"A million monkeys banging on a million typewriters for a million years will eventually reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare."

The other day a bunch of us from work went rock climbing in some indoor place in Toronto. We were all told to pair off and advised to choose carefully, because they held the rope at the bottom and literally, our life was in our partner's hands. Unlike grade school, this was one sport where I actually wanted the fat kid on my team.

Fortune had other plans for me though, and I ended up with a little slip of a girl who looked like a stiff breeze would carry her away. Already I was having visions of plummetting to the ground while she was yanked into the air by the other end of the rope, like a scene in some bad comedy.

As it turns out it really doesn't matter what the difference in weight is, the person at the bottom just has to know when to hold on to the rope and when to let go. Simple, right?

Twice she nearly dropped me. Fortunately the safety catch kicked in and kept me from hitting the ground. Hanging there suspended in mid-air I thought of being beaten by a mob of blindfolded kids with sticks looking for candy. Fortunately for me we were plenty far from Mexico.

The first walls were fairly easy but they got exponentially more difficult, to the point where you had to hoist yourself up with two fingers on a round rock while doing bicep curls with your free hand and riding a stationery bike with your legs.

I was exhausted by the end of it but it was an afternoon well-spent. Next time though I'm going on my birthday, and with a big stick. I'm gettin' me some candy!