nor this....lolredpo¡nt wrote:Hopefully this weekend I can go out bolting with Kipp. He is a pretty good guy, except when he gets a little too excited about climbing and bolting. I tell Kipp things like "calm down" and "keep a lid on it buddy." But I just love his enthusiasm orgasms. Kipp carries my gear, does spit tests for me and measures potential deck distances for bolt placement. We are putting new stuff up that you are going to be stoked to get on and we are trying our best to keep you safe.
Is there any training anchors in pendergrass?
Positive vibes brah...positive vibes.
Would the REAL redpoint please stand.
Hang on . . . would the rest of you F-ers please sit! YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO BE CLONES! Your memories, IMPLANTED!
Remember when you were six? You and your brother snuck into an empty building through a basement window. You were going to play doctor. He showed you his, but when it got to be your turn you chickened and ran; you remember that? You ever tell anybody that? Your mother, me, anybody? Remember the spider that lived outside your window? Orange body, green legs. Watched her build a web all summer, then one day there's a big egg in it. The egg hatched... and a hundred baby spiders came out... and they ate her. Implants. Those aren't your memories, they're somebody else's.
Hang on . . . would the rest of you F-ers please sit! YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO BE CLONES! Your memories, IMPLANTED!
Remember when you were six? You and your brother snuck into an empty building through a basement window. You were going to play doctor. He showed you his, but when it got to be your turn you chickened and ran; you remember that? You ever tell anybody that? Your mother, me, anybody? Remember the spider that lived outside your window? Orange body, green legs. Watched her build a web all summer, then one day there's a big egg in it. The egg hatched... and a hundred baby spiders came out... and they ate her. Implants. Those aren't your memories, they're somebody else's.
OK fine . . . all modern tragedies have to reach an apex. They have to jump the shark
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jumping_the_shark
.___ If cloning were a concept back in Ancient Grecian times, Achilles surely would have met his, and they would have engaged in a mortal scuffle, grabbing at each other's heals. All modern long-running heroic tragedies have to have a clone saga--a point is reached at which the writers can think of nothing else. At some point the imagination sags like a flaccid segment of elastic removed from the cherubic midriff of the chubby girl. The sad undergarment reflects her tortured middle school years in the same way that the clone saga reflects the agonizing motions of a beleaguered story trying to survive.
.___ How many crazy attempts at honing Redpoint's climbing skills can appear in this Red River tale? How many windmills can our quixotic figure, tilt against without a science fiction element in the story running amok? These are modern times readers; your forgiveness please.
.___ In any case I am sure that Redpoint will live in the eerie glow while tales of his enthusiasm and tenacity are told around the campfires at climbing venues from the Red to Gritstone to Adamsfield, Tasmania. This is the nature of the anti-hero, who lites a pale LED powered by an ailing battery in the very darkest chamber of our hearts.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jumping_the_shark
.___ If cloning were a concept back in Ancient Grecian times, Achilles surely would have met his, and they would have engaged in a mortal scuffle, grabbing at each other's heals. All modern long-running heroic tragedies have to have a clone saga--a point is reached at which the writers can think of nothing else. At some point the imagination sags like a flaccid segment of elastic removed from the cherubic midriff of the chubby girl. The sad undergarment reflects her tortured middle school years in the same way that the clone saga reflects the agonizing motions of a beleaguered story trying to survive.
.___ How many crazy attempts at honing Redpoint's climbing skills can appear in this Red River tale? How many windmills can our quixotic figure, tilt against without a science fiction element in the story running amok? These are modern times readers; your forgiveness please.
.___ In any case I am sure that Redpoint will live in the eerie glow while tales of his enthusiasm and tenacity are told around the campfires at climbing venues from the Red to Gritstone to Adamsfield, Tasmania. This is the nature of the anti-hero, who lites a pale LED powered by an ailing battery in the very darkest chamber of our hearts.
Last edited by redpo¡nt on Sun Mar 21, 2010 4:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
