Having led an interestingly dissolute life composed largely of women, drinking, gambling and golf, but not necessarily in that order, at the end of it, the new arrival was not too surprised to find himself in hell. He was however quite surprised to find that his particular corner of Hades was an eighteen-hole golf course complete with gentle woods, a cooly serene lake, well kept fairways, an immaculate green and a clubhouse with the usual professional’s shop. The reprobate’s delight was complete when he read the shop’s notice.
HELP YOURSELF. ALL EQUIPMENT FREE.
“Well, this is going to be tough to take,” he leered as he chose a bag containing perfectly matched clubs. So laden he ambled to the first tee where he took out a driver, gave a delighted practice swing and then felt in the ball pocket. It was empty. He was about to return to the shop to remedy the situation when he noticed a grinning figure in red.
“Don’t mind me,” the grin grew wider, “and don’t bother going back for balls. There aren’t any. That’s the hell of it!”