The guys took me bowling for my birthday last weekend. It sounded like a fun idea. Colored balls. Long lanes. Fun shoes. Breezy hand dryer thingies.

After a few draughts of shitty beer, it was finally my turn. I picked a pretty purple ball and posed in dramatic fashion.

Caesar quickly advised me that I was facing the wrong way. I turned around with little to no argument.

Gutter ball. Blast. I was promised bumpers. These dudes told me it was a game that even a sleepy gnome with his eyes closed, like me, could play. I guess I was bamboozled again. Leonardo told me that the the penalty for throwing a gutter ball was to sit on the thingie that spits out the balls and stop them from rolling until someone else rolls a gutter ball and assumes the position.

 I assumed the position, alright. The very next ball rolling through the thingie weighed 15 pounds. I don’t even think I weigh 15 ounces. I’ve been working out.

Anyway, that large black ball knocked me right off the thingie that the ball rolls through. A true gentleman never discusses his injuries….especially when his injuries involve gentleman-specific parts.

Ahem. Enough said.

This marks the first and the last bowling experience that I will ever put myself through. I wandered out of the bowling alley and found a pit of fire in a real alley next to a homeless man. Even this was more pleasant than what I had just been put through during what those other asshole gnomes call a “sport”.

Homeless dude and I found a bag of stale marshmallows in the trash bin behind the grocery store. And henceforth, I shall ever be known as X’mores….the Xtreme S’mores maker.

Good evening and good night,

X’Mores The Gnome