On the first hole, the nun hits an excellent shot, landing the ball right on the green. A short golf cart ride later, she putts and the ball rolls right toward the hole but veers left at the second. "God, I missed!" yells the nun. "Now, now, sister," the priest remarks, "don't use the Lord's name in vain, or he will strike you down." The nun shrugs him off and prepares to putt again.
On the tenth hole, the nun again hits a wonderful shot, landing the ball once again on the green. The pair drives over to the green. The nun putts the ball and but it skips over the hole. "God, I missed!" the nun exclaims again. "Be careful, sister l, one must never use the Lord's name in vain, for he will surely strike you down!" the priest warns. "Yeah, I heard you the first time," says the nun dismissively.
On the eighteenth hole, after a spectacular shot landing the ball mere metres from the hole, the nun gently taps the ball toward the hole. It rolls gracefully toward its target, spins around the inside of the hole and hops back out, resting firmly right on the edge. Infuriated, the nun shouts, "God, I missed!" Suddenly, the sky darkens and the smell of sulphur thickens the air. A massive and terrifying bolt of white lighting streaks down from the sky: a tendril of pure, divine, death-seeking light energy. With an eardrum-shattering crack and a blinding flash, it strikes the priest dead.
A booming, mighty voice cries out from the heavens in frustration: "*GOD, I MISSED!*"
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