An eager golfer dies and finds himself at the pearly gates.

St. Peter tells the man he has lived an exemplary life and that he can go right in.

The man asks, "St. Peter, where is the golf course? "

"I'm terribly sorry," replies St. Peter, "but that's one thing we don't have here. There are not Golf pieces."

The man turns and decides that he will see if the situation is any better in hell. On the road to hell, he is greeted by the devil who has already heard of the golfer's rejection of heaven.

"This way, sir," says the devil, "the finest tournament-quality 18 holes you are likely to find this side of Augusta, Georgia."

The golfer looks around and agrees that it is the finest course he has ever seen and decides he'd rather spend eternity there than in heaven,  so he signs up for the full package.

"So," he says to the devil, "why don't you go get me some golf clubs and balls and I'll have the game of my after-life."

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't have any."

"What?" says the man. "No balls or clubs for a fine course like this?"

"No, sir," says the devil fiendishly, "that's the hell of it."

another joke:Mr Bell!

Those of us who worked at the front desk of a convention
hotel in Williamsburg, Va., Prided ourselves on making the
guests feel special. When someone arrived at reception,
credit card in hand, we would sneak a peek at it and address
him by name. Once during a particularly busy check-in, one
of our guests presented a corporate credit card. "Welcome
to Williamsburg, Mr. Bell," the desk clerk said.

"Oh, please," the man replied, "call me Taco."

happy day!
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