A man slipped into the confession booth, cleared his throat nervously, and whispered, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I let the ‘F-word’ fly this past weekend.”
The priest, accustomed to much worse, replied calmly, “We all stumble, my son. Say three Hail Marys, guard your tongue, and go in peace.”
“But Father, you don’t understand the circumstances,” the man insisted. “I feel compelled to confess why I said it.”
The priest sighed softly through the screen. “Very well. Proceed.”
“Well, I skipped Sunday Mass to play a round of golf with my buddies.”
“Ah,” the priest nodded knowingly. “And you cursed out of guilt for missing church?”
“No, not at all,” the man said. “On the very first tee, I completely botched my drive. The ball hooked violently to the left, deep into the thick, untamed woods.”
“And that is when you swore?” the priest guessed.
“Nope,” the man replied. “When I walked up the fairway, I discovered my ball had taken a miracle bounce off a boulder, leaving me a perfectly clear, beautiful shot to the green. But right as I stepped up to hit it, a stray squirrel bolted out of the bushes, snatched my ball in its teeth, and sprinted up a massive oak tree.”
The priest was leaning closer to the screen now, getting invested. “So that was the moment you lost your temper?”
“Still no, Father. Because just as the squirrel reached the top, a massive eagle swooped down from the clouds, grabbed the squirrel in its talons, and flew high into the sky.”
The priest’s breath caught. “Incredible! Is that when you uttered the curse?”
“No,” the man said, building the suspense. “Because the eagle soared right over the green, where the terrified squirrel squeezed the ball out of its mouth. The ball plummeted from the sky, caught the slope of the green, and rolled to a dead stop exactly five inches from the cup!”
The priest completely forgot himself, slammed his hands against the confession screen, and screamed:
“Don’t tell me you missed the fing putt?!”*
