Death & Bowling!

     I'm well-aware that there is a litany of things in this world which I should never attempt.  For example, from childhood, I've always been told that it's usually in my best interest not to grab a fork and jab wildly at the charred remains of an English muffin that my evil toaster has decided to murder for no apparent reason whatsoever. 

    Does that stop me? No.  Why?  Because I'm an idiot.  This should be clear to you all by now.  I can barely operate a garden hose without the threat of self-strangulation hovering over me.  Trust me.  The simple fact that I can tie my shoes without drooling and falling over into a spastic, chattering mess is the only thing keeping me from being institutionalized. 

     It's the little things that make me proud. 

     Anyway, with that in mind, let's go bowling.  Yes!  I know.  Bowling! 

     Where I live, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a bowling alley.  You'd think it'd be in my genetic make-up to be a fairly good bowler, wouldn't you?  After all, how hard can it be?  It's nothing more than rolling a ball down an alley and knocking things over, and I am really good at knocking things over.  I do that several times a day.   Heck!  Any moron could do this bowling thing.

      So, I put on my shoes (without falling down, and I'm proud of life's little accomplishments), and I go search the racks for a ball.  I pick a flat-black ball that doesn't weigh a heck of a lot because I don't want to kill anyone should it go flinging out of my hand into the crowd that has gathered to watch the "special person" bowl. 

      My first shot was a strike, and I'm thinking, See, moron? This really is easy.

      Chuck, my "friend" who dragged me into this place said, "See?  Ya' ringer, it's like riding a bike!" 

      Obviously, Chuck didn't know that, not only do I have issues with toasters, shoes and garden-hoses, bikes are also on that list of man-made devices which will possibly lead to my eventual demise.  In fact, in my world, the only thing more dangerous than bikes are stationary bikes.  Put me on one of those, and it's only a matter of time before a tanker-truck full of gas comes crashing through the living room wall and I explode in a horrible, fiery accident.  But, I digress... This is about bowling.

       After my first strike, I was feeling pretty proud of myself.  Granted, I'm not like some scruffy twit standing on the bow of the Titanic bellowing "I'm king of the world!"  No.  I'm more humble than that.  I was just looking at the unfortunate folks bowling against me, and I was thinking I so totally own you!  Ha!

     Do you, remember that whole bike thing?  Yeah.  The wheels fell off, and I found myself flung ass over tea-kettle into an episode that involved a very dumb, clumsy man (me) and enough gutters to rebuild the Roman Aquaduct.  I sucked, and I sucked bad. 

     The end result was my putting up the massive score of 43.  I know what you're thinking.  "43!?!  A dead person could bowl at least a 90.  My friggin' goldfish is better than you.  You really are a moron.  Sheesh.  43?!?  How do you live with yourself?" 

      It's not easy. 

      The good news is that I know I am not a bowler, and I will probably never be a bowler.  And, more importantly, no one was injured, and I trundled off with the tattered remains of my manhood and an aching desire to take up something easier like golf.  How tough can golf be?  It's a ball, a club and a hole.  Any moron could play that game. 

Toodles,

DP