Little High, Little Low

For the first time since I debuted the Sinister Fling last year, I had a game fall apart like Black Thought was on the mic.

Danny whomped my ass sixteen ways from Sunday: 155-74.

No, you read that right. 74. I lost by more than I put up. It was literally the worst I'd bowled since I hit puberty in the late Mesozoic.

You'd think the following comeback wins in which I posted 103 and 134 would make me feel better, but not really. I mean, 74! That's just galling. Never again.

ADDENDUM: Did, in fact, do the Churning the Butter dance on three or four occassions. I tend to individualize mine with a final slashing fist pump.

Ambient music: Apocalyptica - Enter Sandman