Friday, September 23, 2011
I Crave Paris
I'm talkin about the Quiky Pro France. A place where model myrts run rampant like free stallions in grass fields covered with hash oil and ginger ale! A place where beach breaks have a reputation and demeanor similar to Paris Hilton; they're always wide open gaping pits ready to spit you out! A place where assholes like us rule the World (went there once as a grom and server dude took my silverware away from me twice while I was eating a shit-ass sandwich). A place where French House/NuDisco is as constant and blasting as the putrid air we breathe. And it's the birth place of the cremé-filled-wang-looking-desert-thing for Poseidon's sake!
Adriano's freak out at Trestles was the closest thing to excitement surfing's seen since Bobby's words of wisdom, Sunny & Jeremy's wild day in Oz, and before that it was when Globe dropped Out of Order and we saw fools get licked at Big Rock, Mexi, and all over the place.
I'm not advocating fisticuffs what so ever, but would it hurt anyone to get some mother fuckin excitement goin on around here? The least you could do is put Olive Oil on Adriano's wax, put Kling's fins on backwards , or throw Joe Crimo in as a wildcard! Shit, I'm about to book my flight now to run down the beach nude shwapping my heli-cockter around enforcing some fun, excitement, and an overall escape from the mundane! The French already hate me as it is, book me a flight and I'm there- put it on the card, worry about it later...
You've Just Been Frothed by SURF AMBASSADOR HENDO