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We set up base camp at twenty-five thousand feet. I remembered the first time I’d met Chit Polypreux in his tiny Haight Ashbury apartment. I was supposed to do an interview for Flaccid Dong and had spent the morning drinking chocolate soda and watching the heads on the corner, trying to soak up the scene. Eventually I wandered into his building and climbed the stairs. As soon as I walked into his room I heard a loud whirring sound, like a fan maybe, and my cigarette went out.
“Close the door!” screamed Chit, so I did.
Chit Polypreux sat lotus-style on the coffee table. His eyes were like saucers. A moment later I felt like my legs were about to collapse and that I might have to barf. I slid down the wall to the floor.
“Less than twenty-five percent of normal oxygen. I pump the air out for training.” He pointed to a whirring air pump duct taped through the window. “It’s the equivalent of thirty thousand feet in this apartment. Do you want some acid?”
I barfed up the chocolate soda and then took the acid. That was six months ago. I still haven’t turned in my story.
Now as I sit huddled in the corner of our tiny tent, feeling like I’m about to start barfing again, I watch Chit. He’s preparing a petuli enema and attaching custom crampons to his balls. I pay attention because this is the stuff the Flaccid Dong readers will be interested in. Our demographics show that sixty percent of readers are into the crossover mountaineering/S&M scene. He looks totally comfortable as he snaps the last steel crampon tooth into his scrotum. This story is really coming together.
Date Written: August 10, 2003
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.7143