Confessions of a Reverse-Bro

cha bro

cha bro

If you all haven’t figured it out already: I’m a reverse-bro. I train hard to have an intimidating thunder from down under six-pack, I date-raped my boyfriend into loving me, and I expect men to be pretty and smile all the time. There are about one billion other examples that I will maybe allude to as we journey together through this slightly humiliating blog post.

“Why are you a reverse-bro? Isn’t that unfair? Did you really date-rape someone? I hate you??”

First of all, yes*, of course I date-raped him, you think I’m some kind of fag? Get out of my way before I shove this Beast Ice down your throat. Secondly, yeah, reverse-broism is totes unfair. Counterpoint: so is institutionalized sexism, so… *shrug*. Lastly, I am a reverse-bro as a result of plate tectonics. Wait, no, that’s continents. I don’t know, it just happened subconsciously while I was growing up I guess. When I was a kid I would do things like get the boy’s toy in my happy meal at McDonald’s because I didn’t want to fit into a lame stereotype (also the girl’s toy always sucked).

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Lair of the Leviathan

graffiti

Sacred places.

There are legends, dark, yet compelling, that tell of a breed of curious, sinewy land-leviathans who once roamed these salty plains. With tails made of wire, eyes of broken glass, and hearts protected by tin sheaths, they were mysterious party animals. In fact, there was a cave they used to frequent and ceremoniously trash with bad graffiti, excrement, and beer bottles.

It was inside of this very cave where I found the boulder problem that became my summer project. Rumor has it this problem does have a name (Caveman v7), but my faith in humanity is preventing me from accepting that people are still naming cave problems Caveman, so I have dubbed it Lair of the Leviathan in humble tribute to the creatures whose sanctuary it was for so long.

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Having A Bad Day?

Taco salad is a load of crap and if this were a decent world, when you ordered it what you would receive are Nachos.

There are no first ascents left in the world. Lizards have already done them all, and we are slime.

All photos that aren’t of you are just blank selfies!

If you poop in the woods, and no one is there to hear it, why did you even go to all the trouble?

Sharknado would have been slightly less unrealistic if it had been Crocnado instead, but it’s too late for that. Your happiness is your own responsibility, and the ever-dark lord has given you Sharknado 2.

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Left Fork Pool Boyz

One of the underbosses throwing the LF by the pool.

One of the underbosses throwing the LF by the pool.

This is the tale of my initiation and rise to the top of the Left Fork Pool Boyz gang.  POOL BOYYYZ!

It all began on a rest day in Joe’s Valley. I was sitting by the river thinking about how shitty and ugly this slow-moving section was, when three big scary dudes walked up and started rearranging it with their fists. MAKE A POOL HERE. I joined in; a lot of gangs initiate you by beating you up, but we just spent almost an entire day moving one giant log. It was an initiation of will.  The Pool Boyz became my family, and we had each other’s backs. Live by the pool, die by the pool.

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