A priest goes golfing with his nuns…. A priest who typically goes golfing with his friends every Thursday afternoon gets a call saying his buddies won’t be joining him one morning. Still wanting to go, he asks three of his nuns to go with him for company. They agree, somewhat hesitantly.
On the first tee, the priest’s shot lands straight in the closest water hazard.
“Damn it, I missed!”, the priest shouts in frustration. The nuns scold him for his bad language. The priest apologizes and walks up to the drop zone for his next shot.
His second shot is no better than his first as it goes wayward into the forest. “Damn it, I missed!”, he screams.
The nuns, again, are mortified at his language. “Father, we must insist that you cease this language. We’ll leave if we hear it again!”
The priest, apologizes again, “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I promise I’ll stop with the profanity. I’ll tell you what, if I curse again, may lighting reign down from the heavens and strike me.”
The nuns, reluctantly, agree to stay with him as he lines up his next shot. The ball goes across the fairway and lands back into the water hazard.
“Damn it, I missed!” the priest cries.
Suddenly, dark clouds, seemingly out of nowhere, flood the sky. A bolt of lightning flashes down on the course and strikes the three nuns dead.
A big booming voice from the sky then bellows angrily, “Damn it, I missed!”