There was a guy who played golf with his buddies every weekend, and his wife kept bugging him to take her along and teach her to play. He finally relented, and the one Sunday soon thereafter finds them on the first tee together.
She had never played, so he told her to go down to the ladies tees, watch him drive, and then try to do what he did. She went down to the reds, the guy hooked his drive, and the ball hit his wife, killing her instantly.
When the police came to investigate, and the coroner said, “It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. There’s an imprint on her temple, and you can read “Titleist 1.”
“That was my ball,” the guy said.
“What I don’t understand,” the coroner continued, “is the one on her hip that says “Titleist 3.”
“Oh,” the guy replied, “that was my breakfast ball.”