Bowled Over

Thank you for this bowling trip,
I will be forever grateful
  for knowing my stance is
woefully shit -
You lap up strikes by the plateful.

Amusing graphical scoreboard names
 like "shit" and
"still shit" too.
Drinks are knocked, exchanging blames
 hopelessly stroppy, "Now I'm through.

I remember now why I hate this game."
Shut up, sit down, drink more.
But nothing makes the petulance tame,
Show 'er the fucking door.

Now, a happy throng, we're shit
Faced with how bad we are,
Even strike-man fails to hit
The fact that he came by car.

Taxi, taxis, taxis for all.
Bowled over, into the cabs.
Scatter staggers to a merry fall
Into soft kerbs, bushes.  Fab.

Tomorrow we'll regret it.
Tonight is more than enough.
Yesterday will definitely set it
Straight - Alcohol's bad, bad stuff.