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.
Soon, I was taking care of business. Protecting our turf by yelling “POOL BOYZ” out of the truck on the way to the Food Ranch, yelling “POOL BOYZ” at the pool itself, putting up first ascents, naming them after the LFPB and yelling “POOL BOYZ” from the top. It didn’t take long until you could hear “POOL BOYZ” echoing endlessly off of the valley walls. Everyone knew Left Fork was ours, we were the kings of the streets, Highways 29 and 57.
These were the golden days of the LFPB. We were patrolling Joe’s Valley, sending hard problems left and right. On hot days we would enjoy our sparkling pool, and on every day we would crush. One day we all amassed over 30 V-points.
The other members started to respect and fear me. Every morning I would shoot a mouse, just to see what it looked like on the inside because everyday I forgot, just like I would forget someone’s name who I just met, because no one else is important. At the height of my cruelty, I yanked a guy down off of a climb by the shorts and yelled “POOL BOYZ” right in his shiny little face, then pushed him into the pool. This kind of violence was a part of the game, and if you couldn’t handle it, I would rule you.
Eventually, I was running the Left Fork Pool Boyz, arranging whose beds horse heads would show up in, interrogating rats, snitches, and tattle-tales, collecting protection money from the Right Fork and New Joe’s suckaz. You name it, I was in control. And I still am. POOL BOYZ!!