I was in a bowling alley once.  Bowling alley's always seem to bring out the best of the lower class citizenry.  Bowling is such a white trash sport. 

Let's look a bowling.  Well, no, let me show you bowling.  You have a ball, and you have a target.  And granted it does take some skill, but not that much skill. 

You stand at the beginning of the lane; you throw the ball; you hit one of the many targets at the end; you keep score.  It's not that complicated.  Hell the hardest part of bowling is keeping score.  You can't be brand new to the sport and keep score.  Experience is required.  Rookies need not apply.  Why do you think they moved to computers keeping score.  Drunk people used to screw it up.  Which leads me to my next point.  You can be drunk in this sport and still be successful at the game.  You're not going to get a 270 or higher, but you can bowl a respectable game while on a nice buzz.

There are other games that are like this.  Darts comes to mind, but not really.  For me, my game gets better the more I drink, but at the same time there's a limit.  One sip can make the difference between a bullseye and a dart in your foot. 

Don't get me wrong.  I like bowling.  I like hanging out with the common man.  You meet a nice quality of person at the bowling alley.  Not a great quality, not a bad quality, but a nice quality.  I sit back in my chair, that can only swivel ninety degrees, and look out amongst the people.  My people.  My white trash people.  To them, it's not an insult, it's just a thing.  "Yea, so, what of it."  If you can't be amazing, at least be proud of who you are.

So, back to the point.  But not just yet.  I hate the preview in this application, the font in this box is so small, and the text in the real post is so huge.  It feels like even though I've typed a lot, there really is no content.

Content. Right.

So I was in a bowling alley once.  And I like sports.

Most sports.  Basketball really does kind of bug me.  It's the only sport where committing a foul is a strategy.  Down by three with twenty seconds to go.  Coach calls time out.  Huddle up.  Big strategy.  "What we're going to do, once they put the ball in play.  You, tall guy. You hit him."  I don't get it.  It's probably just me.  But then again I don't like that the last two minutes of football is an exercise in catholic worship.  Genuflect, genuflect.  Game over.

So I was in a bowling alley once.  And I like sports.  Hometown college team was on television that night and I wanted to watch the game.  Problem is, the game really isn't a big sport here.  So it's not on TV.  I call to the bartender.

Bartenders have it rough.  I was a bartender once.  It's cliche really, people really do want to talk to you, tell you about their problems.  And you listen.  I mean, really listen.  Not cause you care, but because you make 2.50 and you want tips.  If you're at a bar, don't tell them a story, just tip.  Nobody cares, not even your shrink.

I call to the bartender.  "So what you want?" I said, "Look man, what time is it?" 

"The clock on the wall say three o'clock."

Not really.  It's 2:22.  I've just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to come up with a strategy to bring people into this story and it really, really fails. 

National novel writing month is in November, and they try to motivate you the best that they can.  "Just sit down and write anything that you want.  Eventually a story will come."

Who knows, maybe this is it.  The problem that I have is that every time I sit down to write something, it always turns into something that I've read or seen somewhere. 

How do you write rebels so well?

I think of an imperial and take away reason and accountability.


Times are different now.  The wars are over.  For the most part.  There are still skirmishes here and there, but in the long run the New Republic has irradicated the majority of the imperial forces.  The majority that haven't been overrun, have been converted. 

There are few hold outs in the galaxy, but not really.  Factions here and there have flashes of brilliance; long enough to get a blip on the radar, only to be snuffed out by the insurgents they used to pity. 

I was in a bowling alley once.  The stench was incredible.  You wouldn't have expected the place to be as run down as it was.  But who knows, maybe there was a plan. 

I was there with some friends of mine.  They're not so much friends now.  Friends you keep in touch with as time goes on; these were more figments of my past.  Those were good times for the most part.

We were there one day when they dropped into our sky.  I think dropped is the right word.  They weren't there, and then they were there.  And then the fire from above began. 

I remember looking up at them, their lack of shape and form hanging there.  And then the rain of fire came down. 

I wasn't old enough at the time, I didn't really know anything except for my little world that I was the center of.  I didn't understand why it was that they would just randomly show up and unleash destruction upon us.  I didn't seem to understand the bigger picture of it all.  I just remember the fear and the anger.  Why?  What did they have against us that they would just show up and blow everything away.