The First Rant:: Unbound Crotchfruit & Bowlingballs

Hi. I'm Alex. If you can't tell by the title of the blog, I am a pessimistic person. Often, I go into long-winded rants about nothing, and no one listens.

But in the Blogoshpere/Blogotriangle/Blogotrapazoid/ Whatever shape the 'Blogo' has taken now a days, I can go into long-winded rants about nothing, and as long as I make it somewhat entertaining, everyone listens.

So, now that we know plenty about each other, or, rather, you know plenty about me, lets get into the first rant.

Unbound. Crotchfruit.

For those of you that aren't slang savvy: Crotchfruit. Noun, Proper. A slang derogatory term for a child under 10. If coupled with 'Unbound', this means a Crotchfruit that has a Guardian nearby, but the Guardian is failing at taming its terrible creation.

Second. I love bowling, its one of the few physical activities I can thoroughly enjoy, along with Soccer. But it often pisses me off when I mis-throw because of the aforementioned Crotchfruit.

Imagine this, Bowlers: You're lining up, 13 pound ball capable of turning small child-head into a pulp and throwing pins around.

You cock your arm back, you take the steps; you can feel it, its going to be a strike. You start to le-

GOD DAMN IT.

BOOM. One of the little Crotchfruit has wandered into your lane; or close enough to throw you off by being in your peripheral, and your bodies natural instinct is to not ignore it and just send it sailing down the lane to be part of your bowling miracle. You twist your wrist; sending pain shooting up it, and your ball clomps into the ground, wiggles a moment, and then slooowly rolls into the gutter.

The Kid laughs at you, and then wanders back to go make things sticky/gross. You don't say anything; you'd probably get yelled at for bullying him if you said anything to him. But surely the parents must say something!

They don't. Of course they don't. They're far too busy to be good influences on their children; WHY, WHO WILL PLAY ANGRY BIRDS IF THEY DON'T? Good god, the horror.

Eventually, they notice their child is missing, and panic. However, not to fear, they can see it now; harassing another group of people that are desperately trying to find its parent so they can go home.

People like this should be punched in the face. Or forbidden to breed.
We need to develop a machine that will tell what kind of parent you will be. If you are one of these, NO CHILDREN FOR YOU. EVER.

Got it? Awesome. So, the moral:
If you can't watch your crotchfruit, don't pollenate the flower. Or next time, I'll ignore that instinct, and your child will become known as "The Rollin' Thunder; the only kid to take 10 pins in a fight and win with nothin' but a bowlin' ball."


Tune in next time for Rant 2: HOW I SPEEKY DA ENGRISH?