Full of Fuck

Perhaps I have a problem. A week without waves and I'm all sorts of agitated. Two weeks and I'm intolerable. Wind'll make it worse. When it's small, I act like an asshole. And closeouts can make me cantankerous. It's an addiction, obviously. A constant craving exacerbated by brief moments of relief. But up where we are, it's not often you'll find a fix. Not one that'll last anyways. Because there seems to be a shortage of stoke at the moment, especially if you're just looking to score on Saturdays ;)

Anyhow. That's what happened this weekend. Full of fuck it was. Wind from the west. Thirty plus. Some of that sideways shit. We looked all over. Then a text message from Sanchez showed up. "The wind is supposed to die down later in the day." So we waited. Half an hour later Sanchez sent another note. "I'm throwing in the towel, it's time for a beer." What the hell. But then we went somewhere we shouldn't have. Five guys looking for a fix. Junkies in some basement bar. After a couple of cocktails and one too many "F-Bombs," we headed back to Bricky's. Intoxicated around eight, talking shit around ten and asleep at eleven. This is what happens when there aren't any waves.


Moon Boots.

Kite Rider.

Karissa_Would love the wind...

Dubstep Stylemasters.

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