The macho-men in this world say there are only a handful of times where it’s acceptable for a man to cry like a little girl.

The list includes something along the line of having a child born, losing a loved one/pet, being kicked in the nuts, etc..but certainly jumping out of a mothafvckin’ plane should be somewhere high on that list.

I don’t care how thorough and experienced your instructor is, how many safe hundreds or thousands of landings he’s made (14,253 on one count), the location’s safety record–25 years no “fatalities”–or how many hundreds of thousands of people in the world have done this before…when you’re leaping 2 miles off the ground, it’s perfectly acceptable to be screaming and wailling like a 5-year-old girl.

Humans were never meant to fly, evolution never gave us wings–or gave us gils to live under the sea, instead we got big brains to provide us with the instincts to help us survive on land. The term flight in fight or flight is used very figuratively.

However, often these brains of ours incur lapses of judgement in which they convince us that jumping out of a mothafvckin’ plane some 3200 meters up on the ground is a good idea.

If that’s not a case to disprove evolution I don’t know what is. Creationism all the way.

In any case, there were at least 6 of us that day that the anti-Darwinism crowd would be likely to support.

On that sunny Saturday morning which started off with what potentially was the last meal ever, we made the trek out to Lodi, CA, a little town that I’d been to just once before–for a funeral nonetheless–checked in, paid, got our numbers, signed a few authorization papers which mentioned the word death maybe 823241 times, and waited..and waited

3 hours of restless waiting later–which included riding around on a tire swing, which, incidentally made me dizzy and nauseous–we heard over the loud speaker, “Numbers 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58″, and we were off.

We met our “instructors” and camera crew, got strapped in, and bussed over to the plane. My guy said no more than maybe 3 things to me the whole time, “how’s it going”, “good luck”, and “ready?”. My responses of which to all were simple nods.

A 12 minute plane ride later in the worst plane man has ever designed, infusing gas fumes that made me want to pass out, we were at our peak point.

And the rest, the rest cannot be put into words, find it here: