Flip Flops…
…are for Ninjas and Badasses
…are for Ninjas and Badasses
There are very few times in a
rational human’s life when they see fit to change opinion due to monumental
intervention by those we choose to let enter our lives. Up until such moments, we have our opinions
and they usually do not budge. I’ve
always had a disdain for Flip Flops.
Just hearing the “Flip Flop Flip Flop
Flip Flop…” drove me up the fucking wall, ex-girlfriend kind of crazy. These sacks of shit that chose to adorn their
feet with these obnoxious forms of foot “protection” would show up to work in
the goddamned things! I once told one of
my employees that if he showed up to work in them again I would fire him…and
that I did.
Now as far as my change in opinion
goes… I met Ian Holmes in the high Andean mountains of Peru while I was
slitting the throat of a fluffy white sheep that I purchased from a local
Indian on the reserve that we were camped at.
I didn’t want to take the claustrophobic cambi ride back into town so I
negotiated the murder of one of these tasty treats for 40 soles in order to
prolong my stay in the mountains. Mr.
Holmes was accompanied by Bobby Taylor, who was overtaken a few days earlier by
a next-to-death
sickness,
more than likely acquired by ingesting fecal matter from one of the local street
vendors’ asses. Personal hygiene is not
exactly what the Peruvians are known best for.
These two Canadians put their mountain climbing adventure on hold and
joined us in the development of boulder problems in the Hatun Machay region to
let Mr. Taylor recover from his sudden illness.
A strong friendship formed quickly since we were the only white people
around and the local hostility pushed us to join forces against their racism. In my travels, I have met many Canadians and
my opinion of them was on the fence.
These two silly fucking Snow Mexicans were dead set on changing my mixed
views of their beady-eyed people. It would
be almost a year later when I decided to pay them a visit.
I arrived in Calgary around 4am
greeted by Mr. Holmes. Always wearing a
large grin, he informed me that we would be training our asses off for the next
two weeks. Weights, climbing, running,
swimming and anything else we could get ourselves into. Settling into the small apartment of the
humble Holmes, I took my shoes off and noticed a pair of what used to be neon orange flip
flops. Again,
I hate Flip Flops. Not the product
themselves, which I find quite comfy, but the idea of the sheer laziness that our culture adores them for. Now upon closer inspection one could see that
Mr. Holmes’ busted, dirty, sorry-ass excuse for Flip Flops had been quite
literally curb stomped into submission.
These poor lil flaps of foam were far past their expiration date. One of them had a strap that refused to stay
in its grommet hole, but every time it refused to stay Ian would jam it back in
and keep on flip flopping along. Now a
mucky dirty burnt orange collage of filth they stared up at me as I took their
picture. A thin sliver that had ripped
itself into existence showed the cold tile beneath it as if to say “Please!
Please kill me!” Mr. Holmes would have
none of this of course and it showed in his human form that he brutally stomped
equally into submission, making the sad little Flippy Floppies look like his
punk foot bitches. After spending a few
amazingly grueling training weeks with Mr. Holmes, I realized that if any one
man on this earth had earned the right to wear Flip Flops, merely held together
by scar tissue and rage, it was him.
P.S. Credit must be given where
credit is deserved. On my wonderfully
adventurous trip to Snow Mexico there was yet another full-fledged certifiably
badass motherfucker that without a doubt also earned this right…Bobby “The
Rebel Maple” Taylor. Bob and I ran down The Chief, a
very large rock face that towers over Squamish BC, after
climbing it, passing numerous chuffers in full hiking attire…he was in Flip
Flops sporting a full pack of traditional gear and a 70-meter rope wearing a
Gym Jones shirt that said “Un-fuck your Head.”
