The golf challenge between the vicar and a businessman was reaching its finale – just three holes to go. Scores were level. The businessman licked his lips: just a six footer to sink. The ball skimmed across the green but edged to the left at the last second.
“Damn it, missed the b…… !”
“Oh,” gasped the vicar, “don’t say that or He will get angry.”
He pointed upwards in warning. Seventeenth hole – the businessman’s putt pulled up just short.
“Damn it, missed the b……… !”
“No,” pleaded the vicar, “his anger has to be seen to be believed.”
Final chance. The businessman’s putt had the right weight, the right direction and swirled into, no around, the hole before perching mockingly on the rim.
“Damn it, missed the b………. !”
All at once, there was a tremendous clap of thunder and a streak of forked lightning; ZAP – the vicar lay sizzling and smoking on the grass.
A voice came from the skies:
“Damn it, missed the b……….. !”
December 2019-January 2020