Story Sent in by Richard:

On my fourth date with Emma, I was pretty sure that things were going to go serious. We had known each other for about five weeks, had spoken via email, instant message, text, phone, and, as I said, we had already had three successful dates. What could go wrong?

Emma's brother, it should be noted, was in the Marines. Over dinner, she mentioned that he had been shipped to a new base. I quipped, "I've got to hand it to him. That's something I could never do." I was referring to the act of joining the military and serving. Some men are made for it, in my opinion, and some aren't. I have no problem confessing that I'm not soldier material, but I'm glad to send my tax dollars their way, support them, and be grateful for the protection that they provide. That was how I meant it, anyway.

Emma replied, "Oh, are you one of those people who's against the military?"

"No. I actually admire them."

As if she didn't listen, she made a stupid voice and said, "Military intelligence, ho, ho, ho! Is that you? One of those people?"


"My brother puts his life on the line every day. Show some gratitude."

It was unlike Emma to have such an outburst, and I wondered what was wrong. I asked her, "Is everything okay? I meant that I admire him. It's not something that I would choose to do with my life, because I'd make a lousy soldier. Not because I don't think being a soldier is for stupid people."

"My parents hate it, and we fight about it constantly. I have zero patience for people who question my brother's decision."


"Do you understand me? Zero."

"I'm not questioning anything. I admire him."


I guessed that Emma was fresh out of an aforementioned argument with her folks, and that's why she was running so hot. I attempted to diffuse her with, "Regardless, I'm sure it means a lot to him to have your support."

"My parents would die in some bombing if my brother wasn't out there, protecting them. I just don't get how anyone can't see that."

The rest of dinner was tense, and she was rough with her cutlery, with her drink, and with her manner. Still, I hoped that my plan of bowling after the meal would help her forget her stress.

Nope. When she first took hold of her bowling ball, she threw it, overhand, down the lane, complete with a barbaric yawp. It slammed against the slick wood, attracting glances from surrounding bowlers. When she returned to the seats, after what became a gutter ball, she flopped down and folded her arms.

I asked her, "Is everything all right?"

She stood up and walked over to the bowling ball rack, picked one up, and said, "Pretend this was a cannonball, heading straight for your head. Now, pretend that my brother is off on the sidelines, willing to jump in front to take the hit. Would you let him?"

I thought for a moment, then said, "I'd rather duck."

She shook her head. "Not an option."

"Why not? If your brother would have enough time to jump in front, then why wouldn't I have enough time to duck?"

"Because you wouldn't! It has to hit you or him. Who do you choose?"

"I already told you I support your brother's choice."

"So you'd rather it hit him, then. You jerk." With that, she threw the bowling ball at me. I dodged to the side, but it grazed my upper arm and smashed against the back of a nearby seat.

"Hey!" someone yelled.

I turned to her and screamed, "What the hell is your problem, you psycho?"

She cringed backward, her face crumpled, turned red, and she yelled back, "Stop yelling at me!" She then grabbed her coat and bag and ran off, down the lobby, and out of sight.

Plenty of eyes followed her, and then those same eyes turned to me. "Show's over, folks," I said, "Sorry."

I ended up finishing the game for both of us, gave the bowling alley her information, as she had left without returning her bowling shoes, and went home. Never heard from her again.


  1. Bullet - but not bowling ball - dodged.

  2. If any date here seems tailor-made to wind up with successfully pressed assault charges, this was it, what with all the witnesses.

  3. Ya should have fingered her and threw her in the gutter

    1. The similarly placed holes are no coincidence.

    2. Steve- are you referring to the holes in your head from your transorbital lobotomy or the holes in your over used, self made sex doll?

    3. Uh, the second one?

    4. In Steve's defense, I borrowed and am currently using that doll for my own pleasures. Sorry Steve, the back hole is now bigger than when you lent it to me!

  4. You should have played Army with her: you lie down and she blows you to hell.

  5. Crazy bitch aspect of this story noted. I am far more thrilled by the fact that Richard used the term "barbaric yawp."


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