"I swore yesterday, father."
"Continue," said the priest.
"Well, I was playing in a local golf tournament, and on the eighteenth hole, a par three, I needed a birdie to win. My drive was perfect, but it hit a power line crossing the fairway."
"I see...and you swore at your misfortune?" asked the priest.
"No father. It bounced off the power line and fell into the rough."
"Oh, so *then* you swore."
"No father, it bounced out of the rough and into the fairway, then fell into a sand trap."
"And you swore at that, eh?"
"No, father. Just then, a hawk swooped down and picked up the ball--thinking it was an egg, I suppose--and flew off with it."
"Astonishing! It's no wonder that you swore."
"Actually I didn't, father, I was speechless! But the hawk dropped the ball just a moment later, and it fell onto the green and rolled to within six inches of the hole..."
The priest was thoughtful for a moment.
"You missed the goddamned putt, didn't you?"
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