Time for another round of personal torture therapy.
Before I begin, I would like to offer up a warning to those of you who have not plucked out your own eyeballs and smashed them underfoot upon catching a glimpse of the picture I have chosen for today. What you see to the left of these words may shred any and all faith you have in the intellectual superiority of humans over the less evolved creatures of the world. By allowing you to view this picture, I may very well become known as the man who destroyed civilization as it is and set humanity’s evolutionary clock back by a thousand years or more.
Remember, you were warned.
For those of you who have made it this far, allow me to explain that what you are seeing in this picture is not my prepubescent attempt to become the worlds first disco-ballerina. Nor is it my frantic attempt to stop myself from wetting my pants in public. What is happening here is much, much worse than anything you might be able to imagine on your own.
You see, I am attempting to bowl.
Notice my teeny, tiny, extra tight, powder blue shorts. See how they hug my nonexistent buttocks in an attempt to cut off circulation to my legs and thus force me to fall, convulsing, onto the local Bowl-O-Rama’s floor? Look carefully and become amazed at my complete lack of male genitalia.
And we won’t even get started on the haircut.
Am I not the epitome of style, with my Adidas wrist band and tri-band socks pulled up nearly to my knees? Do you not swoon in adoration at my stoic and manly pose of bowling professionalism? My jutting lower jaw, flopping, useless arms and blindingly white, sticklike legs ensured that only the most attractive of the “Super-Fly Bowl-O-Rama Hotties” hanging around would dare to approach me. And, if I remember correctly, not one of them was brave enough to even make the attempt.
I was that sexy. Believe it.
One last thing to note, this picture was actually taken at my birthday party as I attempted to make the most difficult spare in the sport of bowling. That’s right, the dreaded seven-ten split. This would help explain my use of the never before caught on film, patented “I’m a Little Teapot”, ball-control-through-body-English, bowling ball toss. It also helps explain why all my friends called me “The Gay Bowler” for a few months after the party.
Bastards.
PhotoBloggery. Take a picture. Write a story. Post the results.
Oh, come on… admit it… it was an attempt at becoming a disco ballerina. Wait. I think that photograph was not intended to be on site, is it? It must be Bread striking again!
Wahahahaha….
Eh Geekman Im going with you WERE trying to be a disco ballerina. You were a cute little kid! But of course thats before you started talking to inanimate objects, like oh say, moldy old bread..