriever mix along with him on the course. Every time Bob made a par, the dog would do a backflip! Every time Bob hit a birdie, the dog would roll over three times and bark happily!' The psychiatrist raised his eyebrows in fascination. 'Fascinating! Animal behavior like that is extraordinary. What does the dog do when Bob makes a bogey?' The member paused, looked down at his shoes, and sighed, 'I don’t know, Doctor. Bob has only owned the dog for two years.'

A devout country pastor loved playing golf, but he struggled with a severe inner moral conflict. Whenever he hit a bad shot, he felt an overwhelming urge to yell terrible profanities, which he knew was completely unacceptable for a man of the cloth. To solve his problem, he sought out the advice of a wise elder bishop in his diocese. 'Your Grace,' the pastor confessed, 'whenever I slice my ball into the trees or miss a short putt, the urge to swear is almost uncontrollable. How can I keep my speech pure on the golf course?' The bishop smiled warmly and offered a simple solution: 'My dear brother, whenever you feel the anger rising inside you after a poor stroke, do not curse. Instead, simply shout the name of a prominent geographical city, such as Tallahassee! or Albuquerque! It will release your emotional frustration without committing a sin.' The pastor thanked the bishop and put the advice into practice the following Monday. He hit a terrible drive into a bunker, took a deep breath, and yelled, 'TALLAHASSEE!' He felt an immediate wave of relief. A few holes later, he missed a two-foot putt for birdie. Unable to contain his rage, he slammed his putter on the ground and shouted at the top of his lungs: 'ATLANTA, GEORGIA!' His playing partner, a fellow minister, looked at him in shock and said, 'Brother! You can't use that kind of language! Everyone knows Atlanta has a major airport!'

A master tailor who was an avid golfer decided to treat himself to a custom-tailored golf suit made from the finest imported Italian wool. He spent weeks cutting, sewing, and fitting the suit to perfection. On Saturday morning, he wore his new outfit to the country club for its maiden voyage. As he stood on the first tee box preparing to hit his drive, he took a practice swing and felt a sharp pull across his back. He called his caddie over and said, 'Look at the back of my jacket when I swing. Is the fabric bunching up around my shoulders?' The caddie looked closely as the tailor took another swing. 'Well, sir,' the caddie observed, 'if you lift your left elbow two inches higher, lean your head back at a forty-five degree angle, and twist your hips entirely to the left, the jacket fits you absolutely perfectly!' The tailor adjusted his stance into the awkward, contorted position. 'How does it look now?' 'The jacket looks magnificent, sir,' replied the caddie. 'But how are you going to hit the golf ball looking like a broken pretzel?'

A golfer came home four hours later than usual on a Saturday evening. His wife was standing in the hallway with her arms crossed, looking furious. 'Where on earth have you been?' she demanded. 'Golf takes four hours, not eight! Who were you with?' The husband wiped the sweat from his forehead and collapsed onto the living room sofa. 'Honey, I am so sorry, but I had the most terrible experience of my life today on the course.' 'What happened?' she asked, her tone softening slightly. 'I was playing with old George,' the husband explained. 'On the third hole, right after he hit a beautiful drive down the middle of the fairway, George suffered a massive heart attack and dropped dead right on the spot!' 'Oh my goodness, that's terrible!' his wife gasped. 'That must have been awful for you!' 'It was absolute agony!' the husband groaned. 'For the next fifteen holes, it was just hit the ball, drag George... hit the ball, drag George!'