Toward the end of the golf course, Fred hit his ball into the woods. Harry, his partner, laughed and poked fun, but then somehow manged to hit his ball even farther into the woods than Fred's ball. Fred looked for the ball for a long time, getting angrier by the minute. Finally, in a patch of pretty yellow buttercups, he found his ball; but instead of continuing the game, he took his club and thrashed every buttercup in the patch.

All of a sudden, in a flash and a puff of smoke, a little old woman appeared. She said, “I'm Mother Nature! Do you know how long it took me to make those buttercups? Just for that, you won't have any butter for your popcorn the rest of your life…Better still, you won't have any butter for your toast for the rest of your life…As a matter of fact, you won't have any butter for anything the rest of your life!” Then, POOF…She was gone.

After Fred got hold of himself, he hollered out to his friend, “Harry, where are you?”

Harry yelled, “I'm over here, in the pussy willows.”

Fred screamed back, “Don't swing! For God's sake, whatever you do, don't swing!”

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Englar! Opnið hjörtu ykkar og hleypið inn nýju hatri.
Engel mun leiða ykkur á ný.