There be Trolls Here!!! Now with more SFW pictures to prove it!!!

Yeah, you heard me…we’re headed to the big time!  HC has reached a new plateau in our growth as an actual climbing organization…mother fucking climbing trolls are commenting on our blog posts!  We’ve all dreamed of this day, we thought we’d lost our edge after Rowland failed to ignite a flame war on Supertopo when he announced the HC 2012 convention, but Rowland’s donkey-punch post pointing out that, perhaps, on occasion, people accidentally do things that are inadvertently hurtful, pushed us over the top!  We’re an honest-to-God bonafide climbing institution now, and all it took was a well written and insightful piece where we discussed our feelings on a subject to bring the trolls over to the little corner of the climbing community we’ve managed to dynamite out for ourselves!

There ain’t no troll like a climbing troll…let’s get that shit clear right now.  They’re the unicorn of trolls, they have time to formulate words and express opinions not entirely their own.  Your typical climbing troll shares the following attributes:

A) Probably has climbed something at some point in their life.  Gym?  Outdoors?  Tree?  Staircase?  Yes, maybe one of those things that do not require a keyboard.  Or no.  Either way, our bets are on the chocolate fountain at the Golden Corral.

B)  Doesn’t climb because of that injury, or the gym closed, or they raised their rates, or they had kids, or they…whatever.  Point is, anyone who can leave a 3 and a half page rant on the Access Fund Facebook page about freedom of speech, ‘Murricuh, and those GODDAMNED homosexuals, does not have time to climb.  Also, probably doesn’t actually think enough to be able to suss out routes.

C) Owns a well book-marked copy of “Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills” which they can refer to quickly in an effort to rebut any comment left by anyone who says anything about anything.  Seriously, that’s a LONG fucking book…it’s great, but Jesus Christ…I learned how to lick the alphabet in chapter 45.  I heard that capitol T is the best, but I’m hesitant to make that statement since a climbing troll probably has a different opinion…

D) Looks like this

Regretsy_Full_Clown_Santorum_large
Climbing Troll in his full glory. Also, fuck you Rick Santorum.

No seriously, that’s exactly how they look.

So Rowland’s post got some attention, and we’re glad that we’ve got trolls who have taken the time to lighten our lives, brighten our days, and blatantly disregard our feelings on a subject that is near & dear to our hearts…homophobia in the climbing community.  Remember, my darlings, that the trolls we attracted in the very beginning typically started their comments with a “I don’t see the point in a gay climbing club…”, the fact that we’ve moved past that point is reason enough for us to celebrate.

Also, our trolls are fucking hysterical because it’s like they don’t even know us…they think they’re commenting on one of their typical message boards where we’re going to use logic or philosophy to rebut their troll-y comments.

But we won’t.  ‘Cause fuck you.

“This has all been a very embarrassing mis-understanding” President of Chick-fil-A tells HomoClimbtastic reporter.

“We’re so embarrassed that it’s come to this,” Dan Cathy,  President of the successful fast-food restaurant says.  “When we were asked if we supported anti-gay groups, I answered yes…of course…but only because I misunderstood the question.”

Image

Gallagher, attempting to lick honey mustard sauce off her jowls.

Cathy claimed that the Baptist Press interview in which he announced the company’s support of anti-gay groups clearly mis-interpreted his answer, and that rather than making financial donations, the company has merely been shoveling “tons of fried foods into that whale Maggie Gallagher’s fat fucking mouth” in an effort to quiet the controversial NOM spokesperson.  Cathy spoke in an exclusive interview with an anonymous HomoClimbtastic member who was simultaneously singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” into the business man’s asshole for $50.  “I’m just so ashamed, I hope my sister-wife never learns to read.  It would take days to explain to her exactly what happened here.  Oh yeah, that’s it, that’s it, Oh God yes, Oh…”

Cathy was later unavailable for further comment, but did tip the anonymous HC member $15 for teaching him a better method of sucking cock using a Chick-fil-A cup and straw.

Image

President of Chick-fil-A Dan Cathy, learning the importance of proper lip positioning in keeping the dick away from the teeth

Suck it, Boyscouts

Fuck you, Boy Scouts of America.  Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.  Also, I happen to have this gigantic bag of dicks over here (always be prepared!), you can suck each and every one of them.

Oooooooooh….

You know, I’ve done this whole Goddamned research thing for the last 2 or 3 days in an effort to really counter the BSoA decision to hate fags, but then I remembered that climbers don’t come here to read well researched, reasoned opinion pieces about today’s hot-button issues.  They come here to laugh at the fucking insane bullshit that’s going on around us, because Goddammit if you don’t laugh, what, you gonna’ cry like a fucking baby?  Huh?  You some kind of fucking baby?  I’m sorry, that isn’t fair.  That’s the jet lag talking, I’m really sorry.

So here’s the deal:  I couldn’t sleep on my 14 hour flight to Taiwan, I’ve spent the last 72 hours in conference rooms that smell like a homeless guy’s sweaty nut sack,  I’m tired, I’ve been fucking sick, I’m hungry (I have to take a $15 cab ride from my hotel to get to the nearest decent vegan restaurant) and all of this just makes me even more sure that I’ve had it up to fucking HERE with groups of men who wear faggy uniforms, fuck little boys, and still have the wherewithal to tell gay people that we’re not allowed into your club.

Yeah, that’s right.  Turns out the Boy Scouts (a for-profit, $900 Million corporation) have a lot in common with the Catholic church.  They’ve been burying molestation cases for YEARS, and evidently have a secret stash of pedophile cases that they keep in some bunker outside Dallas, and have worked for the last 50 or so years to keep all of this secret because of the damage it may do Scouts as an organization.

Well you know what, BSoA?  HomoClimbtastic created a secret panel 2 years ago, filled with various members of the community (all of whom agree with us, because like BSoA, this ain’t a fucking democracy) and we’ve come to several conclusions:

A)  We fucking hate you.

B)  We fucking hate your uniforms.

C)  Those of us with children know that only 8% of child molesters identify themselves as homosexual in their adult relationships, meaning we know that our children are far safer with our gay friends than with some (now guaranteed to be) heterosexual scout masters.  Mike Huckabee apparently disagrees but mostly because he’s a man who makes a wonderful living pandering to the stupidest people on the face of our planet.  Also, facts are complex and often nuanced, which means you have to spend time dealing with them rather than watching re-runs of Jersey Shore.

D)  We hate it for gay kids that your organization, while seeking to create “morally straight” men, simultaneously encourages kids to lie about who they are on a very fundamental level so they can still be a part of your fucking club.  You are a very big part of the problem.

E)  We fucking LOVE the Girl Scouts.

Yeah. So fuck you.

I’m out.

(drop mike)

We Are So Fucking Inclusive

I was just reading Ra-Ra’s post about the lube wrestling contest being trashed and started celebrating.  I know, I know, so many of you tacky bitches just fucking love watching hot climbers get all lubed up and go at it, but I thought it was a horrible idea.  I may be old gododamned fashioned, or I may be fucking boring, but I shudder to think of HC conventions becoming nothing more than an opportunity to explore the idea of an outdoor gay bar.

Shit's always sexier in your head than it is in reality.

One of the things I’ve always loved about HC is that we seem to have a wrench for every nut.  Whatever your orientation, wherever you’re from, as long as you have a sense of humor about yourself, you’re welcome to come.  Holy fuck I think that may have sorta’ rhymed…look at me, I’m a fucking poet over here.  Anychrist, when I showed up at my first HC convention I was really fucking nervous that this would be another gay event where we adhered to the classic gay stereotypes…everybody get fucked up, everybody sleep with each other, and everybody get dramatic about nothing.  OK, you’re thinking, that sounds like a good time…you’ve spent more time on your knees in the past year than Tebow, and the good news for you is that there will be people at an HC convention who are just like you!  And y’all can all run off and do blow off a West Virginia stripper’s dick!  I don’t recommend it, West Virginia strippers are often lucky to have all of their original teeth, but that’s neither hither nor thither.  Point is you can have that experience.

West Virginia Strippers: You don't want a piece of this.

And I can have my experience, too.  I don’t like gay bars, so I don’t like the idea of gay bar activities being our recreation at an HC convention.  The great news is that there are a lot of people who climb with HC who feel exactly the same way, so even if the lube wrestling contest was still “on”, or someone managed to get a DJ (I cannot fucking believe this is still a ‘thing’…I really did think all the DJ’s had over-dosed and died back in the 90′s) we would find something else to do.  Maybe go off and form a drum circle or nurture our inner child or squat over some mirrors.  Some shit like that, you know, all warm & fuzzy or what the fuck ever.  Hey…I’m old, I’m married, I have kids, and I had to give up the drinking and drugging a long goddamned time ago.  A good time to me is climbing all day, eating with a group of like-minded people, and going to fucking bed.  Oh, and coming up with a way to completely undermine Christianity and civilization as we know it by turning all heterosexuals gay, but only if I can’t sleep.  That one was for you, Rick Santorum…kiss kiss, darling.

There Was An Accident! Or Something! Oh My God!

So I was out climbing at Reimer’s Ranch in Austin, minding my own business and belaying my friend Jini (if you don’t know Jini, you need to get your happy ass to Austin as quickly as possible and hang out with her.  You owe it to yourself, and I’m not even fucking kidding you) when all of a sudden, I saw a flash out of my left eye and heard a loud THUD.  I was belaying someone, though, so I had no fucking idea what had just happened.  Because I am that focused on making sure people as awesome as Jini are on a tight belay.  Yeah, I know.  I expected less of me as a belayer, too.

Well, it turns out this dude was at the anchors of the climb immediately to our left, and through some freak accident his belayer wasn’t actually on belay.  Or something, ’cause he let go and fell sixty fucking feet.  Evidently he landed on his feet and did some kind of fucking ninja roll or whatever, that shit was fucking insane and even though I didn’t see it (I was belaying Jini, you’ll recall from earlier in our convo) I’m sure it must have looked fucking amazing.  And he landed on his back.  Or something, but again I didn’t really see that part.  I heard that if he had let his head fall just another inch, he would’ve been talking funny for the rest of his life.  Or maybe it was a half-inch, anyway you get my drift.  Dude that shit was life threatening.

No way that guy wasn't a fucking ninja with the way he came down and rolled. Well, anyway, that's what I heard. I was giving Jini a catch.

Anyfuck, I lowered Jini down (she was pretty shaken…I guess she actually saw the whole thing happen since she wasn’t belaying anyone and was able to focus) and turned my attention to the accident.

What I saw was ten people staring at a good looking guy who was shaking his head and trying to figure out if he was hurt or not.  I remember thinking “shit, he’s not gonna’ climb anymore today which means that shirt’s not coming off” ’cause I’m selfish like that and he was actually kinda’ hot.  I also saw his belayer, who was much worse for wear.  The realization that she’d come very close to being responsible for another person’s death had very clearly set in.  Her hands were red and blistered from trying to grab the rope in a desperate effort to stop his descent (which she did, at the very last second, perhaps saving him…but who fucking knows.)  Did I mention he was on top-rope?  Not that it should make any difference, but we all know it does.

So I thought about belaying for the rest of the day.  I thought about the ramifications of giving someone a “catch”, and how frequenly…especially when that person is on top-rope…we lose focus on the climber and talk to our friends, or reach back to grab a drink of water, or even get so involved in laughing and joking with each-other that we forget for a second that we hold another person’s life in our hands.  And how sometimes that second of inattention could intersect with the climber missing a key hold.  Or something.  I’ll repeat:  I have no idea if that’s what caused this accident, I was catching Jini (I totes love her, y’all have to meet her!) but this is the kind of shit I think about when I hear about accidents like this.  Anyway, it was totally serious and I wish I could convey how important it is to belay attentively, no matter what…but some of you mother fuckers are gonna’ do what you wanna’ do, and that’s fine.  You will not be catching me while you’re doing it, or any of my friends.  Don’t think I’m not watching, either, ’cause I’m totally shallow and judgmental like that, you can ask anyone.

Anyway then a second thing happened.  Remember that game that we used to play when we were kids?  The one where one person told another person something and you had to whisper what you heard to the next person until the last person said out loud something that in no way even closely resembled what the first person said?  Yeah, that happened.  As we walked to different walls and talked to people, everybody had heard about the accident, and everybody had a different story.  The belayer wasn’t paying attention, the climber shit himself and some got on the rope which ate through and caused the fall, the belayer had a recalled “Grigri of Death”…everybody had a different story.  So hot.

I didn’t think about that part too much.  Climbers are gossipy.  That’s why Austin is awesome…if you’re a douche, chances are everybody in town knows about it and doesn’t want to climb with you anymore.  And all of the people with really low self-esteems will want to fuck you.  Just remember it’s a double-edged sword, ya’ douche bag.

So, in conclusion, some shit happened at Reimers in Austin and I didn’t really see it even though I was standing right fucking there because Jini was climbing (that girl is a national treasure…) and I was paying attention to that.  But it happened, and somebody got dropped.  He lived but didn’t take off his shirt, which still kind if irks me, but I’m glad he’s alive to take off his shirt another day.  Also, in a similar but un-related vein (since I have no idea how the accident happened), the business of belaying is quite serious, and failure to perform your duty properly could lead to someone else’s death.

This is Jini, being awesome, which is totally her "neutral" setting, and she only fluctuates between "kind of awesome" and "Holy Fuck that's awesome".

Yay Climbing!

Everything I Know About Gender Identity Disorder, I Learned On A Climbing Blog

No, you won’t.  But you could maybe start here.  Also, I apologize that this isn’t the funniest post in the history of HC…I’m a little hesitant to put to much cock and irreverence in this post ’cause, let’s be honest, there are some things that are serious.  And you can get cock anywhere, you whore.

Fair warning:  I am not, nor do I claim to represent, the transsexual climbing community. I climb with a couple of gender variant people and I’ve been lucky enough to learn a lot about these issues from them.  I think it’s incredibly important for the HC community to be educated about this stuff because of who we are, and the diverse community we’re trying to create.  (side-note…despite what you may see in pictures, we’re not all plain-Jane gay boys…we just have a couple of queens who always jump in front of whatever under-represented minority we’re trying to get pictures of in order to prove that they really do come on our trips.)

Some additional (unimportant) history:  When I came out of the closet, my mother told me “I get the gay thing, but don’t you show up at my house in a dress.”  I realized at that point that, as hard as it is to be gay, it’s got to be infinitely harder to be transgender.  I’ve known for years that I wasn’t built with the courage it takes to live the life of some of my transgender friends, but I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have them…friends who’ve exercised what can only be described as a massive ass-load of patience in helping to educate me (and continue to do so) not only on how they want to be treated, but how I can best serve as an ally.

OK, that’s done…let’s talk.

Did you know that people who do not identify as the gender with which they were born are considered mentally ill by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders(DSM), published by the American Psychiatric Association?  Google it…it’s called “Gender Identity Disorder.”  Isn’t that cute?  Gender identity is a disorder…so I guess we’re going with the whole “God don’t make no mistakes” thing here?  The APA, you may remember, is the same group who voted to delete homosexuality from the DSM in the late 70′s, thus clearing the way for…well, for a lot.  Our opponents had a wonderful time denying all manner of civil liberties to a group of gay people who were considered mentally ill, and now the same groups are having a field day doing the exact same thing to our transgender friends.

So the answer is obvious…we have to petition to have Gender Identify Disorder removed from the DSM RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!  Shit…hang on a second…

Removing the diagnosis from the DSM means insurance companies can stop covering gender reassignment procedures.  Do you have ANY fucking idea what it costs to transition from male to female?  Average is about $20,000.  Up-front.  That’s right, those surgeons aren’t fucking around, they want their money in advance.

So let’s petition to keep Gender Identity Disorder in the DSM RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!! Shit…wait…

People with the diagnosis still need civil liberties, which are pretty fucking hard to come by when you’ve been labeled a mentally ill man or woman (never mind your true gender, dear, we’re going to further denigrate a key part of your life experience by continuing to refer to you by the gender with which you were born.)

So what’s the answer?  Fuck if I know.  The odds are against the APA to removing GID from the DSM all-together, but there seems to be some momentum building to reform the diagnosis to lessen the stigma while simultaneously increasing the access to treatment options.  One of the leading proponents of this change has been Kelley Winters.  You can read more here, if you’re so inclined.

Wow…you’re still here?  Well, I guess you’ve earned this:

Yeah, that's Rowland. Spank away, my friends. Spank away.

I Fucked Up, But Luckily No One Was Hurt.

note:  this post was written by Emma, the HC ambassador from GLAM climb of Texas.  Emma fucking rocks.

Emma bouldering at Lake Belton...you should always believe someone from Homo Climbtastic when they tell you someone fucking rocks.

Hey kids, this is Emma – y’all probably don’t know me because I’m a broke ass who spends her money on bicycle parts instead of climbing trips.  I do most of my climbing in the Austin area with GLAM, I’m not too horrible at it.  Yesterday I went out and did some fucks up so bad, I thought I’d write a list for y’all so you won’t repeat my mistakes.  I had a lot of time to think about this list while I was clinging to the rock fifteen feet above my last bolt and about a foot away from the sport anchors while not being 100% on belay.

1)      Always check your rope.  All of your rope, not just the first 30 feet.  I don’t care if the person who first took you rock climbing was the last one to pack it up.  Check it every fucking time.  If we had checked the rope yesterday, I wouldn’t be writing this list.  We didn’t check the rope.  That’s why I was stuck up on the rock while my belayer and a kind stranger were working on removing a massive knot from the middle of it.

2)      Take your freaking slings up with you.  Yeah, they look pretty attached to a tree holding all your extra quick draws but you spent $50 bucks on that shit for CLIMBING, not organizing.  If I had taken the extra 30 seconds to attach the extra 1/8th of a pound to my harness, I could have just clipped in to the chains and hung out all protected and shit.

3)      If you’re not going to take your slings up, at least take an extra quick draw or two, even if the climb you’re on has sport anchors.  I usually take two extras, but this time I only took the exact right amount for the bolts like a fucking dumbass.

4)      You know that hard route you can climb?  The one that you can usually get set up but it still challenges you?  Don’t warm up on that one, climb something easy first.

5)      Keep your insurance card on you*.  Or at least a copy of it in your gear bag.  I had my insurance card in my extra wallet that was in my car…at my climbing partner’s house because we carpooled in her car.  Had I fallen, not having my insurance information would have created one more thing I’d have to deal with, possibly in a motorized wheel-chair.

6)      Did I mention checking your mother fucking rope?  Really, check your rope.  Might be a good idea to have your belayer check it, too.

*#5 might only apply to people in the US.  I don’t know how Canadian health care works since all the Canadians I know are sexy motherfuckers that don’t inspire thoughts of health care when I look at them.

Oh My God Y’all Have So Much Fun!

Fair warning:  I’m writing this whole piece of fuckery on an airplane after having endured the gigantic titty fucking bullshit ass-rape that is an Asian airline check-in.  The woman in front of me saw a microwave on another woman’s luggage carrier and started screaming in Mandarin at her husband “See, we could have brought it!”  I bumped into some douche-tard’s luggage rack (which he thoughtfully placed in the middle of the walkway) and was accosted by said douche-tard, causing me to burn through the last of my self-control in an effort not to open his skull with his wife’s knock-off Louis Vuitton mirkin holder and eat the soft parts.

And that's how Mommy planes and Daddy planes make Baby planes!

Unfortunately, this trip to Asia has obliterated any chance I had of attending HC Summer Trip 2011, and to say that I’m fucking bummed would be a massive understatement.  On the up-side, I haven’t slept in 38 hours and I’ve been waxing nostalgic about my many many many (three) years of hanging with the boys and girls of HC, so I’m gonna’ lay down a piece of delirium-riddled memory glitter for you fuckers.  Remember, if something doesn’t sound right, chalk it up to the jet-lag.  That, or the gigantic bowl of congee I just inhaled after sprinkling something called “Tuna Floss” all over it…fuck…I think it’s giving me tracers.

I am not fucking kidding, this shit's amazing.

So yeah, I remember looking all over for an LGBT rock climbing group.  I came up with the old Stonewall climbers group, noticed that not a fucking soul is on there, and chalked it up to experience.  Finally, I stumbled across the Homo Climbtastic group on Facebook and decided to hook up with them in West Virginia that July.  I recruited a couple other Austin climbers, rented a mini-van, and started planning the trip…I guess I could’ve gone alone, but I had no fucking idea who any of these people were.  HC was un-fucking-known…I think Rowland was kinda’ shocked that other people were gonna’ show up for this junk show, too…so I felt better knowing that I’d have people to climb with in case nobody else came.  Or if I found out that HC was Ashton Kutcher’s way of punking me back after that unfortunate glory-hole incident.  Sorry Demi, I thought you knew about it, girl!  Call me, bitch…

This is what you get when you do a Google image search for Ashton Kutcher Glory Hole. It'll have to do.

We were also worried that the climbing would be a little too aggressive for some of the members of the Austin crew.  Alyson and I both led 5.11-ish pretty easily back in Austin, and Maddy could lead around 5.8 at the time, but we all had ropes and gear and verve and magical pixie dust and hopes and dreams and prick us do we not fucking bleed or whatever…Goddammit, keep it together, girl…just keep cool…bring it down a notch…I need a nap, y’all.  I need a nap so fucking bad.  Yeah, so we finally decided that fuck it, we had two relative newbies with us but dammit they were our newbies, and we’d take care of them.  And we did.  I don’t recommend showing up without having ever climbed before.  I almost wrote “unless you’re amazing hot” but do you know something?  I think even amazing hot brand-newbies who show up at an HC trip are probably not going to have a wonderful time…seriously, y’all can laugh all you want, but I really do think that Homo Climbtastic is first about have fun climbing, and after that it’s what the fuck ever else happens.  And taking care of someone, while possibly emotionally fulfilling, is not how we want to spend our vacations.  Now, if you’re a good belay and at least know how to clean a route, then Goddammit you better show up ‘cause someone will let you hop on a top-rope as long as you agree to clean the route or belay them up.  I’m just saying this isn’t the best place to show up with new gear and have someone teach you how to use it.

I conned Alyson, Lorig, and Maddy into agreeing to come with me in the end, and as we packed Alyson’s vegan food (that shit is fucking BULKY) I got the skinny from my climbing partners.  They’d held a lesbian/gender queer caucus without me, evidently, and the result was that we were not going to fucking camp with the rest of the gang since we were pretty sure we would be the only group not having a gigantic orgy and keeping everyone up all goddamn night.  We were going to camp somewhere without showers and bathe in a fucking river or something.  I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that the Austin posse rolled up in to Miss West Virginia fully prepared to be all by ourselves for the entire goddamn trip, thank you very fucking much.  Well, that and this dude I was dating at the time only let me go on the condition that I would be surrounded by lesbians the whole trip.  Yeah, that relationship didn’t last.

Lorig was our late-night trucker and pulled the graveyard shift from Texarkana to about Memphis…I’ll never understand how she does that shit…but we rolled into Fayettesville, West Virginia after a full 26 hour drive.  I convinced everyone that we at least needed to give the HC people a chance, so we rolled up to the hostel and kinda’ crashed.  All of our tough talk was some bullshit when we realized we were fucking tired and fucking hungry, so we pitched camp in the back of the hostel telling ourselves that we’d go find a more rugged camping experience the next day.  Or something, fuck it.  Rowland, Mikey, and CPowell all showed up a little later that night and came back to say hi, but since Austin was so fucked up from the drive we weren’t very good company.  Well, that and we had no idea who these people were.  I later learned that Mikey took a gigantic fucking leap of faith, too, in flying from SFO to Atlanta to meet up with Rowland for the trip.  CAS, as it happens, wouldn’t have known a soul if someone hadn’t asked her to pick up Ryan, at the time a complete stranger…point being we were all taking some pretty big chances on this deal.

Over the next 8 or so hours, Homo Climbtastic Summer Trip 2009 took shape.  The Canadian crew showed up, CAS rolled into the hostel with Ryan, Michigan came in early one morning I think with the Jon’s and Chavez, then New York showed up with Robbie (Hi Robbie, we miss you!).  There were more, of course, but an amazing thing happened to the Austin crew…our aggressive separatist stance melted away, and as we experienced HC in all its glory, we were forever changed.  Climbing with the group all day, dinner at Pies & Pints, then impromptu pole-dancing lessons in the common area at night…I just don’t know how it gets any fucking better than that.  2010 was more of the same, except in 2010 we all knew one-another and were able to promote the trip a little better, so more people could show up without worrying that we weren’t real.

And so, my darlings, I hope that HC Summer Fagtastic HomoErotic Climbings Throbbing Hot Wet Lip Fuck 2011 (Jesus Christ, who named this fucking trip??) is as wonderful for you as the last several years have been for me.  I’ve never met anyone who went on this trip and came away wishing they hadn’t, and I’ve never seen anyone show up by themselves who didn’t find someone to hang out with.  The climbing is amazing and you’ll have a fucking blast, but I think the most amazing thing about these trips is the realization that you are part of a community when you show up to be a part of Homo Climbtastic.  The Austin crew drove back to Texas with the very real sense that we were not alone, and that we wanted to continue to be a part of whatever the fuck this was.  I hope you’ll sign up and go on the trip.

Would You Like to Buy Some Chicle?

HC’s Spring trip is in full-swing, and that means that it’s Sponsorship time! We’ve been knocking on doors like a gang of 19 year olds trying to sell you some shitty knives, and emailing/calling/begging for sponsors always reminds me of being stuck in traffic in Guadalajara where those cute little kids come up to your window and try to sell you some chicle. I’m always super nice to those kids, ’cause I’m a decent goddamn human being, and sometimes I even give them a couple bucks. I see other people get really nasty & hateful with them. In case you were confused, this is a literary device called an allegory, and today I’m using it to exorcise my frustration with the good people at **** company for being snotty with me last summer. OK, so maybe the chicle kids don’t tell you that your marketing strategy is kind of lame, and will only appeal to 17-34 year old white men, but girl let’s be honest…if you can’t trust the people at Homo Climbtastic to be honest with you, then who the fuck you gonna’ trust?

You'd be a fool NOT to take marketing advice from this kid.

I’m also, as coincidence would have it, making “cold calls” to try & sell stuff for my real-life job…the one that actually pays my bills. Oh the rejection. If you’ve never worked in a sales position, then you just can’t grasp the humiliation we endure. And for some reason, every time I get involved in a job or in any type of organization, this is where I wind up…peddling my fucking chicle. Once, many many moons ago, I accidentally sold Cadillacs for a year. It wasn’t my fault, I was in a blackout. It was like, one night this guy invited me to a party & I woke up a year later driving a red Cadillac Eldorado with a geriatric sitting next to me telling me about his grand-daughter and how well we’d get along. Meth is a Hell of a drug. Anyfuck, I soon discovered that selling cars is one long, painful cold-call. I also learned that, as human beings, we deserve to be exterminated. My therapist says this is normal for someone who’s been through that type of trauma, and my attitude toward my fellow man seems to be getting better.

All of this is to give a huge, gigantic “THANK YOU” to our wonderful, amazing sponsors. Also, a gigantic “THANK YOU” to the companies who have been so gracious in their reply, even though they cannot sponsor us right now (I’m talking to you, Climb On!)

I have to go make more sales calls now. Hey, if any of you need a couple hundred thousand electronic components per month, give me a call…I’ll make you a killer deal.