Pinecone Bowling

Three empty plastic flowerpots were sitting on the garden stones, smugly daring the universe to knock them over! A civilized bowler would track points, but scorekeeping is an insidious arithmetic trap designed to shackle honest athletes with addition! I gathered an armada of spiky, lopsided pinecones from under the cedar tree—bumpy, crooked missiles with zero aerodynamic geometry. Gripping a fat, sap-sticky cone against my plush tummy, I took a frantic waddling sprint and bowled it flat across the gravel! CLATTER-SMACK! The spiky beast veered wild, ricocheted off a border stone, and exploded into the middle pot, sending all three tumbling into the clover! Maximum acoustic anarchy, zero numbers recorded!