Here’s an article I wrote for Vice. They haven’t published it yet, so screw it, it’s going here.


There are a shit-ton of inventions out there. Sure, some are fucked up and delightful like the Condometric—a condom that has a ruler on it. Brilliant. But most of them are raccoon-shite mashed together with bull-shite. Kinda like that weasel that created snuggies. Dipshit.

But I have a concept for an invention that will blow all your little Celine Dion-loving minds. That is, dudes will fuckin’ love it and I’ll systematically piss off a shitload of feminists. But it’s sunny out today, so fuck it, let’s party on.

So here’s the deal: A boob rock-climbing wall. Yeah, for those crazies that love to climb tall rock-like thingies, indoors. But this one, in lieu of having lame mulit-coloured “holds,” you’ll have multi-coloured breasts. And the best part—wait for it, children—is that they’ll be various sized mamos (that would be boobs for all you cretins). What better way to climb a giant deformed wall in some abandoned warehouse in the suburbs than to have the innate drive to grab a whole lot of boobies? It’s only natural. Come on, this writes itself. I’m pretty sure all other rock climbing walls will become extinct effective immediately. (Note: copyright is pending, so don’t bite my shit.)

So imagine this, and just entertain me here: You’re melancholy because that lovely partner of yours found interest (euphemism for found another wiener) in someone else. You’re destitute and all that shit. Now, your friends want to take you out to get shithead-drunk. You oblige. Then they throw a twist at you: you’re going to the Boob Wall! You’re ecstatic, obviously, as you’ve only heard rumblings of this magical, distant land. This is like the Chuck E. Cheese for adolescent dumbasses. Kinda like the pre-strip bar workout.

So you drive to this giant warehouse in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and enter. This giant wall, illuminated by buzzing florescent light bulbs overhead, comes into sight. You nearly pass out. This thing – this “exercise machine,” this thrill-seeking tool—is actually cool. It has boobs. You start to well up in the corners of your eyes, unable to hold your emotions or natural instinct to rip all your clothes off and mount said “rock” wall. You refrain, only remove your douchey V-neck and begin to navigate your ascension to The Heavens (this would be an actual perch at the top of the wall with the most-perfect, impossibly golden breasts ever imagined.) You climb said wall for 18 minutes going up and down for a lot of money, laugh with your buddies and go home.

With a massive erection.

Written by Ryan Bolton

Ryan is a Toronto-based writer and photographer that likes to break the rules. His work has taken him around the world to do what he truly loves—storytelling. And drinking cold beer.