Bill's wife greets him at the door when he arrives home from the golf course.
"How was your round?" she asks.
"Terrible, honey," he replies solemnly. "Jimmy dropped dead of a massive heart attack on the second hole."
"Oh my God!" his wife gasps. "That's awful!"
"I know," he says. "The rest of the day it was hit the ball, drag Jimmy... Hit the ball, drag Jimmy..."
A foursome of seniors saunter into the 19th hole after their round.
"How did you guys play today?" the bartender asks.
"Pretty well," the first gentleman replies. "Three riders for me."
"I had five riders," says the second. "That's my best this year."
The third fellow chimes in, "Eight riders here, two above my average."
To which the fourth man says, "I took all their money – 10 riders, a personal record."
Listening to their conversation, another man butts in. "Excuse me, but I've played golf my entire life and never heard of a rider," he says. "What the heck is that?"
The gang chuckles and casts a knowing glance at the bartender. "A rider," he explains to the stranger, "is a tee shot that you hit far enough to ride the cart to it."