Bloble

So, blogs. Finicky things, I've heard. Seems everybody's got one these days. As someone aiming to become the youngest old man ever, it's my duty to finally catch on to this crazy new phenomenon years after it's begun to show up, hopefully with a badly edited, poorly realized post that most likely doesn't belong in a blog at all.

Mountains suck. Just wanna say this right off the bat. They're horrible, and anyone who thinks otherwise should feel horrible. Oh sure, they're nice and pretty to look at when they're a couple hundred kilometres away from you, but then again, I could say the same for a nuclear detonation or rain clouds, which suck almost as much. When you actually get up to a mountain, as in right in front of it, you will either immediately realize how bad it is, or succumb to the mental disease affecting 98% of humanity, one that I'd like to call 'Everest Syndrome', something which in no way is a reference to this entire blog post (don't Google that name, seriously). Everest Syndrome's symptoms are the sudden urge to get to the top of this mountain even though there's no particular reason to do so. People can cite the view, or the challenge, but I'll once again point to nuclear detonations as a counter example of equally evil things that give plenty of both.

Anyway, back to mountains, and more importantly, Skiing. Yeah, I'm introducing the main point of this no doubt essay length blog two whole paragraphs in. I'm looking at some beautiful sentence-length blog posts right now and wondering where my writing skill has run off to. For shame, Bloble, for shame.

So Skiing sucks almost as much as Mountains. I say almost because skiing, although it very much involves mountains, doesn't explicitly have to. It's like how Hitler is worse than Nazis even though they outnumber him greatly. You might find one or two that aren't complete monsters, but moustache man cannot be forgiven. Cross country skiing exists, doesn't it? I'm not Googling to find out.

Anyway, I've noticed throughout my eighteen years of life that most people have a sport. Some have more, others have things that barely count as sports (table tennis, DDR, thumb wrestling), and I have skiing. It's pretty much the only physical activity I can say I'm more than decent at. I'm actually fairly good, I think, for a guy whose only knowledge is 'make a pie/V/pizza shape to slow down' and 'lean into the mountain, moron'. I can usually go down most courses without a problem, and my parents tell me I'm the best of the family. To my knowledge, I haven't once fallen down since I was six and had to do it on purpose to please my instructor.

It's too bad I'm also absolutely terrified of mountains, and in turn, skiing. There are good things about skiing, like the hot chocolate right afterwards, or getting to finally take off those horrible shoes, but I sadly don't get to enjoy those things nearly as much as I wish to. Instead, I'm forced down courses I don't want to even look at, and sent screaming down several kilometres worth of snow with only two stick in my hands and two strapped to my feet while those dastardly black diamonds wink at me out of the corners of my eyes. It's torture, and I'm apparently masochistic enough to come for seconds.

So yeah, that's the point of the blog. Not my mediocre fan fiction, crazy significant events are happening right now, or naked pictures of my sexy, sexy bod (sorry, Darples), just the fact that I hate skiing. Part Two will be coming soon (never), detailing things absolutely no one will want to read. And if this doesn't win the 'longest pointless blog post' award, I'll make sure that one will!

You're welcome.