Team Shredder

Subject: Nothing in Particular

In recent surfing news, The Capt'n's favorite board, The Green Rocket, is once again in the repair shop, this time due to a significant delamination. The price will be hefty but worth it, it is certain. A reasonable person might consider taking better care of their beloved boards. In the meantime, The Capt'n continues to flail about on The Snow Pony.

Speaking of flailing about: yesterday there were two more firsts. The first first was a go on a 14' board. 14 foot I said! Sitting in the lineup, I commented on my neighbor's huge board, and the nice neighbor on it immediately offered to switch boards and let me try. I was nervous and excited, but it was so worth feeling those feelings in order to have an awesome new experience. I usually ride a 9 or 9'2". 5 more feet makes a huge diff, considering 2" makes a diff. NEEDLESS TO SAY, the glide was just unbelievable. I said the ride was so smooth, you must be a limosine. But I simply could not turn the dang thing. Two little waves were enough embarrassment for one day, though I probably should have given myself more of a chance. I give me an A for effort, and a C- for results. Cash value on an awesome new experience: priceless.
The second first was that The aforementioned Capt'n surfed for 6 hours yesterday. 3 usually exhausts me, but the waves were so sweet, glassy, and long, long peeling, how could I resist? I am only but a man, I am not immune. Plus, here were my options: sitting in rush hour traffic on the 5 North between San Diego and Los Angeles, sitting around some dumb cafe waiting out traffic, or waiting out traffic in the long, clean peelers. For once in my life I was not tortured over a decision. At the 3-hour delirium point, a quick stop in a nearby shop for a sandwich to go, in full wetsuit and bare feet, followed by some sips of water, and reapplication of 3 more layers of sunscreen were just the ticket to get me going for another 3 hours.




The mystical healing powers of the dolphins who were gamboling nearby may have had something to do with it, too.















Another first, though not from yesterday:
The Capt'n's first stingray wound.
Seamonkey took a major bullet for the Team several years ago when she was viciously attacked by a stingray. We didn't know anything about anything then, unlike now, and it was quite a horrible experience. Poor Seamonkey69 was rolling on the sand in excruciating pain, and of course we were on an obscure beach, miles from anybody with a remedy. But brave SM69 took it on the chin, and got right back on the Snow Pony as soon as she could. A lesser man would have quit surfing altogether and gone right back to his rubik's cube. But anyway, I was partially tagged the other day. I didn't get the full dose of venom, nor did the tip of the nasty stinger tail break off and lodge itself into my foot, like what happen to poor SM69. Nor did my legs get half bit off by a shark. No rolling on the ground had to happen, no bleeding to death before getting to the beach.

I know it's not constructive to beat oneself up, but it's possible that there are certain things that could be improved upon, without showing hostility or aggression toward the self.
Par example #1): one might think about cutting down on the liquor consumption. Not to give it up completely, because that's just mean and unrealistic, but perhaps a little slow down might be healthy. For a minute.











#2.) A haircut needs to happen very soon. My sense of self-worth hinges on my physical appearance, ok I said it. I mean, not really Diarhea, just kidding.















Everyone around me is super ambitious and productive. What's the big hurry? The other cars are racing me to the red light. Yet I fear and mourn the passing of time. I hate time. I can easily feel like a smiling sham half of the time, if I forget how cool I am as a person.

I am not at liberty to copy any poo content from a certain colon cleanse website shown to me by Seamonkey, THE MOST poo-phobic being ever to walk the face of the astral plane, because I noticed in the nick of time that the poo page is protected by Copyscape©, and anyway I do not support plagiarism.
I simply wanted to point out the excellent writing styles of Corey, Virginia, and Ray, who gave testimonials on the poo site.

The proof is here

Figure 1) Team Shredder and friends dancing on the Astral Plane. Note The Orb on the legs of gree c and Peeds.
Figure 1a) Detail of The Orb on dey legs


Seamonkey has done extensive research on this subject, and now others have COPIED her, publishing the results of "their" research in The Orb Project. Basically what Dr. Weeks was 'splainin' to me, in layman's terms that I could understand, was that the orbs in digital photos are actually images of LIVING BEINGS WHO EXIST IN ANOTHER DIMENSION. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, young missy.
I mean, we knew it all along, a doi, and believe me, we were all feeling the etheric presence of the, as I believe Mountain Man once said, pink bubbles of yes, on that enchanted evening in gree c's studio.
What happen that night was, Mrs. The Capt'n she orchestrated an event that instantly went down (no pun intended) in Lesbian Herstory. Somebody made the leap from experimental opera to astromusicology, uh hm. She done set up a container of water with a hydrophone in it, a baloon, and some tubes what went from the air outside to under the water. Then, after referring to her elaborate score and theory, she directed 8 of us through the rigors of making sound go from our mouths to the water.
I've heard the recording, and I have to say, it sound bootiful. She now making a piece out of it, and will keep us abreast of the updates and final results. A video is coming, too, if I can make sense of the crazypants ADD footage.
In the meantime, other incriminating photos of that fateful night, both during the creation of Juliana's piece and afterward, when everyone literally went buck wild, can be viewed here, here, and here.