What up? Last week, Rachel and I left the kids for a day of sick skiing at Snowbird since Dave scored free tickets. Don't hate. Neither of us had been skiing for 5 years or so. We took the tram to the tip top of the mountain. After about 3 sweet turns, we were on a black diamond called, something like, Johnson''s Death Cliff. It was 'ight though 'cause Rachel and I rock the slopes, yo. Actually, we were trippin' for reals 'cause the fog was killer thick and we couldn't see more than 10 feet ahead of us. Then there was this dude and he was like, "What's going down?" and we were like, "Yo, we're looking for the easy way down." And he was like, you're gonna die." And we were like, "You're messin' with us, dude." and he was like, "no, you're on Johnson's death cliff, but I'll take ya down." and we were like, "Thanks man, keep it real." And just like that, we survived and found ourselved some tight slopes that were more our level. I know, right? It was awesome.
It snowed all day fo' sho' but the powder was sick.
Gotta punk out
Acknowledgments: My brain. It seriously hurt my brain to write this. And, Steep and Cheap, Shark Tales and evite.com
