Life is hard. The amount of bullshit most folks deal with on the daily is ridiculous. You’ve got shitty co-workers, a boss who thinks sick days are a privilege, your back hurts, and all you want to do is get the fuck out of Dodge. Most folks are stuck with a measly 2 weeks of time off. So why in the name of all things holy would you want to squander it by doing amateur stunt work? Vacations are for lying around, eating food, seeing cool things, and sleeping late. Vacations are not for thrill-seeking. You already do that every day when you text while driving, or cut off a conceal and carry nutjob just looking for a reason.
Allow me to show you why your favorite thrill-seeking activities are actually the dumbest things you could do and you should feel shame for wanting to do them.
Mankind has spent centuries trying to fly. From kites to gliders to hot air balloons to whatever the fuck it was Da Vinci threw together, humans have tried everything to get up in the air and stay there. They jumped off of towers, flapped wings made of feathers and bad decisions, and ultimately plummeted back to Earth. As they lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, they would gaze at a lone seagull drifting in the airstream and pray for another chance to stay aloft. So you see, my dislike of jumping out of perfectly fine airplanes has historical precedent.
It’s not even that cool. People sign up to go skydiving and think it’s gonna be like Point Break. They think they’ll be Johnny Utah floating around, chasing bad guys. The reality is you’ll be strapped to the chest of your instructor, Danny from Peoria, IL. He’s the type of dude who aggressively wears Oakley sunglasses and says shit like, “Skydiving is the most addictive drug in the world,” even though he’s had an alcohol and cocaine problem since 1994.
You probably won’t die doing it but if you do, everyone will talk mad shit about you. And you’ll deserve it. You’ll no longer be known as the great karaoke singer or the person who can grill a great burger. You’ll be known as the dumbass who fell out of a plane. Your ex will say, “I can’t believe I almost married that broke-ass, Icarus wannabe motherfucker.”
Safer Option: If you want a frightening plane experience, book a flight on Spirit Airlines with at least 2 stops.
I’ve lived my whole life in the Midwest. The closest we get to mountains are sledding hills that are actually landfills. I gotta tell you, there is nothing like the sweet mix of adrenaline and methane to create priceless childhood memories.
When I finally saw real mountains, I could hardly believe it. My family drove from Chicago to Colorado through flat Illinois, flat Iowa, and flat Nebraska. To see the Rocky Mountains slowly rise up on the horizon was surreal. I totally understand why John Denver chose to get high and write about mountains as a career. The sight of those mountains caused a sense of awe and wonder I had never experienced.
Do you know what else mountains cause? Dying. All sorts of dying. People die on their way up. They die on their way down. They slowly die from exhaustion. They die violently by falling into a crevasse. If you die up there your ex will say, “I can’t believe I almost married that broke-ass, abominable snowman wannabe motherfucker.”
Do you know how people navigate Mt. Everest? By following the dead bodies of previous climbers! Can you imagine any other instance in which that would be tolerated? Directions to the highway? ‘Sure, turn left at the corpse in the yellow jacket, but if you see the body with purple Doc Martens you’ve gone too far’.
The ways in which I despise mountain climbing are endless. At least in skydiving, you have the excitement of jumping out of a plane. With mountain climbing, you reach the top of a peak that a bunch of people have already visited. You can’t see shit because there are clouds everywhere. Even if the clouds weren’t there, you still couldn’t see shit because you are so deprived of oxygen that you’ve become dizzy to the point of delirium. No thanks.
Safer Option: Watch the criminally underrated Sylvester Stallone masterpiece Cliffhanger.
For all the scuba divers in the chat, let’s be honest: all you do is annoy fish. Much like when you showed up uninvited to your cousin’s wedding, nobody wants you there. Those poor fish have been chilling for millennia, minding their own damn business, and then you come poking around in your tights, jamming flashlights in their faces.
Like there isn’t enough to see above land? You’re so intrepid of a traveler that you have exhausted all dry terrain? You need the excitement of succumbing to barotrauma or nitrogen narcosis to get your rocks off?
Jacques Cousteau was the only scuba diver to make it look cool. He had the outfits, the hat, the pipe. That smooth motherfucker popped out of the water looking like he was headed to Monaco to play baccarat all night. He’s the only one. Can you name another famous scuba diver? Nope, because nobody cares that you found a new type of fish that nobody gives a shit about.
Just like with mountain climbing, I believe that any activity that involves extra oxygen is a stupid thing to do. An oxygen tank means you are doing something humans are not supposed to be doing. Therefore, if you die scuba diving, folks will talk mad shit about you. Your ex will say, “I can’t believe I almost married that broke-ass, Finding Nemo motherfucker.”
Safer Option: Take a bath and binge-watch The Blue Planet.