Bowling Sundays

Never let it be said that gay boys only dedicate themselves wholly to frivolous activities such as clubbing, shopping and merrymaking. There is after all some testosterone in the blood for we all participated in a time-honoured tradition favoured by red-blooded suburban males all over the world.

We went bowling.

Yes good old boys, get out those dinky caps and those lame shoes. To the bowl-o-rama we went. Shockingly no one raised a token protest about the sheer unglam factor of the entire outing - not even our resident fashionista Zany Zinedine! Leave it to our sweet Jaunty Jared to come up with a striking suggestion that knocked us all over like a row of wavering tenpins.


Welcome to the Bowl-O-Rama!
So there we were a bunch of flaming limp-wristed folks in the midst of caravan families ( with tots in tow ) and whooping acne-ridden teenagers. The owners of the alley might have noted our obvious fabulousity since we all got into a lane aptly dubbed Back Door Man.

Turned out most of us hadn't bowled in a long time. Me amongst them - last time I dropped a ball had to be almost ten years ago! But I still recalled the hijinks my sophomoric classmates indulged in way back when - including placing fake trash-talk names on the board to flash when we miraculously scored a divine strike. Well it turns out we weren't all that bad ( despite some whining about carpal tunnel injury ) since the screen flashed Slut, Bitch and Bimbo often enough. Really should have put in applications for the Princess Cup Tournament.

Even had occasion for a victory dance from Scrappy Shep - whose birthday we were celebrating incidentally - who did his own sublime version of the Melbourne Shuffle.

The Mamat Shuffle?

Straight boys. Whatchu gonna do.

Thankfully there were some who bowled quite as badly as I did - or at least as badly as I did by the end since we all rapidly lost interest after ten endless rounds. Fortunate for my insanely competitive streak or else I'd have to streak down the lane to dropkick the tenpins in sheer frustration.

Though as awful as we were, I doubt we could be as bad as a cute guy in the lane down from us. Poor fella must have thought of impressing the new girl with his serious lack of bowling skills! What we call the Prince of Gutters. Turns out his particular blushing ingenue was a bowling champ of some sort as she scored several strikes in a row without blinking an eyelash.

Then again, he had an obviously curvaceous bubble-butt when he bent over in his khaki dungarees so maybe that was the draw.

The original Back Door Man?