Strike Down Evil

In bowling class, Preston and I, also known as Team Boner Patrol, were up against this asshole kid. As Preston says, the kid is such a douche that he wants to clean his vagina with him, even though his gynecologist warns against it. The kid is extremely competitive, which is fine in some situations, but, come on, we're bowling. While Preston and I high-five when we stay out of the gutter, he acts like he's about to commit suicide each time one pin is left standing. He has a funny haircut, the kind you'd expect to see at the malt shoppe in the 50's; nowadays, only Lyle Lovett maintains that crop. Normally, I ignore him, but today he crossed the line, and I don't mean in the way that earns you a foot fault.

Apparently, he hooked up with some "hot" freshman this weekend and asked a mutual friend "how slutty" she is. Since the friend did not know, he asked him to investigate for him and find out whether she's just kinda slutty or "way slutty," because he's not going to be interested in her anymore if she's way slutty. Frankly, I think it says a lot if you automatically assume that someone who hooks up with you is a slut.

During this exchange, Preston and I exchanged glances and continued bowling as if we weren't competing against an asshat. Then said asshat proceeded to moan about the sexual harassment email that got sent out to students at his school. Evidently, you can't whistle at a woman, compliment her body parts, or ask her on a date more than once. He concludes, "Fortunately, that's just at school and not the real world!" I don't know what real world I'm missing out on, but I highly doubt whistling is going to earn him a date, especially not on the fourth time he's asking.

Soon, the whole class, minus team Boner Patrol, was ranting about women. They complain too much! Women need to get over themselves! Someone needs to just go to a women's class and ask what their problem is! Even the teacher, who we call "Professor Bowling" got in on the locker room conversation. It's lame, chauvinistic conversations like this that always turned me off of organized sports in the past, and now they're ruining bowling, too!

As much as everyone agreed they hated women, they still manage to objectify them. Avril Lavigne? "Hot." Kelly Clarkson? "Hot." Jessica Simpson? "So hot." "Don't you think?" the asshat asked me. "And dumb," I said. "Huh?" he asks. "She's dumb," I said. He gives me a funny look that indicates he's thinking the word "fag" in his head. Whatever, I'm not the one so obsessed with bowling I'd shove a pin up my ass. It doesn't matter, though, because Boner Patrol beat his team. I wouldn't have even noticed, but he made such a big deal out of losing that it felt like a huge victory for feminists or just everyone that's not an utter asshole.

"I can't believe we let you beat us last time," says the asshat. "It won't happen again, you can write it down."

"Okay," I respond blankly. "I'm going to go write that down."

Previously, I cheered for everyone just to do well. Now he made it personal, so I was determined to beat him. With this mentality, I psyched myself out and ruined my streak of eight spares (for which Preston nicknamed me Tire) and inevitably lost the match. Alas, next week, Boner will rise again, better prepared to avenge these wrongs!