"My friend," said St. Peter to the recently deceased, "you did lead an exemplary life on earth--but there is one instance of your taking the name of The Lord in vain. Would you care to tell us about it?"

"I recall," replied the new applicant, "it was in 1965 on the last hole at Pinehurst. I only needed a par four to break 70 for the first time in my life."

"Was your drive good?" asked St. Peter, with increasing interest.

"Right down the middle. But when I got to my ball, it was plugged deep in a wet rut made by a drunk's golf cart."

"Oh dear," said St. Peter, "A real sucker! Is that when you..."

"No. I'm pretty good with a 3-iron. I played the ball close to my feet, caught the sweet spot and moved it right onto the green. But it bounced on a twig or something--it was a very windy day--and slid off the apron right under the steepest lip of the trap."

"What a pity!" said St. Peter consolingly, "Then that must have been when..." "No. I gritted my teeth, dug in with and open stance, swung a smooth outside arc, and backspun a bucket's worth of sand up onto the green. When everything settled down, there was my ball, only ten inches off into the cup."

"JESUS CHRIST!" shrieked St. Peter, "Don't tell me you choked the putt!"

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