05/03/2026 from Daily Jokes
#22113
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon at St. Mary’s Parish. The sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the worn wooden floor.
Inside the confessional booth, the air was still, scented faintly with old wood and candle wax.
A man knelt on the padded bench, hands clasped, voice low and contrite.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The priest, a gentle soul with kind eyes and a patient heart, leaned toward the screen.
“What is your sin, my son?”
The man sighed deeply.
“Well, Father… I used some horrible language this week. Terrible words. The kind that would make a sailor blush. And I feel absolutely terrible about it.”
The priest nodded sympathetically. “When did you use this awful language, my son?”
The man began, his voice gaining a hint of excitement despite his remorse.
“I was golfing, Father. Beautiful day. Perfect conditions. I hit an incredible drive—felt it in my bones, you know? Looked like it was going to soar over 250 yards, easy.”
He paused, letting the image settle.
“But then… it struck a phone line that was hanging over the fairway. Just clink. And the ball fell straight down to the ground after going only about 100 yards.”
The priest waited. “Is that when you swore, my son?”
“No, Father,” the man replied quickly. “I was disappointed, yes… but I kept my composure.”
He continued, his voice rising slightly with the retelling.
“After that, Father… a squirrel ran out of the bushes. Just zoom! Grabbed my ball right out of the grass in his little mouth and began to run away with it!”
The priest blinked. “Is THAT when you swore?”
“Well… no, Father,” the man admitted. “I was frustrated, sure… but I held my tongue.”
He leaned closer to the screen now, caught up in the memory.
“You see, as the squirrel was running, Father… an eagle came down out of the sky!
Huge wingspan! Grabbed the squirrel right out of the grass in his talons and began to fly away with my ball still in the squirrel’s mouth!”
The priest’s eyes widened behind the screen. “Is THAT when you swore, my son?”
“No, not yet, Father!” the man insisted. “I was actually… kind of amazed, to be honest.”
He took a breath, building to the crescendo.
“As the eagle carried the squirrel away in his claws, Father, it flew toward the green.
And as it passed over a bit of forest near the green… the squirrel dropped my ball.”
The priest was fully invested now. “Did you swear THEN?”
“No!” the man replied, almost gleeful. “Because as the ball fell, Father, it struck a tree branch—boing!—bounced through some bushes, careened off a big rock, rolled through a sand trap, onto the green… and stopped within SIX INCHES of the hole!”
There was a long pause. The priest could almost see the miraculous shot in his mind.
The perfect bounce. The impossible roll. The ball resting tantalizingly close to the cup.
He sighed softly, with the weary wisdom of a man who understood human nature all too well.
“You missed the putt, didn’t you, my son?”
