Category Archives: mailroom


Editors Note: PostSurf is proud to again feature the work of Gra Murdoch via his blog Inside the Goldmine.  Although Mr. Murdoch is an Australian national, the following entry should resonate for any American surfer who recently "surfered" through the hype of Hurricane Bill or The Great South Swell of July.


Global Clown Congress Descends on Local Break.

TOONALOOK POINT, EAST COAST AUSTRALIA: Circus lovers of all ages were treated to an unexpected day of delights as winter's last decent swell coincided with the arrival of a contingent of clowns from the world over.

First to arrive on the scene was renowned circus tramp Otto Griebling, who cut a lonely figure, waxing his clown-board under a solitary street light in the pre-dawn darkness.

Otto, who paddled out off the beach, rode several waves on the end section in a mournful manner, suggesting that his was a lonely existence indeed. Early rising onlookers were said to be close to tears.

Witnesses report this melodramatic opening act was shortlived, however, as a several tiny cars swerved comically into the carpark and began disgorging implausibly large numbers of occupants. As many as twelve representatives of the famed Brazillian clowning and tumbling fraternity were seen falling out of a single early model Suzuki Swift.


COMMENT of the WEEK: Yes, More TurtleGate.

Comment of the Week goes to L'Estranger, who has fit another piece of the TurtleGate puzzle snugly into place.

L'Etranger says: August 24, 2009 at 3:19 pm

“Mother always likes to wear turtle pins, for instance.” - Reverend Sun Myung Moon

Hmmm . . . This may be the best find yet:

1) Reverend Moon’s mother fancies wearing turtle pins.
2) Followers of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon are referred to as “Moonies.”
3) Andrew Mooney is hardly a variation on “Moonies”

mooney. photo: gibson

If the Moonies are indeed behind TurtleGate, I may be in very great danger indeed.  Oh, the irony: readers worry about Da Hui, Da Wolfpak, or Da Brazillians snuffing out my meaningless existence.

In reality, these cabals are but children at play compared to the Moonies.

For those of you who don't know, Reverend Sun Myung Moon is a cult leader of terrifying power and influence, notorious for performing mass weddings and founding and bankrolling the conservative-leaning Washington Times. Reverend Moon is what Sean Collins may one day become if we are not ever vigilant.

How does Andrew Mooney, hard-charging Aussie turtle molester, fit in to all this?

Frankly, I fear he may be the White Heung-Jin Moon - continuous channel of Reverend Moon's deceased second son.  This is a terrifying prospect indeed, considering the reign of terror attributed to the last continuous channel of Heung-Jin Moon - a Zimbabwaen known as the Black Heung-Jin Moon.

The Wiki explains:

The second son of Hak Ja Han and Moon, Heung-Jin Moon, died  from injuries suffered in a car crash in December 1983. Moon ascribed great importance to his son's death, and Heung-Jin Moon is officially regarded to be the "king of the spirits" in heaven, and is now said to be conducting seminars in heaven for departed souls.

For several years church members "channeled" his spirit, and in 1987-8 a Zimbabwean member who became known as "the Black Heung Jin Nim" was accepted by Moon and his family as Heung Jin Moon's continuous channel, and toured the world giving speeches, getting confessions, and subjecting some members to beatings.

Long-time member Damian Anderson reports seeing him "knock people's heads together, hit them viciously with a baseball bat, smack them around the head, punch them, and handcuff them with golden handcuffs"

Nansook Hong recounts: "No one outside the True Family was immune from the beatings. Soon the mistresses he acquired were so numerous and the beatings he administered so severe that members began to complain. He beat Bo Hi Pak—a man in his sixties—so badly that he was hospitalized for a week in Georgetown Hospital."

Pray for me, PostSurf readers.  These forces of darkness are not far behind, seeking to silence my voice before I uncover the true nefarious secrets of TurtleGate.

Comment of the Week: TurtleGate!

Comment of the Week goes to Browny's Reacharound (who probably could have won simply by virtue of his screen name alone... at least if you get the allusion to a Chris Brown Wraparound.)

browny's reacharound says: August 18, 2009 at 2:25 pm

I used to wake up, take a piss and pull up Surfline. I never read the editorial- i just checked out the cams to see if their hyped swell forecast was holding true. Lately, it’s PostSurf that gets the first look. My theory is that Lewis is still on Sean Collins’ payroll, because everyday his rants lead me back to Surfline- except now i actually read the stupid fucking editorial content! Lewis- are you part of a bigger conspiracy?

Well - am I part of a bigger conspiracy?  I wish I could answer that question directly.  But I fear that you can't handle the truth, and even if you could, speaking the truth would prove far too dangerous for both of us.

The best I can do is reveal some clues.  Make of them what you will.


August 17th, 9:01 PM: Steve Hawk, former editor of Surfer Magazine, sends me an email that reads "In case you haven't seen this..."

Attached to his email is the photo above.  The plot thickens.

August  20th: Courtney Love, trying desperately not to grow old, releases the following photo on her Twitter account.  The Sun publishes a story titled "Courtney's Turtle Lovin."  Andrew Mooney nods in approval.


August 21st, midnight: After consulting the Google, I discover that the Turtle Boy Love Statue revealed by Surf Illuminati Steve Hawk is located in Worcester, Massachusetts.  I board a red-eye flight headed for the East Coast.

The pieces of the TurtleGate puzzle swirl around in my alcohol-drenched brain:  Andrew Mooney, Mexico, turtle rape.  Mooney is from the NSW central coast, like Drew Courtney.  Drew is Ben Button,  Ben Button grows ever younger, Drew Courtney leads to Courtney Love, both desperate for youth...Courtney Love + Turtle = Turtle Love Statue...Steve Hawk leads me to the East Coast Turtle statue, Hurricane Bill hits the east coast as I arrive... Steve Hawk + Hurricane Bill = Hawksbill Sea Turtle... dear God, how far does this conspiracy go?

August 23rd, 7am.  As Hurricane Bill slams the eastern seaboard with significant-class surf, I find myself at the base of the Turtle Boy Love statue in Worcester.  As I stand there and and look upwards, I can almost hear the poor turtle's desperate screams, frozen forever in Bronze.  Then I look to the face of the Turtle Rapist of Antiquity, and another piece of the puzzle falls into place:

The Worcester Turtle Boy features the face of... Gary Propper, former East Coast Surfing Champion... Gary Propper, manager of Gallagher and the ever-young Carrot Top, and the producer of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.


Shock and awe.  The Worcester Turtle Boy statue was commissioned in 1904... which means Floridian Gary Propper is well over 100 years old.


Ponce de Leon "discovered" Florida in 1513 while searching for the Fountain of Youth... could it be that Ponce De Leon discovered the key to ever-lasting youth, after all, in the turtle-rich waters of the Florida Coast?

Does raping sea turtles grant you IMMORTALITY?

Comment of the Weak: Team America, Fuck Yeah!

Comment of the Week comes from R.I.P.per, who is quite justifiably looking forward to the end of PostSurf because I haven't yet mentioned Team USA's ISA gold medal.

R.I.P.per says: August 15, 2009 at 9:08 pm


Not that you don’t already know, but you’re just shit. No mention of a Gold Medal in Costa?

Thing is, you can’t give props. You just spread hate.

Looking forward to the end of PostSurf.


OK then.  R.I.P.per's insightful comment sparked some healthy debate amongst other regular commenters concerning whether we should or should not be celebrating Team USA's triumphant victory.

Some highlights from that thoughtful discussion:

"Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it."  ~George Bernard Shaw

"Nationalism is an infantile disease.  It is the measles of mankind."  ~Albert Einstein

"They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.

Steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king." ~Bob Dylan

"Patriotism is the willingness to kill and be killed for trivial reasons."  ~Bertrand Russell

"It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot one must become the enemy of the rest of mankind."  ~Voltaire

"The ISA World Games?  Really?  Has there ever been a team-based surfing event that ANYONE cared about EVER?  In a world defined by suffering, matters this trivial are of import only to patriotic retards, and the contestants that emerge victorious." - His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama

Blasphemy Rottmouth’s Very Special Night with Alex Knost

Editor's Note: Prolific PostSurf commenter Blashphemy Rottmouth has started his own show over at Mr. Rottmouth describes himself as "a humble fucker of pygmie tortoise husks."  I know very little else about him.  This is Mr. Rottmoth's first official contribution to


Single Fins and Safety Pins?

“Now, why in our precious Laird’s name, would a tedious song from a shoddy ‘THE STROKES cover band be ringing in my ears at this ungodly hour?”

This single thought permeated my exhausted mind. A shiver navigated the course my spine as I pulled the badger-skin trench coat closer to my moistening neck. I was cold. I was too cold to speak coherently without risking a chipped tooth from my chattering jaw. So cold, my joints refused to move without protesting vehemently. Rain continued its steady barrage on the asphalt all around. I warily eyed a feral beagle as it sifted through some curbside garbage across the street from the Circle K parking lot beneath my boot shod feet. Somewhere behind the convenience store, came the sound of a metal lid, slamming shut on a dumpster full of discarded Jack Daniels and Coors Lite boxes.

I glanced about nervously, looking for my wheels. “An ’84 Japanese import shouldn’t be hard to spot,” I surmised. But the jalopy was nowhere to be found through the sheets of rain on this dimly lit night.

Then a maddening thought occurred to me. “Where was I?” And more importantly, “how did I get here? Was the full flavored Newport dangling from my mouth lit by a stranger’s hand, or was it of my own volition?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wadded up piece of Kleenex with two words scrawled above a barely legible phone number. The word’s read: Alex Knost. “Hmmm, this is bizarre,” I contemplated quietly...


Comment of the Weak: BalanceGate

Not to beat a dead horse, but this whole Power Balance deal is possibly the best thing to hit PostSurf since the Power Rankings.  The more I look into Power Balance, the more comedic gold I discover.  At this point, as TurtleGate enters its 46th day, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Andrew Mooney IS in fact an animal lover.  Perhaps he wasn't raping those poor turtles - he was slapping Power Balance holographic stickers on them.  Bless his heart.


Comment of the Week goes to Jimmicane, who despite sucking at the teat of the surf industry via his position for Surfing Magazine, was smart enough not to be fooled by the Power Balance con.

Jimmicane says: August 6, 2009 at 4:37 pm

"There was a weird guy at NSSA Nationals promoting these. What he’d do for his proof that they work was make you put out your arm and stretch it back. Then he’d put the hologram wrist band on you and have you repeat. Your arm would mysteriously stretch back further this time and it was because of the hologram of course. Right? Wrong.

The first time you did the drill, it would stretch your arm out so that obviously the next time you did it you’d be able to stretch further.

Genius plan. Give the hologram dudes some credit. Brain washing people is tough shit."

Speaking of people that Jimmicane thinks have been brainwashed by Power Balance, check out the priceless video below of Granger Larson, Clay Marzo, Jamie Sterling, Kamalei Alexander and Dustin Barca endorsing Power Balance at the Volcom Pipe house.

Just when you think it can't get any funnier, Eddie Rothman appears, upping the ante significantly.

"Thank you Bruddha, my name is Eddie... with Da Hui, and dis ting works good.  REALLY GOOD!" Eddie notes.  "I'm gonna eat 'em. I'm gonna swallow this fucking thing."

No wonder Bruce and Andy got involved.

Runner-up Comment of the Week goes to Captain Irony, who like many professional surfers, is a true believer.

Captain Irony says: August 6, 2009 at 8:15 pm

"I just received my power balance sticker pack and it has truly changed my life. From the moment the pack arrived, it was as if the laws of the universe were annulled on my behalf. Yesterday it was raining in the morning but in the afternoon I put a power balance sticker on my new board and the sun came out. I couldn’t believe it either, I wasn’t expecting to see immediate results. Then today something totally unexpected happened. I checked the surf this morning and it was one foot and offshore. I cruised back home and was bored so I decided to put a power balance sticker on my kombi van, right next to my “Magic Happens” sticker. Roughly 37 minutes later the wind turned onshore and the swell started to pick up! I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, 37 is a prime number. That’s enough proof for me that the scientific team at power balance have tapped into a newly discovered transcendental universal force. Thankyou Power Balance, $59.95 for access to the secrets of the universe is a fair price. I’m going to put a sticker on my triple chamber bong and wait for the next miracle to materialize."

COMMENT OF THE WEEK: Survival of the Fittest

Comment of the Week goes to Fishing w/ Brautigan.  Why?

1) His screen name alludes to a brilliant alcoholic mentally-ill American writer who committed suicide with a handgun in 1984, a stone's throw from my childhood homebreak.

2) Fishing with Brautigan's comment - a semi-incoherent fitness diatribe from someone who seemingly obsesses over professional surfers' exact weights - gives me an excuse to post the photos below.  Some things are inherently funny.  Case in point: the following images.

I need say no more.


Fishing w/Brautigan says:July 27, 2009 at 11:27 am

Taj Burrow is out of style! Not as a surfer, but as an athlete. When he first game out on tour, a talented young surfer could show up for his heat 15 lbs overweight and slightly hungover and still win, but that is all over now. Two years ago Mick Fanning showed up trim and fit, and he won a world title. Then last year Kelly dropped from from something close to 170 lbs down to about 155 and took his 9th world title. This year Parko hired a personal trainer, dropped twenty pounds, and it looks like he will be the champ.
Surfers are one by one starting to become the world class athletes they need to be to continue competing on an International level, and party boys like Taj are going to get left behind.
This ain’t Golf folks! It is an extreme sport, so they had better start to train for it. Burning your way through beer and Aussie swimsuit models, although great fun, is not real training.
In the end Taj, who may be an incredibly talented surfer, is not an elite Athlete; so, it is doubtful he will continue to be able to compete on a World Tour.
BTY all of this goes for Dane Reynolds (who I’ve noticed has lost some weight this year) as well?


SS BVD: photo 4pizon

Comment of the Week comes from the Bad Vibe Bob, a shadowy, notorious voice of dissent known to frequent surf sites both real and virtual.  Bad Vibe was kind enough to share with PostSurf via electronic mail his recollections of recent SUP encounters. -LS

I have tried to mount many a SUP - the first off mid-beach; the guy was trying to hog the peak (good rights)  so I went at him, up close and personal with the verbal taunting. He made some smart-assed comment so  I tried to mount his rig. All hell and banter breaks loose. He fell off twice. Eventually having to retreat. I shit you not, another surfer paddles by and said something to the effect ʻ... surprise surprise, BAD VIBE yelling at peopleʻ. Defending the Oarsman... what a guy.

The surfer that said it  was pretty ugly, like a human faced version of a Pitt-bull so I quickly paddled south and away. Next up was a week later down the beach. Same thing, " I say, "bro, get off the waves, get out of the way, find another peak, youʻre dangerous, what a kook, go home, barney, asshole, fuckwad...ʻ He sayʻs, ʻI donʻt know you? You sound like some punk from Santa Cruzʻ. To my mind this means one thing: MOUNT ... After a couple of sets on the head he split. Saw the same beefy dude at a school function and he looked on at me not knowing WTF! to do? Saw him Tuesday and paddled right at him, ready to mount. He saw the most hateful stink coming towards him and split.

At the Point earlier this summer a couple a guys were on the outside chumping the shoulder so Billy and I watched and then COULD NOT TAKE IT ANYMORE! I had one guy out the back; cursing and trying to mount the fucker but he held me at a distance with his oar! There I am taunting him and heʻs being a fucking newly re-seeded hairline prick and I am desperately trying to pirate his SUP  and he manages to stay on top of his board. Iʻm grabbing the rail, diving underneath a murky ocean and darned if I canʻt fucking dunk the guy. Meanwhile Iʻm missing all the good sets. He finally sayʻs, ʻ You are being filmed...ʻ
I keep at him. Then he and his buddy ( who in the meanwhile is busy with Billy) quickly paddle into the bay towards whatever drain and are gone.
One hour later a policeman walks past our Peanut Gallery and then doubles back and stops in front of me and sayʻs, "ʻ Uh... were you surfing... a " Paddle Boarder" said that you told him that, " You were going to fucking eat his eye balls for dinner.ʻ" To which I say, "I never said anything of the sort." Runs my license. Clean.
Later the two accusers tried to slink by the Peanut Gallery along the railing but my friend said, ʻ Hey, those two are giving you, or us, hard looksʻ. Sure enough. Odd Todd went at the smaller guy with the stick that he uses to hold up the back hood of his piece of shit van. Heʻs invoking hilariously the scene from Taxi Driver. "You want a piece of me!" One guy sayʻs to Todd, " Are you drunk?, on something? and reaches for his cell phone and begins poking. Wise decision to leave when I did. As I was headed up the hill another Policeman is firing down the hill...

This is the sad state of affairs.
All true. No bull.

--Bad Vibe Bob

GUEST POST: Inside the Goldmine

Editor's note: This guest post comes from Gra Murdoch, whose site Inside the Goldmine, is a, um, well, a goldmine.  Mr. Murdoch graciously crafted the following news article especially for PostSurf.  Take a look at his "Disabled Woman" article after this - it's a rare example of a surf piece that manages to be funny and insightful without being cruel.

'Pacific Solution' Proposed To Reclaim Ocean to Pristine Glory.

Thursday 9th July, Oceanic Survey Institute, Berkeley California – Scientists and Ecologists are proposing a radical solution to the 100 million tons of plastic waste circulating in what's known as the North Pacific Gyre.

“It's estimated that there are 46,000 pieces of plastic, most no bigger than a penny, floating on every square mile of the North Pacific, which is devastating marine life,” says the Institute's head of research Sylvia Watson.

“We intend to deploy squadrons of Sweepers – otherwise known as Stand Up Paddlers – to clean this up, square meter by square meter...”
The controversial proposal comes on the back of the institute's annual blue-sky-ideas summit at the OCI, where left-field thinking is encouraged.

“It's refreshing to run unconventional concepts up the flagpole and not have them immediately torn down by economists, analysts and bureaucrats” says Dr. Ken Yager, who has been modeling the Pacific Solution concept in his backyard pool in Ventura County.

Dr Yager, himself an enthusiast of the conventional 'short' surfboard, says the idea came to him one morning as he arrived at his local break to find 'an army' of Stand Up Paddlers edging towards the surf zone.

“My first reaction was that these people belonged elsewhere – perhaps far out to sea where they could do no harm – so as not to blight the inshore seascape.

“It didn't take long to reconcile their inane – some say janitorial – paddling motion with the environmental crisis that's looming over the literal and metaphorical horizon.”

According to Dr Yager's scenario, up to 50,000 stand up paddlers would be dispatched from numerous motherships in two classic 'vee' formations, one sweeping west to east, the other east-west, and meeting mid-ocean in a classic pincer movement to create a 'small island' of plastic for removal.

Though critics of the plan are skeptical that 50,000 Stand Up Paddle-Sweeper volunteers could be found and mobilized, Dr Yager is confident of attaining volunteer numbers for the program, suggesting that Stand Up Paddlers would respond well if the request was framed in an appealing context.

“Basically, if you call for help with a vital environmental program they'd run a mile, but tell 'em it's a chance to join the 'Vanguard of A Waterman Eco-Warrior Collective' and they'll fall over themselves in the rush to sign up.

“As empty a catch-cry as it is laughable, the sheer word 'Waterman' is catnip for these people.”

The scientific community remains divided over phase two of Yager's Pacific Solution, which involves vaporizing both the collected rubbish and 50,000 sweepers with a single nuclear blast.

“Ah yes, the nuclear option, I was waiting for that line of inquiry,” chuckled Dr Yager. “But let's keep things in context – this was a blue-sky ideas summit where radical ideas were there to be heard.

“It's unlikely a mid-ocean thermonuclear blast would be accepted by the international community. And though an irradiated ocean might be a fair price to pay for the final eradication of such annoying and useless detritus, it would be a shame to lose all that potentially recyclable plastic.”

When asked about the fate of the 50,000 Stand Up Paddlers in such a scenario, Dr Yager smiled and repeated slowly “what part of 'annoying ... and ... useless ... detritus' don't you understand?"

--Gra Murdoch, Inside the Goldmine


Comments of the Week: The Kitchen Sink

No clear winners in this war - just noise, flashes of internet bravery, and multiple casualties.

The Mailman delivered us the already-stale rumor that Slater's starting a new World Tour (no, not the Stand-Up World Tour.)

Phil Jarratt, the Aussie "surfing writer" who co-wrote Slater's last book, kick-started this rumor last week in an article for the Noosa Journal.  Now Freddy P over at InSurfNews is reporting that the ASP "is shitting in it's pants."

But here at PostSurf, we don't belittle ourselves by dealing in rumors.

Comments of the Week go to Sad Realization and Robert's Your Mother's Brother, for two contrasting views of Joel Tudor.  If you're feeling earnest, check out comment two.  If you're more comfortable with the usual dose of irony, stick with comment one.


sad realization says: July 10, 2009 at 10:04 am

Dare you mock the Messiah!
He brought us back life. For years we grew fat and despondent. We sat on our couches watching ESPN, seeing 1/2 glimpses of a sport we thought we knew occasionally sandwiched between college ball. But than he came, re-incarnated as a scrawny boy with a loud mouth and a chip on his shoulder. He parted the seas, pushed back against the ingrates and opened up an untapped landscape (the area 20-40 feet outside of where waves break). from there we slipped in, from dusting off our tattered 60’s logs, to moving onwards to futuristic chinese popout and glorious Costco specials. Today even the honorable Watermen who use the mighty paddle, pay homage to his leadership as they extend further our dominance in the water. We have overcome the heathens, you youth, you in shape, you talented, you … You may dominate the industry and the press with your snide remarks and unwelcomed commentary, but we own you in the water.

Hear us loud, Get out of the way.(Really, I mean it, I have very limited control over this thing, I am very afraid, and it could really hurt if I hit you.)
I bow to you Joel,
Kookbox and onward…

Robert's Your Mother's Brother says: July 10, 2009 at 10:05 pm

Lewis Samuels started a ‘blog’. I remember reading somewhere on it that he said to expect something “different”. It is. He has also given you and I - all of us - a place to state our opinions, fuck with each other, whine and whinge and write some insightful, intelligent and sometimes fricken’ hilarious comments. It’s also a forum for the less than clever, or worldly, or even literate. He’s got some passion so you, and I, may not always agree with what he writes. But I’m glad it’s available and there is no advertising so it would appear there’s no profit in it. I guess in that respect it’s a public service of sorts.

Somehow this post on Joel Tudor is a revelation or epiphany. It’s not necessarily about Joel himself, but what is being done by him (and others) and what he, and ‘it’, represents.

It’s about the incessant theft of the soul of surfing. Not the sport, but the what-ever-the fuck-it-is-other-than-a sport. The profiteering, the smarmy ass kissing, the ‘I won’t say what I really think or believe or feel because it might cost me some money or offend someone’.

One might think, and even expect, that someone like Joel (and Rasta, etc.) and all the myriad of others who have that gift to surf at that level and ability in something so difficult to truly master and something that is so special to all of us, would not siphon from it. It’s rape and pillage. As I said to someone recently, I understand why Jesus went into the temple and turned over the tables of the money changers (as the story goes). It’s sacrilege. It’s my religion. And I’m tired of it being fucked with.

All any of us want to do is be able to go surfing. That is, go to whatever beach we please, catch and ride some waves without being hassled, dropped in on, dialogued to death, have our space infringed on, etc. That’s it. Simple.

But the ‘surf’ companies need the ‘sport’ to grow. So do the pros.

The ‘Sport’. Not the action, not the feeling, not the spirit and soul of what we do, just product increase. Sales, that’s it.

It’s not about furthering the grace. That’s not what they are in it for. Maybe in the beginning, but not now.

Then, usually via ‘Pro Surfing’, they market it to the world. They are not selling the real feeling, the truth of it, the solitary, individual and personal aspect of who we are and why we are doing what we do. It’s merchandise. That is why people like Joel Tudor and the rest of the sales and businessmen ultimately turn us off. It’s about the benefit of a few at the expense of many. And the ‘many’ is us.

We are the majority. And the people like Joel that we would hope would not participate, not defect, disappoint and disillusion us. Again and again. It’s not ok, nor acceptable.

For them to continue ‘the glide’ as the author of this blog has pointed out, they have to ‘sell out’, so to speak. But it’s at the expense of you and I and anyone else who simply wants to go and ride some waves in peace. With some friends. Even with some strangers who somehow know that you can actually show respect, take turns, and coexist in the lineup. Regardless of ability level.

If there’s anyone in surfing who truly and purely deserves to make money from it, then it’s the board makers. The shapers, glassers, sanders, polishers, etc. The guys who blow the blanks, the finmakers.

No surfboard, no surfing as Wayne Lynch once said.

But all the hype, ‘sidebar’ as Ballz would say, has just gotten to a level of saturation where it’s intolerable. To counter balance it, there’s this website.

It’s good that we call ‘bullshit’ on the surfing media, on the pro’s, on Billabong, Quiksilver, Rip Curl, Volcom, Insight, O’Neill. The list goes on. When we stop, they win. And the legions of people that can’t think for themselves take over.


Comment of the Week goes to Ballz, for re-igniting the Jordy Smith controversy known as NippleGate.  I'm not sure who first broke this story, or who first noticed that Jordy's nipples are freakishly close together.

Unlike many surf fans, I'm not particularly interested in Jordy's nipples.  But, in favor of due dilligence, I examined a few photos to check out Ballz' accusations.

And that's when NippleGate got interesting.  Take a look at Jordy's nipples in this O'Neill ad below:


Nothing unusual going on, if you judge by O'Neill's ad.

Now, take a look at Jordy's nipples in these two non-doctored photos.  Notice anything?


You don't have to be a genius to recognize that O'Neill took the unusual step of widening the stance of Jordy's nipples via the magic of photoshop.

Travesty or savvy marketing? Should O'Neill be chastized for photoshopping Jordy's nipples, or are they justified?  When you pay an estimated $1.4 million a year for some simple custard pudding bastard to wear your shorts, are you entitled to doctor their nipples?

You be the judge.

Comment of the Week

Ballz says: June 30, 2009 at 12:55 pm

This is all sidebar. What should concern us is the state of Jordy’s nipples. They are nowhere close to symmetrical. The right nip is practically in the middle of his sternum. And the left is far too close to the right. Sort of the inverse of the skank trapped between the Hamiltons,


All of this leads me to one of two conclusions. One, Jordy is in fact a robot sent back through time on a mission to rodeo his way through as many anal cougars as robotly possible. If you are to believe this theory, you must be willing to accept that the disymmetry was an oversight by Jordy’s futuristic creators. The second, and less probable scenario is that Jordy has had work done, which is to say, implants.

Let the debate ensue…
I will add that if my first theory is correct, I have hope for our future. I like the way those guys think.

Comment of the Week: TurtleGate


Comment of the Week goes to Jiggy Jig, who helped deepen the TurtleGate controversy by sharing his recollections of turtle-hunting on the North Shore in the 1960s.  See below.

As TurtleGate entered its sixth day, PostSurf's investigation uncovered further shocking revelations.

Big wave legend Greg Noll, in a 1997 Surfer's Journal article, revealed the existense of a secret society of North Shore turtle killers.

"There was a whole competition then on who could get the biggest turtle.  Jose (Angel), Pat (Curren), Buzzy (Trent), Neil Tobin, Warren Harlow, about a half a dozen guys were into it," Noll recalled.  "I've got the shell of what Jose claimed was his biggest-ever turtle in my house."

Noll even provides photographic evidence: It appears that the parents of Tom Curren, the most influential surfer in history, were turtlekillers. Dear Lord.

As the Surfer's Journal and various other surfing publications have proven, Pat Curren and Greg Noll are literally incapable of doing anything wrong, ever.

So, forced to choose between exonerating Andrew Mooney or demonizing Pat Curren, we're going to have to let Mooney off the hook for his comparably tame turtle abuse.

But who knows?  As TurtleGate enters it's second week, anything is possible.

Comment of the Week

jiggy jig says: June 23, 2009 at 5:29 pm

Rasta took the easy way out. He could be top 5 talent, or maybe top ten, or maybe even a world champ. (Remember this site was born from power rankings of the pro-tour so spare me all the “competition isn’t the only measure of talent greeniebro rants. It is the only true measure of talent in the sport.

The truth is, will never know the extent of Rastas competitive surfing talent because he never stepped up to the plate. I’m sure there are “Babe Ruths” out there who have never touched a bat. Do they count? Nope. Not for shit. Is it even worse to be a fringe element media boy milking manatees and putting lotion on turtles nipples every time they get a rash dragging themselves up the beach while claiming world class talent? Yep. It’s like some guy doing baseball videos where he hits ball out of the park and does adds for gloves and bats like he’s a contender but come game time he is running around telling everyone not to tear up the grass with their cleats because it leads to global warming. And flying around the world to different stadiums to do so.

Wanna be green? Stay the fuck home and grow vegetables. Bodysurf naked with no fins. Get a normal job in your hometown and do volunteer work or some shit. Don’t prance around the world acting like buddhas bitch and preaching holier than thou bullshit about “saving the earth”. You are the problem, not the solution. Don’t go posing in adds that sell petro boardshorts while riding a “wooden finless board shaped on location” in some far flung indo spot that is being destroyed by “eco surf tourism” unless you fucking swam there from Sydney and carved the plank with your own teeth.

“green pro surfers” are the ultimate hypocrites. Should I buy their products because Rasta brushes his teeth with turtle shit? Not so much. The only joy the surf industry ever brought me was selling 50,000 shares of zqk short right before it plunged to fuck all. Took the money, bought a hummer, went to Bali and had a turtle steak and some satay eagle.

By the way, my “uncles” were guys like Harry Hackman and Jose Angel and and they used to bring home huge turtles and we ate them on the north shore in the 60s. Tasted great and kept the shark population down. Before leashes, before sponsors, before 4oz cloth, before thrusters, before internet surf checks, before Blue Crush, back when sex on the north shore was two minutes alone in the shower with a fresh bar of ivory and a callused hand.

Back when men were men and turtles were scarce.

Of course our boards sucked and so did our surfing.

But man, those turtles knew their place.

Comment of the Weak

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was one of those defining moments in my life.

I was standing at my office window, checking the surf, and thumbing through the latest issue of Transworld Surf. It was a self-congratulatory anniversary issue – celebrating 10 years or 100 issues or something like that. OK, so maybe I don’t remember the moment that well.

What I do remember is this: in that issue, Transworld editor Chris Cote explained that, when forced to define the new, ultra-radical brand of surfing popularized in recent years, TW editors “invented” a new word: Modernism.

In that instant, faced with Transworld’s seemingly irony-free, yet ultra-ironic claim, I knew that PostSurf had to exist. PostSurf is a simple scratch at the scabies-like itch of surf industry moments just like that one.

Cut to the present. PostSurf is whatever the custard-fuck it is. And Chris Cote? He’s a regular commenter, and now a winner of Comment of the Week!

chris before the self loathing kicks in.

Chris Cote says:

June 16, 2009 at 7:52 am

Wait till Owen turns 30, he’ll be right there with the rest of us punching himself in the face in the parking lot of Baskin Robbins crying tears of regret into a half-eaten bowl of sadness flavored sherbert.

Is there a word that describes a common hatred toward skinny people? Weightism?


There's plenty of good and bad advice floating around about "how to be a surfer."

I'll offer up my own recycled maxim: Commit to Your Position.

I've found this approach useful when it comes to late drops, hucking sections, and expressing your opinion.  It's best not to worry too much about whether your position is right or wrong - just commit to it and see what happens.

In that spirit, Comment of the Week returns to Blasphemy Rottmouth, who employed an unexpected hint of subtlety in the following remark.


Blasphemy Rottmouth says: June 10, 2009 at 11:33 pm

The problem is that The WolfPack / Hui / BraBoys / HBTrannyCunnilingousCrew’s lifestyles, directly benefit the ruling elite in corporate surfing culture, who have built the capitalist machine into this planet ruining consumption device. For their plan to work, the world would have to have infinite and easy resources to burn, and also be an infinitely deep garbage dump. Obviously, the world is not such a thing. So, the Keynesian consumerist model of capitalism, and the narcissistic bobbleheads that are its grandchildren, are destined for the trashbin of history.

On a personal level, the likes of JOB and Barca and even (dare I say) The Irons Brothers (!), are in for a very rude awakening. They will see their methods of gratification reduce as they find themselves increasingly threatened and impoverished, and utterly incapable of doing the simplest things for themselves.

Does Barca know how to darn his own socks, build a fire, can vegetables, grow vegetables, plant a tree, or even know what KINDS of trees to plant for specific purposes (heat/shade/food/wood fabrication)? Can JOB even cook his own meals or bake anything? If one of the Iron’s Brothers had to rewire part of his house, could he do it? Can they fix a broken stair? Make glue? Fix a bicycle? These are just some of the simpler tasks that will be *required* knowledge as we slip down the backside of the petroleum curve.

In conclusion: feeding the attention of the likes of The WolfPack don’t help mental midgets like Dustin, Brucie or Jamie. What would help them? Public service. Helping others. Every – fucking - day.

Look, they aren’t COMPLETELY retarded. And they could do well in such a world. It would build something in them that is clearly less than familiar.

It’s called depth of character.

(Steps off the podium, belches, grabs his snifter of Jamison and heads for the exit…

… see you all next week!)