Straight A's
"He's great on the court," a sportswriter said of a college basketball player in a interview with his coach. "But how's his scholastic work?"
"Why, he makes straight As," replied the coach.
"Wonderful!" said the sportswriter.
"Yes," agreed the coach, "but his Bs are a little crooked."
A man is sleeping in bed when his telephone suddenly rings.
“Hello, Senor *****? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to advise you, Senor *****, that your parrot, he is dead.”
“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the international competition?”
“Si, Senor, that's the one.”
“Damn! That's a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did he die from?”
“From eating the rotten meat, Senor *****.”
“Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?”
“Nobody, Senor. He ate the meat of the dead horse.”
“Dead horse? What dead horse?”
“The thoroughbred, Senor *****.”
”My prize thoroughbred is dead?”
”Yes, Senor *****, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.”
“Are you insane? What water cart?”
“The one we used to put out the fire, Senor.”
“Good Lord!! What fire are you talking about, man?!”
“The one at your house, Senor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.”
“What the hell?” Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle?”
“Yes, Senor *****.”
“But there's electricity at the house! What was the candle for?”
“For the funeral, Senor *****.”
“WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL?”
“Your wife's, Senor *****. She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new TaylorMade Super Quad 460 golf club.”
“Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you're in serious trouble!”
LAW 1: No matter how bad your last shot was, the worst is yet to come. This law does not expire on the 18th hole, since it has the supernatural tendency to extend over the course of a tournament, a summer and, eventually, a lifetime.
LAW 2: Your best round of golf will be followed almost immediately by your worst round ever. The probability of the latter increases with the number of people you tell about the former.
LAW 3: Brand new golf balls are water-magnetic. Though this cannot be proven in the lab, it is a known fact that the more expensive the golf ball, the greater its attraction to water.
LAW 4: Golf balls never bounce off of trees back into play. If one does, the tree is breaking a law of the universe and should be cut down.
LAW 5: No matter what causes a golfer to muff a shot, all his playing partners must solemnly chant "You looked up," or invoke the wrath of the universe.
LAW 6: The higher a golfer's handicap, the more qualified he deems himself as an instructor.
LAW 7: Every par-three hole in the world has a secret desire to humiliate golfers. The shorter the hole, the greater its desire.
LAW 8: Topping a 3-iron is the most painful torture known to man.
LAW 9: Palm trees eat golf balls.
LAW 10: Sand is alive. If it isn't, how do you explain the way it works against you?
LAW 11: Golf carts always run out of juice at the farthest point from the clubhouse.
LAW 12: A golfer hitting into your group will always be bigger than anyone in your group. Likewise, a group you accidentally hit into will consist of a football player, a professional wrestler, a convicted murderer and an IRS agent -- or some similar combination.
LAW 13: All 3-woods are demon-possessed.
LAW 14: Golf balls from the same "sleeve" tend to follow one another, particularly out of bounds or into the water (See Law three).
LAW 15: A severe slice is a thing of awesome power and beauty.
LAW 16: "Nice lag" can usually be translated to "lousy putt." Similarly, "tough break" can usually be translated "way to miss an easy one, sucker."
LAW 17: The person you would most hate to lose to will always be the one who beats you.
LAW 18: The last three holes of a round will automatically adjust your score to what it really should be.
LAW 19: Golf should be given up at least twice per month.
LAW 20: All vows taken on a golf course shall be valid only until the sunset.
1. A below par performance is considered good.
2. You can stop in the middle and have a cheeseburger and beer.
3. It is much easier to find the sweet spot.
4. Foursomes are encouraged.
5. You can still make money doing it as a senior.
6. Three times a day is possible.
7. Your partner doesn't hire a lawyer if you do it with someone else.
8. You can do it every day.
9. You don't have to cuddle with your partner when you are finished.
10. BEST OF ALL...If your equipment gets old and rusty you can replace it.
An Octogenarian, who was an avid golfer, moved to a new town and joined the local Country Club.
He went to the Club for the first time to play, but he was told there wasn't anyone with whom he could play because they were already out on the course. He repeated several times that he really wanted to play.
Finally, the Assistant Pro said he would play with him and asked how many strokes he wanted for a bet. The 80 year old said, "I really don't need any strokes, because I have been playing quite well. The only real problem I have is getting out of sand traps."
And he did play well. Coming to the par four 18th they were all even. The pro had a nice drive and was able to get on the green and 2-putt for a par. The old man had a nice drive, but his approach shot landed in a sand trap next to the green.
Playing from the bunker, he hit a high ball which landed on the green and rolled into the hole! Birdie, match and all the money!
The Pro walked over to the sand trap where his opponent was still standing in the trap.
He said, "Nice shot, but I thought you said you have a problem getting out of sand traps?"
Replied the Octogenarian, "I do. Please give me a hand."
Some guys just can't get their mind off of sports!
When I was 18, I made the Australian Under 19s side to play the South African under 19s side as the curtain-raiser for the Australian Wallabies vs South Africa Springboks match at Cape Town.
That reminds me...
The other day I was at my local pub just having a few quiet beers by myself.
The door of the pub opened & in walked the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on. 5'9" tall, stunning blue eyes & bee-stung lips framed by silky blonde hair, an hourglass figure barely covered by hotpants and a flimsy cotton top. As far as I could tell, she wore no bra nor needed one.
After watching her walk in & silently cursing myself for hitting every branch when I fell out of the ugly tree, I turned back to my beer. No sooner have I taken a sip but movement catches my eye & I turn to see her pulling another bar stool up close to me & sitting down.
She said hi, I managed to stammer out a reply. She asked how I was going while taking my hand & placing it on her perfect inner thigh, rubbing it up & down.
"So, do you feel good," she asked.
"*cough* *choke* Erm, yeah," I replied, staring unbelievably at where my hand was.
"I'll bet you feel good," she continued. "In fact, I'll bet you've never felt this good before."
"Well, I have," I corrected her. "You see, when I was 18 I made the Australian Under 19s side to play the South African under 19s side as the curtain-raiser for the Australian Wallabies vs South Africa Springboks match at Cape Town. Running out in front of at that stage 25,000 rugby-mad South African fans? Yeah, I have felt this good."
I immediately bit my tongue for saying this & figured I'd blown whatever slim chance I had with her. She took my hand off her thigh & put it up the front of her top. Her nipple pushed into my palm as she massaged my hand into her pert, perfect breast.
"How do you feel now," she purred.
"Great," I replied enthusiastically.
Again, she said, "I'll bet you do. In fact, I'll bet you've never felt THIS good before!"
"Well, I have," I again replied. "In that game, we were down by six points with about 10 seconds left in the match. The South Africans kicked the ball deep into our half of the field, where I caught it. I ran upfield, side-stepping past the first few South African defenders, palmed off a couple of would-be tacklers, burst through a few forwards, chipped over their fullback, regathered & scored under the posts as the fulltime siren went. We were still behind by one point, but I had the easiest of goal-kicks left with which to win the match - I could have thrown it over I was that close. As I walked out to take the kick in front of what had grown to about 50,000 fans, savouring the moment, I felt 20 feet tall. So yeah, I have definitely felt this good."
She got a bit miffed at this and pulled my hand from under her top, then thrust it down the front of her pants. My fingers immediately met what felt like a papercut framed by a wisp of cotton candy, and she was wet.
She snapped, "Well tell me this, smartass: Have you ever felt such a c**t?"
"Yup," I answered, "I missed the kick."
Standing on the tee of a relatively long par three, the confident golfer said to his caddy, "Looks like a four-wood and a putt to me." The caddy handed him the four-wood, which he topped about fifteen yards off the front of the tee. Immediately the caddy handed him his putter and said, "And now for one hell of a putt
1. My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was 60. She's 97 now & we don't know where the heck she is.
2. The only reason I would take up jogging is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.
3. I joined a health club last year, spent about 400 bucks. Haven't lost a pound. Apparently you have to show up.
4. I have to exercise in the morning before my brain figures out what I'm doing.
5. I don't exercise at all. If God meant us to touch our toes, he would have put them further up our body.
6. I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.
7. I have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.
8. The advantage of exercising every day is that you die healthier.
9. If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.
10. I don't jog. It makes the ice jump right out of my glass.
When you're 47 years old, you sometimes hear a small voice inside you that says: "Just because you've reached middle age, that doesn't mean you shouldn't take on new challenges and seek new adventures. You get only one ride on this crazy carousel we call life, and by golly you should make the most of it."
This is the voice of Satan.
I know this because recently, on a mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice, and as a result my body feels as though it has been used as a trampoline by the Budweiser Clydesdales.
I am currently on an all-painkiller *****. "I'll have a black coffee and 250 Advil tablets" is a typical breakfast order for me these days.
This is because I went snowboarding.
For those of you who, for whatever reason, such as a will to live, do not participate in downhill winter sports, I should explain that snowboarding is an activity that is popular with people who do not feel that regular skiing is lethal enough.
These are of course young people, fearless people, people with 100 percent synthetic bodies who can hurtle down a mountainside at 50 miles per hour and knock down mature trees with their faces and then spring to their feet and go, "Cool."
People like my son. He wanted to try snowboarding, and I thought it would be good to learn with him, because we can no longer ski together.
We have a fundamental difference in technique: He skis via the Downhill Method, in which you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via the Breath-Catching Method, in which you stand sideways on the hill, looking as athletic as possible without actually moving muscles (this could cause you to start sliding down the hill).
If anybody asks if you're OK, you say, "I'm just catching my breath!" in a tone of voice that suggests that at any moment you're going to swoop rapidly down the slope; whereas in fact you're planning to stay right where you are, rigid as a statue, until the spring thaw.
At night, when the Downhillers have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers will still be up there, clinging to the mountainside, chewing on our parkas for sustenance.
So I thought I'd take a stab at snowboarding, which is quite different from skiing.
In skiing, you wear a total of two skis, or approximately one per foot, so you can sort of maintain your balance by moving your feet, plus you have poles that you can stab people with if they make fun of you at close range.
Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is one board, which is shaped like a giant tongue depressor and manufactured by the Institute of Extremely Slippery Things. Both of your feet are strapped firmly to this board, so that if you start to fall, you can't stick a foot out and catch yourself. You crash to the ground like a tree and lie there while skiers swoop past and deliberately spray snow on you.
Skiers hate snowboarders. It's a generational thing. Skiers are (and here I am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans wearing ***** space suits; snowboarders are defiant young rebels wearing deliberately drab clothing that is baggy enough to cover the snowboarder plus a major appliance. Skiers like to glide down the slopes in a series of graceful arcs; snowboarders like to attack the mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling, going backward, blasting through snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their noses pierced in midair, etc.
Skiers view snowboarders as a menace; snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd.
I took my snowboarding lesson in a small group led by a friend of mine named Brad Pearson, who also once talked me into jumping from a tall tree while attached only to a thin rope.
Brad took us up on a slope that offered ideal snow conditions for the novice who's going to fall a lot: Approximately seven flakes of powder on top of an 18-foot-thick base of reinforced concrete.
You could not dent this snow with a jackhammer. (I later learned, however, that you COULD dent it with the back of your head.)
We learned snowboarding via a two step method:
STEP ONE: Watching Brad do something.
STEP TWO: Trying to do it ourselves.
I was pretty good at Step One. The problem with Step Two was that you had to stand up on your snowboard, which turns out to be a violation of at least five important laws of physics.
I'd struggle to my feet, and I'd be wavering there and then the Physics Police would drop a huge chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my body would hit the concrete snow, sometimes bouncing as much as a foot.
"Keep your knees bent!" Brad would yell, helpfully.
Have you noticed that whatever sport you're trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent? As if THAT would solve anything. I wanted to shout back, "FORGET MY KNEES! DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GRAVITY CHUNKS!"
Needless to say my son had no trouble at all. None. In minutes he was cruising happily down the mountain; you could actually see his clothing getting baggier. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lying on my back, groaning, while space-suited Republicans swooped past and sprayed snow on me.
If I hadn't gotten out of there, they'd have completely covered me; I now realize that the small hills you see on ski slopes are formed around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried to learn snowboarding.
So I think, when my body heals, I'll go back to skiing. Maybe sometime you'll see me out on the slopes, catching my breath. Please throw me some food.
Q: What do you call 47 people sitting around a TV watching the Playoffs?
A: The Dallas Cowboys
Q: How many players did the Cowboys dress for their last game?
A: 22. The rest dressed themselves.
Q: What's Jerry Jones' biggest concern?
A: Does bail money count against the salary cap?
Q: What do you call a drug ring in Dallas?
A: A huddle.
Q: Four Dallas Cowboys are in a car. Who's driving?
A: The police.
Q: Why can't Michael Irvin get into a huddle on the field anymore?
A: It is a parole violation for him to associate with known Felons.
I understand Chicago is trying to sign Michael Irvin. They got rid of the refrigerator and now they want a coke machine.
The Dallas newspapers reported yesterday that Texas Stadium is going to take out the artificial turf because the Cowboys play better on "grass".
The Dallas Cowboys adopted a new "Honor System".
Yes, your Honor, No, your Honor.
The Cowboys had a 8 and 8 season this year.
8 arrests, 8 convictions.
The Cowboys knew they had to do something for their defense, so they hired a new defensive coordinator; Johnny Cochran.
Q: What's the difference between a Cowboys fan and a baby?
A: Eventually the baby stops whining.