I've always consider people who frequent alleys in order to violently throw a large ball at objects somewhat a strange lot. This strangeness may have something to do with *bowling alley air* and is easily explained: the foot odor from all the used bowling shoes linger in the air causing a breakdown in the protective sheath of the brain.
Once the sheath develops a crack, the brain short-circuits, causing all sorts of behavior, such as: the need to wear a fancy wrist band; carry a little towel; wave your hand over a jet of air (which is produced and recycled in the bowling shoe storage area); sit sideways on plastic molded chairs; wear lookalike shirts; run like a maniac at a line on a hardwood floor while carrying a heavy ball and then suddenly stop; talking/yelling/cursing at innocent wooden objects; throwing your butt into the air and wiggling it, all the while keeping score of the procedure.
Gossip is plentiful in these alleys, and often the remark is heard, "Did ya hear about so and so, I would hate to be in her/his shoes."
Well, I've got news for you, you probably were at one time or another.
Is it me or am I missing something?
Hey, do you want to have a bowling party?
When asked to contribute this delightful commentary to Compute ME, DB pondered a few
thoughts to us:
Although I realize it is probably next to impossible to insult the sensitivity of a bowler, suppose a non-bowling family member explains they are being held up to ridicule. Suppose said bowler packs their bowling bag with ball, potato chips, Slim Jims, cheese curls, a little towel, a fancy wrist band, borrowed bowling shoes, a change of underwear with the pictures of bowling pins and the words 'Strike' on the front and 'Gutter' on the back and a six-pack of beer to sustain them for a couple of hours while they hunt you down (for putting up this commentary), then rolled the ball down the sidewalk at your legs to pick up a two leg split.
Imagine the horror of innocent bystanders who would be subjected to the butt wiggle of the bowler, accompanied by the ball making that plopping sound of holes rolling over the make shift sidewalk lane.
Once captured or injured, would they then subject you to extreme torture in order to give up the name of the one who wrote the dribble? Could you stand up to used bowling shoes waved under your nose? Your hand held over that jet of air for minutes on end? Egads, the thought of any of these is enough to make me cave and give them any information they want."
DB Pedlar is the editor of a paper zine called Skunk's Life. If you enjoyed this bit of writing, you'll love Skunk's Life - check it out today!
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