Why You Should Never Help Your Wife Find Her Golf Ball
A man stumbles into the em*rg*ncy room—
c*nc*ssion, br*is*s everywhere… and a five-iron somehow wrapped around his neck.
The doctor takes one look and says,
“Alright… what on earth happened to you?”
The man sighs.
“Well, it started as a perfectly normal afternoon.
Just me and my wife, enjoying a quiet round of golf.”
He pauses, wincing slightly.
“There was this one tricky hole… and we both sliced our shots straight into a nearby field full of cows.”
“So we go looking for our balls. I’m wandering around, checking the grass, when I notice something… unusual.”
“I see a cow with a little white object stuck right under its tail.”
The doctor raises an eyebrow.
“I walk over, lift the tail… and sure enough—
there’s a golf ball stuck there, clear as day.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“And the w*rst part?
It had my wife’s monogram on it.”
The doctor leans in.
“So what did you do?”
The man closes his eyes.
“I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“I called out to her…”
A pause.
“I said—
‘Hey darling… I think I’ve found one that looks exactly like yours.’”
Silence.
Then he adds quietly:
“…and that’s about the last thing I remember.”
