THE PLAYERS
Chrystal Washburn.....Erica
Silas Rappe.......Brad
Zach Lowe........Todd
Marco Vandewater......Carlos
Carl Rappe.....Grieving Father
THE DISCLAIMER
As incredible as it might seem, the Zephyr Legal Department advised us that a disclaimer was absolutely necessary because most people are Big Dopes. So for the record: The Extreme Sports presented in this issue are not real. They're fake. If you try these sports at home (or anywhere else for that matter) you'll probably kill yourself or at least do serious damage to your body. So don't be as stupid as we already think you are.
Thank you.
The Publisher
Remember
those Fabulous 50s? Eating goldfish? Cramming phone booths? Playing Chicken
in your '57 Chevy with your best friend and his Studebaker? If you're
too young to remember, playing Chicken was a test of nerves. You faced
off against your opponent along a lonely stretch of asphalt, somewhere
out in the country usually. Somewhere away from adults.
When some guy named Larry gave the signal with his best girl's hankie, the two contestants and their hopped-up road hogs let loose with all their souped up V8s could muster, and took aim. The goal? To make the other guy "chicken out."
At speeds exceeding 100 mph, the two hot rods hurtled toward each other.
As the
distance between them narrowed, at an impact speed of more than 200 mph,
the sweaty-palmed drivers searched their souls---Do I want to win? Or
do I want to die?
Now...in the 21st century, Generation Z has claimed its own version of Chicken. In this Age of Mountain Dew and Yahoo, these guys don't need a vehicle other than their own well-tuned bodies, to prove their own courage and stupidity! No equipment needed (although head gear is recommended)! A flat stretch of ground is all you need to play Bi-Pedal Chicken.
In this demonstration, "Brad" and "Todd," both well-tuned
young athletes, spring to life and charge toward each other with an unheard
of single-minded determination. The gap between them closes rapidly. Who
will yield? Who will "chicken out?" 
Sadly both "Brad" and "Todd" lacked in brains what
they possessed in determination. In our touching last scene, the "father"
of one of the boys expresses shock and dismay while the Park Ranger issues
a citation for playing an extreme sport without a permit in a national
park.
Remember, if you're going to be stupid: ALWAYS GET A PERMIT!
Elsewhere in this issue is an article about the liberal climbing policy at Arches National Park. Of all parks in southern Utah, only Arches allows the unlimited placement of new bolts in the natural sandstone surface. Hell you can pound bolts any damn place you please, and we're not too happy about it.
And so we offer another new Xtreme Sport for Moab in the 21st century. Manual and Oral Bolt Pulling.
Throughout the park are literally hundreds of steel expansion anchor bolts, although it appears some of these bonehead climbers think using common hardware store bolts and squirting epoxy around them is adequate. Never mind all that. We're pulling them! Think of Arthur and Excalibur and extracting that sword from the stone. This is your mission. Glory awaits!
Manual bolt pulling is for wimps but it’s great exercise, great for the abs and pecs and all those other muscles that only you people who do this kind of crap would know. To perform this feat, always travel with a small piece of webbing. This is your "handle" to victory. Simply attach the webbing to the hanger and pull until you almost herniate yourself. Hitting the bolt first with a hammer or sledge is not allowed (unless you're sick of this stupid sport and just want the damn bolt out of there for aesthetic reasons).
Oral bolt pulling offers a real challenge. You need strong teeth for this (tres forte!) and a reckless personality . But hey...you only live once. Get down on the rock, wrap those pearly whites around the top of the expansion bolt and let 'er rip! If you can pull bolts out of sandstone with your teeth, you can conquer the world!
And remember, bolts left in the rock for more than 24 hours become "abandoned property" in the eyes of the law, so no crimes are being committed. You're merely keeping our parks clean. Afterwards, make sure you've brought some silicone epoxy and a little sand. The right amount of both in the now-empty hole will restore that damaged sandstone and nobody will know that a hole was ever there.
Happy pulling!
For years
now, we have all had to endure the antics of America's Most Beloved Morons;
yes, I'm talking about BASE jumpers. BASE stands for Building-Antennae-Span-Earth.
Pretty damn cute, eh? These are people with way too much time on their
hands. They like to illegally leap from tall buildings and bridges and
radio towers and get their names in the paper and on the ten o'clock news,
and then, when they get injured, they're more than willing to let underpaid
and overworked rescue workers put their own lives on the line to save
the BASE jumpers' sorry asses.
I always love the recent story of a BASE jumper who leaped off an I-70 bridge on the San Raphael Swell, convinced that the canyon below was at least 700 feet deep. It was only 250. Ooops.
Not only are these people idiots, they're sissies. A BASE jumper once told me that there was a lot more to BASE jumping than cheap thrills. "Have you ever known what it's like to soar like a hawk?" he said. "No," I replied, "and neither do you. Try
it without a parachute and then check back with me."
And there's the rub. These guys don't "soar." They sink like stones until they pull that precious ripcord. They're wusses. Pansies. Gutless losers! Why be a little mama's boy BASE jumper, when you can be a BASS Jumper?
BASS Jumping stands for Bonehead who likes to carry on like an ASS. Although the name itself has nothing to do with fish, the proper use of one type of our underwater cousins is critical to proper BASS jumping.
The bass is an edible spiny-finned fish of the Centrarchidae and Serranidae families and the large-mouth bass is a favorite of most sportsmen. Dang tasty too. Now we've discovered another quality in the large-mouth bass that had been heretofore ignored and unappreciated. That quality is its ability to create aerodynamic drag. This fish's mouth is so large that when it plummets mouth-down through the thicker levels of the lower atmosphere, the mouth literally inflates like a parachute. A BASS jumper, with a bass in each hand, can safely leap from any high promontory if he manipulates the bass's mouth properly.
Sadly, in our demonstration, young "Todd" didn't know his bass from a guppy. He jumped off his father's ice cream truck with two large but very thin-lipped goldfish and sank like a very heavy rock to the desert floor.
So remember, if you try this sport, be sure to know your bass.
Feeling run down? Sluggish? Out of sorts? You've tried prunes and laxatives and not a darn thing works? Well, isn't it time you tried the Colonic Floss Tug-O-War? Go down to the store and get some colonic floss like our friend Carlos did. Then find two strapping young men like our "Brad" and "Todd," who are just looking for a good game of Tug-O-War.
But this ain't no ordinary game of Tug-O-War. In fact, this is simply a derivative of a procedure once practiced by the great Mohandas Gandhi. Mo liked to slowly swallow string, one inch at a time, until, twenty-six feet later, the string (or floss if you will) exited from a lower body orifice. The reasons why Gandhi did this are lost in myth and legend.
In the 21st century we've taken this age old practice and given it an Xtreme Spin. "Brad" and "Todd" are ready and eager to see which of them is the strongest and, at the same time, make sure that Carlos has a smooth-flowing digestive system.
After twenty minutes, it's a draw! Neither "Brad" nor "Todd" has been able to win the Tug-O-War. But hey...the real winner is Carlos. After this simple procedure, he's throwing away his 48 oz. jar of gooey thick vegetable laxative. From now on, when he wants fast action, he'll call "Brad" and "Todd." They know how to put a winning smile on Carlos' face!
The touchstone of any safe technical climb is the reliability of the belayer. He/she takes responsibility for the "safety rope," the rope that prevents the climber from falling in case of a mishap. The belay rope is the backup, and the belayer makes it happen. But the belayer's ability to prevent a tragedy depends mainly on the anchor point--that fixed location that is "bombproof," an anchor that will withstand the sudden g forces of a plummeting body. The anchor point is usually a large rock, or tree, or several bolts set in the rock (illegal almost everywhere except Arches National Park).
But
not here, Buckaroo. This is Body Pierce Belay Country! Do you have body
pierce rings all over your body? Have you been wondering if they have
any functional value (other than the fact that they just look so
gosh-darned good? Do you want to put your rings to the test? Well here's
the opportunity of a lifetime!
Yes, it's the tri-equalizing Body Pierce Belay anchor. "Brad" volunteered for this hazardous yet strangely stimulating task, because he is already adorned with two of the three anchor points that are absolutely necessary to perform this task properly and safely. The ear and nipple piercing points are real! We merely had to add a fake nose ring to perfect this extremely distasteful simulation.
Although you can't see him in these photographs, "Brad" is actually providing a physical belay for Grand County Attorney candidate Bill Schultz. At well over 200 pounds, this was a real test for "Brad's" strength, endurance and dopiness. We're pleased to tell you that "Brad" got an "A" on all counts. Sadly, his right nipple now droops a bit, but sometimes there's a price to be paid for Glory.
