rv driver
08-15-2014, 11:04 AM
I found the following blog post I've cut-and-pasted here: http://www.terchila.com/Site/7.9_Bowling_for_********.html
Be advised: you'll either
1) laugh so hard you can't breathe (me)
2) get mad enough to beat the pulp out of a kitten (Iceman)
3) faint from the sheet horror of the description and disdain for the game (Aslan)
Here it is:
"What is it about bowling that makes rational human beings want to spend their free time rolling a heavy marble ball down a long wooden lane covered with wax?
When making nightly plans with my friends, possibilities usually include going to the movies, the beach, or an event like a concert or a game. Sometimes, about as infrequently as a 7-10 split, bowling is thrown into the mix. Bowling? Where in the rich history of this prosperous country did this awful game emerge as wholesome entertainment?
Loathe, hate, detest. There are a plethora of verbs I could use to precede the word bowling to best describe my stern dislike for the devil’s game. It’s a microcosm of malevolence. Everything about bowling alleys is revolting and repulsive. Walking into a bowling alley, you’re immediately welcomed by the smell of cigarette smoke, sweaty feet and cheap beer. They are filthy dirty, oppressive operations. They are usually in rundown buildings, often times on the outskirts of town. They are dimly lit, the past 15 managers were too cheap to replace the worn, tattered used-to-be-vibrant-red carpeting, and the joystick on the Ms. Pac Man arcade game in the corner hasn’t worked since King Pin was playing in the theaters. Nothing looks right, nothing feels right. This is not a place for anyone to spend the valuable time or money.
If you don’t believe me, go talk to Uncle Lester manning the shoe rental station. Sure he looks all innocent, but under that slick comb-over and tight JC Penney shirt with the elastic waist band and is an attention-depraved psychopath itching for a reason to grab you by the neck and drag you outside and have his way with you. I’m not sure, but pretty sure he has a lazy eye too. How can anyone enjoy their time in an establishment where you have to leave collateral to rent a pair a two-tone leather shoes that smell like two week old Swiss cheese? It’s hard for anyone to trust anyone these days, and I’m not too keen on leaving my precious Rainbow sandals with Mr. Lazy Eye behind the counter. No thank you.
And one time, I made the mistake of using the facility’s facilities. I should’ve let my bladder burst. Tell me why bowling alley bathroom floors are so wet and sticky. Don’t they realize how slick the bottom of those specialty shoes are? I wouldn’t wish a slip and fall experience on a surface like that on my worst enemy. Even Mr. Lazy Eye. And bowling alley bathrooms are still the only “respectable businesses” I’ve ever stepped foot in that sell condoms out of vending machines. What kind of desperate bowling scenario requires a quick stop to the gentleman’s room for contraception? If there are sexually active participants on the bowling alley premises, is this really somewhere you want to spend your Friday night? Think about that next time you hit the reset button or dry your hands over to mini air blower.
Have you seen those communal bowling balls? They are nasty. I cringe at the thought of sticking three of my precious digits in those dark, black holes. Maybe that’s why they sell condoms in the bathroom. Think about it, they’re usually sold in packs of three, aren’t they?
With all that said, there is a bigger reason I hate bowling – I absolutely suck at it. I am pathetic. The last three times I’ve attempted to bowl, I’ve failed to break 100. I get the concept. I know about the arrows and the angles. Whatever it is, my ball just cannot seek and destroy those damn white pins with red necks. Any activity in which my mother can consistently whip my *** in, is nothing I’ll likely ever pursue or look forward to.
I don’t enjoy losing. Therefore bowling sucks. Bowling sucks because I suck at bowling. So don’t ask to me to bowl. I make a clown out of myself enough already. I don’t need extra encouragement. From the sights and sounds to the used balls and bathroom sales, there are plenty of reasons to avoid bowling alleys at all costs. And I suck. So from now on, stop asking me to play. I will continue my stern aversion to the game that will forever make me feel like a loser like all the other creepy creatures who lurk in the alley."
I don't know who the author is, but, clearly, his/her head isn't right...
Be advised: you'll either
1) laugh so hard you can't breathe (me)
2) get mad enough to beat the pulp out of a kitten (Iceman)
3) faint from the sheet horror of the description and disdain for the game (Aslan)
Here it is:
"What is it about bowling that makes rational human beings want to spend their free time rolling a heavy marble ball down a long wooden lane covered with wax?
When making nightly plans with my friends, possibilities usually include going to the movies, the beach, or an event like a concert or a game. Sometimes, about as infrequently as a 7-10 split, bowling is thrown into the mix. Bowling? Where in the rich history of this prosperous country did this awful game emerge as wholesome entertainment?
Loathe, hate, detest. There are a plethora of verbs I could use to precede the word bowling to best describe my stern dislike for the devil’s game. It’s a microcosm of malevolence. Everything about bowling alleys is revolting and repulsive. Walking into a bowling alley, you’re immediately welcomed by the smell of cigarette smoke, sweaty feet and cheap beer. They are filthy dirty, oppressive operations. They are usually in rundown buildings, often times on the outskirts of town. They are dimly lit, the past 15 managers were too cheap to replace the worn, tattered used-to-be-vibrant-red carpeting, and the joystick on the Ms. Pac Man arcade game in the corner hasn’t worked since King Pin was playing in the theaters. Nothing looks right, nothing feels right. This is not a place for anyone to spend the valuable time or money.
If you don’t believe me, go talk to Uncle Lester manning the shoe rental station. Sure he looks all innocent, but under that slick comb-over and tight JC Penney shirt with the elastic waist band and is an attention-depraved psychopath itching for a reason to grab you by the neck and drag you outside and have his way with you. I’m not sure, but pretty sure he has a lazy eye too. How can anyone enjoy their time in an establishment where you have to leave collateral to rent a pair a two-tone leather shoes that smell like two week old Swiss cheese? It’s hard for anyone to trust anyone these days, and I’m not too keen on leaving my precious Rainbow sandals with Mr. Lazy Eye behind the counter. No thank you.
And one time, I made the mistake of using the facility’s facilities. I should’ve let my bladder burst. Tell me why bowling alley bathroom floors are so wet and sticky. Don’t they realize how slick the bottom of those specialty shoes are? I wouldn’t wish a slip and fall experience on a surface like that on my worst enemy. Even Mr. Lazy Eye. And bowling alley bathrooms are still the only “respectable businesses” I’ve ever stepped foot in that sell condoms out of vending machines. What kind of desperate bowling scenario requires a quick stop to the gentleman’s room for contraception? If there are sexually active participants on the bowling alley premises, is this really somewhere you want to spend your Friday night? Think about that next time you hit the reset button or dry your hands over to mini air blower.
Have you seen those communal bowling balls? They are nasty. I cringe at the thought of sticking three of my precious digits in those dark, black holes. Maybe that’s why they sell condoms in the bathroom. Think about it, they’re usually sold in packs of three, aren’t they?
With all that said, there is a bigger reason I hate bowling – I absolutely suck at it. I am pathetic. The last three times I’ve attempted to bowl, I’ve failed to break 100. I get the concept. I know about the arrows and the angles. Whatever it is, my ball just cannot seek and destroy those damn white pins with red necks. Any activity in which my mother can consistently whip my *** in, is nothing I’ll likely ever pursue or look forward to.
I don’t enjoy losing. Therefore bowling sucks. Bowling sucks because I suck at bowling. So don’t ask to me to bowl. I make a clown out of myself enough already. I don’t need extra encouragement. From the sights and sounds to the used balls and bathroom sales, there are plenty of reasons to avoid bowling alleys at all costs. And I suck. So from now on, stop asking me to play. I will continue my stern aversion to the game that will forever make me feel like a loser like all the other creepy creatures who lurk in the alley."
I don't know who the author is, but, clearly, his/her head isn't right...