Bumpers on Lane 1

The average bowler looks a lot like the average sex offender. They’re either skinny with unsettling facial hair (think Michael Cera in twenty years), or obese poop factories. These are athletes that have no business near an athletic facility of any kind. Considering the sport's finest can't be differentiated from the sport's worst on sight, bowling is a pretty accessible sport. Any retard can do it. And do it they do.

If there’s one thing the mentally challenged enjoy more than a happy meal, it’s bowling. I’ve literally never been to an alley that didn’t have at least one off in a corner somewhere. That the game appeals to them isn’t entirely surprising. Bowling is easy, involves colorful balls, and as alluded to before, the alleys are such a freak show that the challenged folk fit right in. When they aren’t rolling gutter balls and doing naughty things with the ramps, they generally chill, distract me at the arcade, and wander around. Sally was a wanderer.

I don’t know Sally personally, nor do I know her actual name. I met her about ten years ago at Bowler City in Hackensack, New Jersey. My dad and I were sitting at the table near our lane having nice, greasy bowling alley burgers when Sally came over. She was five feet tall, two hundred pounds, and had a very fat, red face. Needless to say, she was clad entirely in denim.

What attracted her to our table was the hamburger that my sister had left unattended while she bowled her frame. Sally stood at the head of the table, staring down at the burger. My dad and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

“Hi, how are you?” My dad was polite.

Eyes still on the burger, Sally stuck out her fat, wet tongue and licked her lips. Before we could react, she snatched the burger with her chubby hand and clutched it to her chest.

“Mine.”

My mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe it.

My dad kept his composure. “Sweetie, you can’t take that. It doesn’t belong to you.”

Sally stared at my dad, her slack mouth hanging open. With the utmost indifference, she took a huge bite of the burger and walked away.

A few seconds later, my sister came back to the table. “Where the hell’s my burger?

“A retard took it,” I said smiling.

My Dad was laughing out loud.

So you see, retards can be productive members of society after all.