
A priest, a doctor, and an engineer are standing around one morning, waiting for the world’s slowest group of golfers. Their tee time is slipping away, and their patience is slipping faster.
Engineer: “What is going on? I’ve aged 25 minutes out here!”
Doctor: “I’ve treated coma patients who move faster than this.”
Priest: “Hold on—here comes the greenskeeper. Time for some holy interrogation.”
Priest: “Hey George, quick question. What’s up with that group ahead of us? They’re moving like they’re on dial-up internet.”
George: “Oh, that’s a group of blind firefighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse last year. We let them play anytime, free of charge.”
(Awkward silence hits like a shanked golf ball.)
Priest: “That’s heartbreaking. I’ll offer a special prayer for them tonight.”
Doctor: “I’ll call my ophthalmologist friend. Maybe there’s something we can do.”
Engineer: “Or… hear me out… why don’t they just play at night?”
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