Our minds aren’t always in the gutter. More like the deep rough.
DON’T QUOTE ME ON THIS
Golf is one of the most addictive pursuits known to man. What else could make a reasonably sane person get up early in the morning and trudge through rain and mud for four hours and then say at the end, “boy, that was fun.” If that’s not addiction, I don’t know what is. Now there’s a group of admitted Golfoholics who aren’t trying to cure it, but feed it. That’s perfect.
Guy has eight straight "8s" in a row. He gets to the ninth hole, he's on in 6 and three Jacks. Lips out the last putt. And the caddie says "Wow. Do you realize if you had made that last putt you'd have had nine straight "8s" in a row? And the guy says "What do you think I am, a fucking machine?"
Banes was playing golf one day when he lost control of his golf cart and flipped it. Cheryl, a voluptuous woman who lived nearby, noticed the overturned cart and came to his aid. She invited him to her villa to recuperate over a glass of scotch.
“Thanks, but I don’t think my wife would like that.”
“Don’t be silly,” Cheryl implored.
“Okay, maybe just one,” Banes gave in.
One drink turned into three, and then Cheryl invited Banes to stay for dinner.
“I really don’t think my wife would like that.”
“Why don’t you call her and ask?”
“I don’t think she can pick up the phone right now.”
“Why’s that? Where is she?”
“Under the cart.”