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The huge college freshman figured he’d try out for the football team. “Can you tackle?” asked the coach.
“Watch this,” said the freshman, who proceeded to run smack into a telephone pole, shattering it to splinters.

“Wow,” said the coach. “I’m impressed. Can you run?”

“Of course I can run,” said the freshman. He was off like a shot, and in just over nine seconds, he had run a hundred yard dash.

“Great!” enthused the coach. “But can you pass a football?”

The freshman rolled his eyes, hesitated for a few seconds. “Well, sir,” he said, “if I can swallow it, I can probably pass it.”

She goes to look for the greenkeeper and finds him.
“I’ve been stung by a wasp” She says.
” Where did it get you?” He replies
“Between the 1st and 2nd hole”
“I think your stance must be a little too wide”

Two football players were taking an important final exam. If they failed, they would be on academic probation and not allowed to play in the Sugar Bowl the following week. The exam was fill-in-the-blank. The last question read, “Old MacDonald had a _________.”

Bubba was stumped. He had no idea of the answer. He knew he needed to get this one right to be sure he passed. Making sure the professor wasn’t watching, he tapped Tiny on the shoulder. “Pssst. Tiny. What’s the answer to the last question?” Tiny laughed. He looked around to make sure the professor hadn’t noticed then he turned to Bubba. “Bubba, you’re so stupid. Everyone knows Old MacDonald had a farm.”

“Oh yeah,” said Bubba. “I remember now.” He picked up his No. 2 pencil and started to write the answer in the blank. He stopped. Reaching to tap Tiny’s shoulder again, he whispered, “Tiny, how do you spell farm?”

“You are really dumb, Bubba. That’s so easy. Farm is spelled – E-I-E-I-O.”.

On a golf tour in Ireland, Tiger Woods drives his BMW into a petrol
station in a remote part of the Irish countryside.
The pump attendant, obviously knows nothing about golf, greets him in
a typical Irish manner completely unaware of who the golfing pro is.
“Top of the mornin’ to yer, sir” says the attendant.
Tiger nods a quick “hello” and bends forward to pick up the nozzle.
As he does so, two tees fall out of his shirt pocket onto the ground.
“What are those?, asks the attendant.
“They’re called tees” replies Tiger.
“Well, what on the god’s earth are dey for?” inquires the Irishman.
“They’re for resting my balls on when I’m driving”, says Tiger.
“Fookin Jaysus”, says the Irishman, “BMW thinks of everything!”

In my hand I hold a ball,
white and dimpled, rather small.
Oh, how bland it does appear,
this harmless looking little sphere.

By its size, I could not guess,
the awesome strength it does possess.
But since I fell beneath it’s spell,
I’ve wandered through the fires of hell.

My life has not been quite the same,
since I chose to play this stupid game.
It rules my mind for hours on end.
A fortune it has made me spend.

It’s made me swear and yell and cry.
I hate myself and want to die.
It promises a thing called par,
if I can hit it straight and far.

To master such a tiny ball,
should not be very hard at all.
But my desires the ball refuses
and does exactly as it chooses.

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies
and disappears before my eyes.
Often it will take a whim
to hit a tree or take a swim.

With miles of grass on which to land,
it finds a tiny patch of sand.
Then has me offering up my soul,
if only it would find the hole.

It’s made me whimper like a pup
and swear that I will give it up.
And take a drink to ease my sorrow,
but the ball well knows…
I’ll be back tomorrow!!!!



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