This post was inspired by the writings of a man named “Dinosaur Trader.” I strongly suggest reading his post first, prior to mine.
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[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWbe-NSK6Ic 450 300]
Please play music while reading. When it ends, play it again fucker. Thanks.
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Last morning, I caught the best wave of my life and it taught a valuable lesson.
The wave vociferated: “Fly, quit ham and egging it.”
The previous night into the morning, my mind was brimming with rage because some rich Mexican dude had planted large banana trees on his property. This mortified “The Fly” because he intended on planting large banana trees on his property too. However, since that fucker planted them first, I was forced to chainsaw my fucking trees and use them as fire wood. Some people say my neighborhood is really nice, with decent landscaping and good schools. Nonetheless, I am not impressed, to say the least.
Anyway, none of that stuff is important. I never let anything bother me, big or small. I’m like some sort of crazed robot, just perfecting one task after another.
Early in the morning, I drove to my local beach. I was invigorated by the large surf sets. The news bureau put the swell at 40 feet—really nothing to get too excited over. All of my enemies were on that beach, as were my wife and three kids. We were all eating breakfast when I declared: “I am going to take a few…dozen.”
I ran off.
Just prior to my entrance, some man in a pink sailboat tried to “outmaneuver” a 30 foot surge. Within 2 seconds that fucker was knocked clean off his “homo boat” and sucked into the deep blue. On the beach, no one gave two gay goats and a fiddle. Most people seemed high on drugs or drunk.
I was talking to a local mortgage broker about my egregious wins, via large short sales against his employer. Then, I was rudely distracted by the guy (pink sailboat) who got sucked into a series of rogue waves. I kept following his head. He wore a white sailors cap and had a white handkerchief wrapped around his neck— a regular Nancy, if I may be so bold. He was probably 20 yards out, past the hazardous shore break, and getting rolled on by egregious white caps. I watched, with great amusement, but feeling anxious, as I walked towards the water—closer to where he was.
He started to show off his swimming skills, like a regular jackass, doing the breast stroke and dumbass floating tricks. In no way was he scared of the waves crashing down on his skull.
“OMG,” I thought. Is this guy serious?
I bumped into a ugly bitch in a black dress, who was egregiously filming the ordeal. She said: “If he drowns I can sell this video to the news channel and be a big success on youtube.” Ignoring her, I couldn’t take my eyes off his stupid sailors hat. I was like a zombie, completely mesmerized and hungry for action. I could have easily went out there to save him. After all, I am a professional grade swimmer, with numerous medals for winning swimming competitions, from my earlier years of course. But, at the moment, I didn’t have my board and I wanted to take a few shots of whiskey, prior to my entrance into the water.
When I got back, I could not believe my eyes. The stranded man with the sailors cap was in serious trouble. Ten feet to his left I spotted a shark fin. That fucker was going to get eaten whole by a grey suit!
Quickly, I grabbed my megaphone and yelled at the other surfers, at “the takeoff,” to help him. Much to my chagrin, they ignored me. One dude actually jumped over the man, accidentally striking him in the head with his surf board. It was maddening to watch this transpire. No one seemed to care.
Fuck that shark.
Honestly, I’ve never seen a shark near my local beach; but he was there now. He was fat, stupid, and sported a grey/white body to go with his 100,000 sharp teeth. The first thing he did was bite the sailors hat off the mans head. Needless to say, that man was no longer “showing off” his swimming skills. Then, all of a sudden, the shark bit the man in the chest, but was carried up by the rip tide. Both of them (shark, gay man with handkerchief) got pummeled by the shore break and came crashing down to dry sand. Ironically, the shark had let go of the man in mid-air and bit that ugly bitches (in a black dress, holding a camera) brain, upon hitting the beach.
That shark just surfed to the beach and killed that hideous woman. Ironic, irony.
There was no applause or celebratory cheers when the shark landed on the beach, just noise. Most people were too stoned to figure out what was going on. I was “transfixed,” amazed that someone could just die, on a scolding hot summer morning, on a beach full of rich assholes doing lines of blow in the sand. So, I just decided to “put it behind me” and “catch a few.”
After all, people get “merc’d” everyday. Why should I be surprised?
“Did you see that asshole in the pink sailboat”? I’d roar.
No one gave a fuck.
So I had this on my mind when I was paddling out to the same spot where the pink sailboat was shattered. The surf was real small, about 10-15 feet, and I was bored.
Just then, I saw that mortgage broker, whom I was talking with earlier: “Hey Fly,” he shouted. He was an old colleague of mine. However, he drove a Honda Accord and never had enough money to eat at fine restaurants, whenever I had invited him. He said: “Do you want to go to McDonalds after we surf”? I replied: “Fuck off, I’m busy trying to catch a few waves, man.”
He said: “It’s huge out here man. I feel out of my league.”
I shot back: “So drown motherfucker. Can’t you see I got shit to do”?
As I said this, some other surfer yelled “Outside!” and the horizon vanished. A fucking monstrous wave was approaching. It was as if the devil had crafted this bastard himself and flung it onto the ocean, as a sick joke on mankind. My colleague was now officially panicked. Quickly, he paddled for dear life. I, on the other hand, stood up on my board and stared into the wall of water that approached.
Quickly, with all of my might, I surfed that wave. It must’ve been like 100 feet tall. Every surfer out there got annihilated, including my mortgage broker colleague. The water was slicing through surfers, like hot blades through butter. I remember the foam and the distinct smell of garbage that seemed to permeate this wave.
The second “wall of death” hastily made its way towards my board. My board was passed down to me from my grandfather, who found it on the beaches of Normandy, during World War 2. I called it my “War Board.” It was grey, wooden and about 10 feet long. It looked like a giant hunk of steel, even though it was petrified wood.
This time, I saw that same mortgage dude “turtling” into this “wave of horror.” I, on the other hand, was calm as a sea breeze, mainly because I was drunk from the shots of whiskey I had consumed earlier. The third wave just killed him man. He was separated from his board and sucked into hell. “See you later,” I shouted out.
Frube!
After all of that chaos, a serene placidity descended “onto the scene.”
In the rising sun, most surfers look kind of red. The water was gross. It tasted like brine and on occasion produced garbage, from my local medical testing facility (i.e., syringes, test tubes, fecal matter). During this egregious moment, I began to thrash around for my next “big win.”
After the last set, this new wave looked like a pussy. But, then again, there was still ample time for this “pussy” to develop into a “big dicked” tidal wave. I paddled a bit and the wave accepted my board, with grace and honour [sic]. I slid down the chute and was surfing that shit like a penguin. A slowly building wall of green water approached me.
I didn’t take it slow. I hurried down that bitch like a fucking maniac, swinging up and down the tide, doing barrel rolls and acting all aggro at the bullshit Mother nature thrusted upon me. I carved that bitch out like a Thanksgiving turkey.
But, the attitude of this wave changed, the closer I got to shore. It’s almost as if the fucker wanted revenge on me for owning it so badly. In my way was some pink “goat boater,” who was trying to paddle directly into the break. Frube! At that time I was “hanging ten,” pawning this 15 foot wave, as if it was a low-end jacuzzi. Just when I was entering the keg, the asshole in the pink kayak (goat boater) knocked me over, sending me crashing into the pipeline.
Under the water, I was pissed off at that “paddlepuss” for fucking up my one man “party wave.” It felt like an eternity to surface above water. While under, I pondered whether some other ugly bitch had been filming my “mullering, ” just like I had watched the guy in the pink sailboat. After I surfaced, into the rip of course, I was raked over by an incoming wave, but quickly recovered and performed a “tailslide,” all the way to shore.
That series of waves was one big session. My arms were noodled.
I walked over to my wife and kids and asked: “Did you see that”?
She replied: “See what? Can’t you see I’m busy with the kids, while you’re over there surfing like some idiot out of Endless Summer”?
I murmured: “But, but, that wave was so awesome. It totally merc’d like 10 paddlepuss’s, while I kinged it.”
Now with anger in her voice and murder in her eyes, she declared: “Shut up and help me with the kids. We have a lot of things to do today and I don’t have time to listen to your machinations.”
Sheepishly, I began to pack up the BBQ I had tossed onto the beach, after my wife reminded me that only “imbeciles” and “losers” BBQ in the morning.
And I thought about that ugly bitch in the black dress again, the way that shark so masterfully ate her. And the difference between owning the waves like Poseidon himself and standing here on the shore, being belittled like a school boy by my wife.
I knew that I was one selfish fucker. After all, who brings their wife and kids to the beach at 7am, with a BBQ, just so that I could go “take a few”? But every now and then, people realize the importance of regrettable undertakings. This, of course, was my insouciant lesson to my wife, so masterfully delivered in a way she will never forget.
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