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Mar 222013
 

Rubber ChickenBob stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity. He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn’t start his back swing.

Finally his exasperated partner asked, “What the hell is taking so long?”

“My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse,” Bob explained. “I want to make a perfect shot.”

“Good lord!” his companion exclaimed. “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of hitting her from here.”

 

 

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