The last Friday of every month, by the good graces of the prime minister, we are bade exit this popsicle stand en masse to go get our teambuiliding on (i.e., go goof off). This time it was for some ball-on-pins action at Portland's very own bowling alley 2.0, the excellent Grand Central Bowl. We may have all ended up with swollen middle fingers, but we had a blast duking it out in the lanes. (Even if the rental shoes were not so much smelly as too "grabby." You should be able to moonwalk in those things!) Mort (a.k.a. the Muscle) took the day—and an oh-so sweet, 1940s-vintage trophy/clock/thing—with a solid single-game performance of 184, despite the much-lamented fact that his ability to slide gracefully up to the foul line and unleash ten pounds of explosive English was mitigated by said footwear. Dane (a.k.a. the Beard) took secondary honors with a 174 and went home with an equally vintage and only slightly less awesome trophy/ashtray. Both were heard to thank the Academy before scampering off to buy some Swisher Sweets at a nearby Kwik-E-Mart.
The Official Parliament Toad admires zee Grand Prize!
Smoky Seconds. We puff like chimneys around here.
2 Mar 11
Russian Translator
Having defected during the height of the Cold War, Percy is like a slice of American apple pie with a thick Communist crust.
I like big butts and I can not lie. All you other brother's can't deny when a...
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