I had the great pleasure Sunday evening to be introduced to the wild world of Duckpin bowling. I had kind of heard of it before, but had never experienced the awesome sport. And by sport I mean non-sport, as no athletic prowess is involved whatsoever. For the uninitiated, Duckpin bowling is similar to regular bowling, as there is a lane, 10 pins, and the score is kept the same. But the pins are tinier and you get to throw 3 smaller balls instead of 2 bigger balls in a frame. Watching folks attempt to play this game is ridiculous, as every toss was of the ball was a complete crap shoot - all luck as far as I could discern. Andy and Tyson were there and kind enough to invite me to observe and drink (the place was BYOB - the only positive about the whole Duckpin experience). Now, Andy has athletic talent and the kid was terrible at the thing, gutter balls all over the place. As far as Tyson, the first bit I observed he was pretty inconsistent with his scores, but later, Tys was striking it pretty regularly when he got to a state of inebriation such that he had a hard time walking straight up to the line to heave his little balls at the little pins (by the way, evidently Tys was de-pantsed a few weeks before while tossing his small balls - I'm glad I wasn't there to witness it). I didn't try this "sport" myself. Instead I sat there, drinking Coors Light, mocking several of the female "bowlers," while trying to figure out which of the enormous, not too attractive chicks in the joint were sporting thongs. There was a guy at the lanes, a guy who is the best Duckpin bowler in the league, a guy in a McGahee jersey, a guy named Sir Bob (I never did quite get why he goes by Sir Bob, as I highly doubt he's been knighted by that fake old monarch over in England). And meeting Sir Bob was one of the great thrills of my life. 1st, he got way too into it when he "bowled," as he dropped to one knee on each throw of his tiny ball, and watched his tiny ball roll down the lane with an intensity on his face that could only be matched by that of a retarded kid ejaculating. When Sir Bob would make a strike he did this crotch grab type celebratory move where he crossed his wrists and shouted something that sounded like one of the sounds those Charismatic religious types make when they're overcome with the spirit and speak in tongues. And all that was entertaining to me - I loved it. But the best thing about Sir Bob had nothing to do with his Duckpin bowling prowess. The best thing about Sir Bob was that he was a paranoid, professional wrestling loving, freak. I talked with him for quite a while - obviously. We got in a conversation about Piper's Pit at one point and then Sir Bob went into a 3 minute diatribe about some wrestling faction where the action was supposedly not fake (NWA maybe??? - is that a thing???). I was really getting into it. Andy kept looking over to me and shaking his head, as he's seen me do this type of thing many times before. The type of thing where I mock someone for a long time and they never catch on - it's mean I know, but I gotta entertain myself somehow. Right? Anyway, at one point this show called Undercover Boss was on the TV near where we were sitting. And this is when Sir Bob did something I've NEVER seen in my life (and I've seen too much, way too much, believe me). He got super pissed at a reality show on a TV in a Duckpin bowling alley. Sir Bob got so angry at corporate honchos who screw the regular employees that he was going apoplectic - he was ranting, stomping around, cursing like a drunk Ross, and kept mentioning his utter hatred for the department store Macy's (turns out he works at one in Harford Mall in Bel Air). Sir Bob kept saying, "Those fuckers, those fucking fuckers, they don't give a shit for the working man." Well, I kept asking for more details about the origins of Sir Bob's irrational disdain for the management at Macy's. And to be honest, nothing Sir Bob said made any sense, at least to me. At one point, he finally calmed down for a moment and asked if I knew where he was coming from with his anti-management tirade. And I said to Sir Bob, in a moment of total condor and deep introspection, "Not exactly, no. But I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night."
I was standing around out at Patrick Bateman's last Thursday night. And I'll be damned but a trivia game broke out in the joint. Andy, Ross, Geilfuss, and I were playing on Nana's team. And thank god that the annoying old guy with the silver mustache was nowhere to be seen. At one point a question comes up about a Defensive Lineman born in 1973 who shares a name with an American patriot. And then a miracle happened. A fucking miracle. Geilfuss walks over to me and says, "Sam Adams?" Geilfuss was dead on there. And I wanted to give the kid credit for once, as I've mocked him endlessly on this blog for his awful suggestions to trivia questions over the years. So there you go Geilfuss - well done. We ended up winning the game, beating our arch-rivals, Getting The Crabs. They asked a tennis question at one point, and that's too easy. It was nice to see Nana, Mike, Linda, and the good Tom out. And it felt even better to help them win the game. I give most of the credit to Andy, he knows how to run a team better than anyone else (as I've said before on this blog, the kid is like Johnny Bench). As for me, I just stood there and came up with answers from time to time. I know a few things. My brain does work like an encyclopedia after all. How, I have no idea. It's baffling.
Also, and this is key, Mary was out for part of the trivia game. And it's always good to see Mary. She's a good kid.
Oh, it was also nice to see Keith, Gary, and the other guys on Getting The Crabs at trivia- they're not nearly as awful as I make them out to be on this blog. Just don't tell them I said that - it would ruin my reputation as the biggest asshole in the history of the pointless trivia circuit. But really, they're pretty good guys. Our sworn enemies, but nonetheless...
I was sitting at Get Bent Lounge Saturday night, and you guessed it, J showed up. He started in with the bracket talk of course, looking for betting tips as always. This was just before 8 and I said, "J, I'm gonna give you a free tip, when in doubt, take the Mormons." And I was happy about that, as K State buried the Mormons in the end. Brandon liked K State and that insane Cuban coach they have, so we were on the right side there. The thing is, I doubt J bet any more than a shot with George on the game. Pitiful...
Earlier Saturday, I was out catching the hoops on Wreck Room Patio. And this old timer comes in with a buddy and he starts swearing worse than the old guy at Charred Pork Bucket, the guy who plays with Dave every Monday night, the old guy who says "Who gives a fuck?" every 10 seconds, my man Dick. Well I never caught this old timer's name, but he kept using the phrase Shit House over and over. Then he went on a rant about the disrespect he gets from his grandson and he used this phrase about 25 times in this 5 minute rant about his grandson - Shit Bird. I was thoroughly enjoying listening to this old timer. Then he started in on what an upset it was for St Mary's to have beaten Nova. And I was good, I held my tongue. But then he went on some thoughtless and misinformed diatribe about Kansas being unbeatable. And I said to the guy, "Don't be too shocked if Northern Iowa gives the Jayhawks a good game." And that set the old timer off. "What the fuck do you know, Iowa? Fucking Iowa? Fuck..." I said, "It's actually the Panthers of Northern Iowa, from the Missouri Valley." The old timer kept it up, "Fuck that. Do you believe this fucking kid?" Fuck..." I only wish that the old timer had been around when the Panthers took down KU. I would have enjoyed that immensely. I really would have. After the old timer took off, I asked his running buddy if this kind of cursing was normal for the old timer. He said, "Well, he's harmless. But, he is angry a lot of the time." I told the old timer's running buddy this - "Could you do me a favor and have him stop in the Charred Pork Bucket some night? And when he does, could you tell him to use the phrase Shit Bird a few times around Dick?" This guy asks "Why?" I replied "Well, it would be awesome. Because after about 5 minutes of using the term Shit Bird, Dick would tell your running buddy, 'Shut the fuck up. Who gives a fuck?,' that's why."
I've got more tales from the town Elaine Benes is from. I haven't even gotten to Andy's birthday Friday, St Patrick's Day, Ross drinking for 13 hours Thursday, The Jacoby who I gave marital advice to, Tyson getting kicked out of Low Bottoms for being dead drunk and walking around like a T Rex, or the mysterious wet spot on the tile in Geilfuss' basement.
Even better than the real thing
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