The golfer's wife is frantic. It's been hours since he went out to play his weekly round of golf. Two hours is okay, three hours is pushing it. But eight hours?
She's about to call the police, when her husband walks through the door and collapses on the couch.
"What took you so long?" she yells. "I've been frantic with worry!"
The husband catches his breath and says, "Let me tell you what happened. There we were at the fourth tee. Harry hits this magnificent drive. Then he keels over and dies on the spot. Heart attack."
"Oh no!" says his wife. "That's terrible!"
"You're darn right," says the husband. "All day long, it's been hit the ball, drag Harry, hit the ball, drag Harry..."
