Drew Courtney
Bells Result: 9 Previous Result: 17 ASP Rating: =14
One of the most common mistakes novice drunk drivers make is going too slow. If you’re driving 15 MPH and swerving like a sidewinder, everyone knows you’re plastered. But if you’re fanging it in 5th gear, people are going to notice the pure speed before they notice the erratic driving. Such was the case with the ageless Drew Courtney, who went Mach 10 and won heats despite throwing pizzas. The judges bought in to the speed, doling out 16.07 for his Mark Sainsbury floater tribute at Winkipop against Adriano de Souza. Honestly, I figured Drew would be a permanent fixture at his local pub by next year, but rated equal 14th, Courts looks poised to crash his way into requalification.
Jeremy Flores
Bells Result: 17 Previous Result: 9 ASP Rating: =14
It should come as no surprise to regular readers that my taste in literature as a child was different than that of my peers. While they were reading “The Indian in the Cupboard,” I was working my way through the later novels of Kurt Vonnegut. Watching Jeremy Flores surf, I am sometimes reminded of Vonnegut’s “Slapstick,” in which the Chinese successfully shrink themselves to a near-microscopic size, and begin infiltrating the bloodstreams of Americans. At Bells, Jeremy Flores appeared to be channeling the layback snaps and hand-jive of a pint-sized Gary Elkerton. Not microscopic yet – but he’s on his way. I’m not sure if this is something we need to see. The judges weren’t sure, either, giving Kekoa Bacalso the nod in his R2 clash with Flores. It was a close heat, and if Flores had nailed the lip with conviction after exiting a long Winki tube, he might have been given the nod.
Jihad Khodr
Bells Result: 17 Previous Result: 9 ASP Rating: =14
For now, this little pot o’ interweb fuckery called PostSurf has afforded me the freedom to express every poor idea that enters my head. Strange thing is, I’m actually less inclined to say offensive things these days than I used to be. For one thing, our regular commenters say plenty of offensive things themselves, leaving me in the questionable position of Ted Danson on Cheers. For instance, I don’t have much to say about Jihad right now. But Blasphemy Rottmouth? Here’s his informed, level-headed opinion: “You have to admit that Jihad surfs pretty well for having bifurcated hoofs in place of human feet. And the fact that he has no knees; just really long femurs doesn’t help anything. Maybe I’ve been too hard on the ol’ chap. I’d like to think he’d fare pretty well as the first WCT competitor to surf a heat on stilts.”
Dean Morrison
Bells Result: 9 Previous Result: 33 ASP Rating: =24
Fuck, Dean Morrison bores me to tears. This guy is so normal, nice, down-to-earth and stylish… what the fuck am I supposed to say about him? Bleh. Do something! Dance, monkey, dance! It’s not like you’re entitled to a normal life and comfortable athletic career! Don’t you know that by virtue of being one of the Top 45 surfers in the world, you are now simply a target here to amuse the masses. If you cannot succeed beyond our wildest expectations, please have the common courtesy to self-disintegrate in an impressive and violent fashion. Take a lesson from Chris Ward – this born entertainer manages to win heats just as unpredictably as you do, but in his off-time he gets arrested for having fist-fights with 3 Mammoth Cougars. In fairness, Dingo did almost die in a drunken Gilligan’s island episode last year… but I already used that joke.
Kai Otton
Bells Result: 9 Previous Result: 33 ASP Rating: =24
This isn’t the first time that Kai Otton has come up short on his backside against Joel Parkinson in offshore, open-faced rights. Happened last year too – at J-Bay. The fact that I’m discussing Otton losing to Parko as being anything other than a foregone conclusion is a great and lasting testament to Kai’s amazing progression over the last few years. I mean, seriously – this guy now puts so much whip and pizzazz into his top turns that both the judges and I are almost willing to overlook the shut-in-whose-skin-grew-over-the-toilet-seat stance that Ottz applies during bottom turns. Anyhoo… Kai opened up his first heat against Dayyan with an 8.0, but statistically it was all down hill from there. Next heat, Parko torched him.
Bobby Martinez
Bells Result: 9 Previous Result: 33 ASP Rating: =24
As discussed in my Elton-John-Tiny-Dancer-Jeremy-Flores-Pint-Sized-Kong-Elkerton thesis, I believe the judges want to see nostalgic lines at Bells. They want to see the great regularfoots hearken back to the great regularfoots of yore, and they want to see the great backsiders look like Occy. Bobby Martinez is bizarrely as close as we get to Occy these days – so the judges were happy to gift him an 8.73 when Bobby did some feign hand gestures and cleared his throat in a way somewhat reminiscent of Occy crica ‘86. Lesson learned kids: draw those tribute lines. Against Mick Fanning, Bobby pulled his usual shtick against top seeds, in which he waits the whole heat for that Big Wednesday wave, instead of just surfing a normal fucking heat. Predictably, Fanning smoked him as Bobby barely caught a wave, scoring 3.43 TOTAL. Reminds me of the time Bobby lost to Fanning in Chile, after Bobby scored a perfect 10, simply because he waited all heat for a second wave.
Ted Danson. Classic call right there.
Tired of this piece meal shit. Next time I want the whole top 44 review all at once.
Your killing it again Lewis. I’m really enjoying the new N.C.17 rated Power Ranking’s. The added nitros without the Sean Collins governor on the engine is entertaining for the older dirty and up surf crowd. Thanks for the service and I like the 6 slots at a time which gives me descent tour lit to look forward to in the future. Mahalo again and the bonus pic’s with the asp mug shots are a killer power rankings bonus at no additional price. Above and beyond. BTW/ Slater looked kinda crusty Sean at Cocoa Pierish in the expression session. The polar opposite ending sharewave from the one with Jamie O at Pipe at the end of their heat. Ugly.
Yay Lewis.
Now make everyone leave OB please
the rankings are getting too cryptic for my grom brain. i really dont know you are on about anymore.
Where’s Drew Courtney’s Bronzed Aussie jumpsuit?
PS new format is better than all at once. It gives everyone in the lower 20 a chance to be profiled versus just Jihad Khodr.
What’s the best Kurt Vonnegut novel to start with if I just finished Indian In The Cupboard last week?
They say the cream rises to the top, and so that goes in the Power Rankings, the bottom 10 seemed pointless and Lewis was dodging actual harsh ridicule of the bottom 44. I think the Drew Courtney review is the best, makes me wonder why we called him “Who Courtney” in our Top 44 preview.
Is it 44 or 45?
Final question, who would be a better Transworld SURF employee, Stu or Blasphemy Rottmouth?—we’re hiring.
going back a few days, what the fuck is that picture you put up on Nic Muscroft’s blurb? Where was that young shelia when I was in Oz a few years back?
the rottiemouth dude must be lewis as i don’t seem to understand him much either. i get stu more. he’s funny without tryin to be too clever.
Hi, would someone mind terribly letting me know what happened to the worlds best goofy foot, shaun cansdell? I dont expect it to be interesting. I have heard him speak and know his benn ‘dunn on valium’ reputation, but he did surf well above his haircut. Anyone?
I would go with Blasphemy on the condition that his large intestine is required to pen articles as well. Nice 2-for-1. I don’t suspect he’ll come cheap given his current 6 figure salary though. Plus his wife apparently does porn work on the web. Suffice it to say, he doesn’t need the money.
“Mark Sainsbury floater”….. wow, went into the archives with that one. Literary references that confuse Mr Cote. “Hearken back to the day” and an Elko slap. Toilet seat bottom turns.
Nothing if not entertaining and an inspired Mr Cote is offering LS a job by proxy of the infamous BR alias. In that scenario, both parties save face and TWS can pretend to offer editorial.
Interesting how an editor has so much time to peruse blogs that reflect his product in such poor light. Considering “grom” is this editors targert audience, he may have a better go stalking the local elementary schools for subscription sales.
I can see it now, mobs of child zombies going door to door selling TWS. Kind of like the “REALITY” church business plan, only dressed in flourescent retro surf clothing and working for nothing more than “free” stickers.
Nice Job, LS….
One more thing, the ASP has done law enforcement a tremedous favor as they have already archived enough “mug shots” of the pro’s….
Chris Ward beats up a young girl, no worries. Call the main office and have them fax the photo for the arrest report.
I will challenge Mike to a game of Surf Nerd any time. Don’t fuck with me on 80s and 90s surf nerdery.
Any blog that reflects my product is good.
Thank you
Back to producing drivel for grommets.
The picture of Drew Courtney makes it look like his head was carved from a rotten pineapple. I wonder if he’s wearing teal colored panties to match the tank top.
Dean Morrison and Jeremy Flores are guilty pleasures. Like watching ‘House,’ it’s kinda corny, but you’re never fully sure how the plotline’s going to go. Unfortunately, this season has been a little too predictable. Time to step up your games, boys.
Kai Otton has a plant growing out of his head.
Bobby Martinez is an excellent interview – actually says what’s on his mind. He’ll climb back up to his perennial position, dipping in and out of the Top 10, like Li-Lo exploring Samantha Ronson’s monstrous ballsack.
Is a pile of dried dogshit on top of your product good?
Do not give attention to the crazy ones, or else they’ll stick around.
It is like when you are drinking with your buddies on a street and those lunatic street bums come next to you talking their own language. If he thinks you understood a word, they own you.
Now, if the case is that you quote them, is like saying “I love you dear”.
That is why now i’m sure BR is LS.
@Rotten People Hater
I re-read your comment (15 times) in my best drunk voice and I couldn’t agree more.
Actually that is why I always carry a claw hammer in my belt loop when I go to bars. One good wild side-swing with the forked end of the hammer into his orbital socket via his temple (or even a strenuous upward rook into his taint, sending bloodied testicles trailing the sperm tube like a wet red comet tail into the disco ball) will usually suffice. Once they hit the ground rotate the hammer to the nail-driving head and strike the cranium firmly and repeatedly. The first stroke should sound like someone striking a thick cheese with a meat tenderizer; after the 10th stroke, if done correctly, it should sound more like someone throwing pantyhose filled with sardines against the side of a pole-barn.
This way you can avoid embarrassingly awkward verbal intercourse with these…..things.
You should get off without legal repercussions, assuming you’re judged by a panel of your peers. Just avoid doing this in Vegas or Jersey; you KNOW what will be sitting in the jury box there.
Glad to see that BR has a trigger and a plan on which states to avoid assault charges. May want to add Arizona to that list, those work camps can’t be much fun during July. Every morning you’ll wake up and realize your victim got the best of the exchange.
Well, Lokee here, Mr Cote is thinking. I’m sensing a new column for TWS! Is Surf nerditry a new form of “broism”. I can see it now, super imposed images of 80’s surf celebs, layered on top of one another with paint can spray writing and a groovy link to the game online.
Chris cote is really Stu, Blashemy Rottmouth is really Lewis Samuels and Ballz is really Mike. There are basically only three people who comment on this garbage. The only person who had real insight into the pro tour and was adept at expressing himself, as well as being funnier than shit, was Mark.And he was run off by the atheist lynch mob.
Oh, and by the way Rotten People Hater, your guessing is true, I AM Lewis Samuels. That’s why i always sound so stoked, i’m always surfing. Just not in the water though…
What was this lot like? I stopped reading here:
While they were reading “The Indian in the Cupboard,” I was working my way through the later novels of Kurt Vonnegut.
B.R. @ 3:40pm,
I would appreciate you at least sounding a bit more like the real deal. For instance, try something sophisticated and well articulated; without eschewing a delving or three amongst the realms of the bacchanal, the titillating, or the trough at which the trichinosis-stricken swine of Satan dine.
Example:
“When watching Jeremy Flores peel off his tight wetsuit after that last heat, in my minds eye, I see the taut neoprene breaking, sling-shotting his testes through the roof of his mouth and out the skull Cobain style; with a pink Zapruder film mist hanging in the air like a crimson afterthought as the balls, trailing millions of impotent tadpoles, loft ever-higher in the air like a testicular Halle-Bopp comet of jizz and pain.”
Or, change your name to (Insert Stale Commentary Name) and say: “Jeremy Flores, in his new Quikie Wetsuit, looks really fit; but at the same time he looked a little nervous when facing the Ginja Ninja, blah blah blah, who da phoc cares.” Some still prefer their porridge spoon fed to them… of which, there are plenty of outlets that Chris Cote is willing to sponsor.
As I said before, you can always change your name to Krayon Excelsior, or Frothing Fistula, and join in the fun.
Atheist Lynch Mob…. the perfect soundtrack for Taylor Steele’s next piece of shit video.
And Mark is not gone, just laying in the weeds biding his time. The dude is resilient, if nothing else.
I sensed something ordinary about BR @ 3:40pm, but LS flew in to save the moniker’s authenticity.
Who ripped harder, Barton Lynch or Keith Sasaki?
Occ, like most pro and non pro surfers, it depends on what they were ripping.
When he actually stood up it was Keith, but prone Barton had him licked. The two of them riding a bully board tandem at the Buffalo meet was the watershed of both careers.
Not to be outdone in the anals of surfdum until the night after the pipe masters when Kelly and Rob tag teamed a cougar cub and gave each other another “high five bro” only to realize the kitten had left the room and Slates was still balls deep while Robs finger was not in a tight pussy like he had thought. It ended Robs career and caused Slates to have chronic problems with relationships but…..
So it goes in the sport of pros
This batch was heap better than the first two go rounds. Looks like King Louie is warming up to the task again.
Onward you cheap bored bastards.
I am not Stu, I like Stu, and i’m sure that bothers Stu. Blasphemy Rottmouth and Stu will someday tell us who they are secretly while we least expect it. Imagine you are in Bali, waiting your turn for a happy ending in a room full of sweaty dudes at a massage place on the outskirts of Kuta Beach. You’re all tan after a day surfing Changgu all day with 20 of the raddest pros ever. You’ve put your coin on the face of the photo of the “masseuse” of your choice. You’re all ready to have a wonderful massage, when some bearded Aussie taps you on the shoulder. You turn to see his brownish yellow smile widen as he whispers … “I am Blasphemy Rottmouth.”
You look at him and say, “I loved you on that one website bro. Now go brush your teeth and buy me a Bintang.”
Kieth Sasaki was rad, but not as rad as Paul Roach, my bro.
I’m not at work anymore today so I can stay on this gay site for as long as I want.
Surf nerd.
That’s pretty good there Chris Cote.
I see myself walking into an Indonesian club after a long day of double overhead barrels. There I spy Chris Cote flopping around in the center of the dance floor trying to get his groove on with some chicks. Thankfully, I like to take advantage of this behavior and apply an ounce of prevention before I enter the club.
First, I microwave a few Twinkies, spritz them with Grey Goose, poke my thumb in one end and ring the hole with MAC lipstick. When I enter the club, I toss these “pigballs” into a dark corner. Chris Cote, unable to tell one soft, drunken hole from another, will zero in on them and be busy for hours. In nicer clubs, the bouncers will eject anyone found fucking a Twinkie and I’m in the clear. In skeezier clubs, pigballs are usually on the bar menu, which saves me some prep time.
Mr Cote, stick to shilling product placement. Creepy “fantasy” scenario’s will blow your cover and a legion of parents will realize that the brand indocrination you peddle is fueled by deep sexual projection.
Barton won a title surfing well, not spectacularly. Consistency was the barrier destroyed by Slater.
Sponges soak up water and history records sinking ships collectively….. as in they should have known better. The ultimate price.
Kinda like placing a skate rail in the shorie with a moron attempting to ollie up with other morons holding onto it. Good TV if you could produce it. Or not.
I am reminded of a story my daddy used to tell. It comes from an age long since past, but I think it is apt.
One day, a man named Chris Cote lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in one breath. He silently thanked the cigarette company for being thoughtful enough about his health to include a filter to protect him. So he lit up another. This time he didn’t exhale the squeaky-clean filtered smoke, but just let it nestle in his lungs, filing his body with that good menthol flavor. Some more smokers knocked on his door and they came in and all started smoking along with him.
“How wonderful it is that we’re all smoking,” thought Chris.
Everyone smoked and smoked, and after they smoked, they all talked about smoking and how nice it was that they were all smokers - and then they smoked some more.
Smoke, smoke, smoke. They all sang “Smoke That Cigarette” and “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” Then the smokers smoked one more cigarette and left Mark alone in his easy chair, about to relax and enjoy a nice quiet smoke.
And then his lips fell off.
Winkie, Twinkie.
There were no public health laws in Indo nite clubs. It would be like installing smoke detectors in Hell.
That’s sweet, Chris. I’m closer than you know.
The answer was Kieth.