Waldo, "27 holes in the Catskills"? I do hope you have a second job as a pimp, because if you're speaking of those other "holes," as in golf, I... just have no words.

No, wait, that's not like me--to have no words. As a teenager I caddied at the Fox Valley Golf Club near Aurora, IL. I saw some very nice professional-looking men wrap some very expensive golfing equipment around various trees or throw it in waterery graves. It ain't like landing a Twist in an inverted spin, I'll tell ya. At that moment I gave up the idea of golf as "fun" or "a hobby." Golf is, said Twain, a nice walk ruined.

But hear this: a very athletic young nun, a golfer, had a Mother Superior (MS) of like mind, but worse body. On Monday, golf day, Mother Superior couldn't go, but told the young nun to go ahead. The young nun came back saying, "Mother Superior, I have a confession to make."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Well," says the nun, "I used some very bad language today. See, I hit a ball off the seventh tee that I KNEW would go 280 yards, but I hit that single phone wire across the course about 100 yards out? The ball came straight down."

"That would make me swear, dear. Did you then?"

"No, MS, because a squirrel came out of the woods, grabbed my ball in its mouth and headed toward the bushes on the left."

"Huh, that would make ME swear."

"No, MS, you see, just as the squirrel neared the bushes a strange thing happened. This guy, an idiot, had been flying a radio controlled plane, yellow, pink and purple, at the fish pond, where the kids play while daddies golf. This guy was trying to, get this, catch fish with a hook attached to the plane. As the squirrel ran to the bushes, this yellow plane, engine growling, swooped down and HOOKED the poor squirrel, squirming, still with my ball in his mouth!"

"Oh, my Gawd! Twistoholics, they call them. DownT's the worst of them. I'd swear at him, at all of them. Did you?"

"No, MS, because the yellow and purple plane headed for the green! Maybe Jack was flying."

"No!"

"Yes! But, you know that sand trap on the seventh on the left, the one with the big boulder in it?"

"Sure, I needed Gawd's help there more than once."

"Well, when the plane got over that sand trap, the squirrel dropped the ball, which hit the boulder."

"Did that make you swear, dear?"

"No, because the ball hit the boulder, bounced onto the green and ended up just 18 inches from the pin."

At that time the nun stopped talking, though her lips jerked nervously, opening and closing, without sound, and she couldn't look at Mother Superior.

"Well?" Mother Superior demanded.

The nun glanced up once to Mother Superior's eyes, then looked away, saying nothing.

"Ohmigawd," said Mother Superior, "you missed the f***ing putt, didn't you?"