Gabriel, Filipe (natch), Italo, Wiggoly, Adriano
and Jadson cuckold world tour!
Rio de Janeiro is a famous place. A bay of the
sea, almost a perfect semi-circle. A megalopolis of six-million
people. A city in a country built on the back of slaving so
energetic it makes the US’s own past look quaintly dull.
Hot, too, mostly, but not today, not when the temperature
hovered at 71 degrees all day, all night. A place of stimulus and
excitement. Where inquisitive mouths will kiss every inch of your
body if only you allow yourself the physical freedom Brazil
demands. The body in Brazil is tropical! Fire! The blood is hot,
the body luscious to the kiss.
It’s the country where male tourists, sometimes attached pro
surfers, are invariably cuckolded by the splendid physical
specimens prancing along the beach in gaily coloured trunks that
make even BeachGrit swoon with jealous.
And therefore, what a fitting place for Brazil’s afro-studs to
assert the heroic underdog narrative. The Brazilian can’t afford to
put things off. He must stop the whole show… NOW… and grasp the
reins of this historic opportunity.
Let’s investigate the non-surprising results from yesterday’s
opening gambit, Oi Rio Pro, event number four in the Men’s Samsung
Galaxy Championship Tour.
Wiggoly Dantas beat John John,
Gabriel beat Freddy P, Italo beat
Mick Fanning, Adriano beat Kai Otton,
Jadson beat Josh Kerr and Dusty Payne,
Filipe beat Kolohe and Melling.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lF57960UyYI
And Kelly Slater? For the first real time this year he kicked
his motor over and was aroused to heat. Two high nines while Ace
Buchan and Ricardo Christie waited til he’d finished before
gobbling up his cream pie.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBIMs7R-vMo
Oi Rio Men’s Pro Round 1 Results:Heat
1: Jeremy Flores (FRA) 12.17, Brett Simpson (USA) 12.07,
Taj Burrow (AUS) 6.30Heat 2: Kelly Slater (USA)
19.27, Adrian Buchan (AUS) 12.06, Ricardo Christie (NZL) 11.76
Heat 3: Wiggolly Dantas (BRA) 15.97, John John
Florence (HAW) 10.66, C.J. Hobgood (USA) 9.94
Heat 4: Gabriel Medina (BRA) 12.33, Freddy
Patacchia Jr. (HAW) 7.77, Alejo Muniz (BRA) 4.90
Heat 8: Sebastian Zietz (HAW) 12.06, Jordy
Smith (ZAF) 10.67, Keanu Asing (HAW) 10.60
Heat 9: Bede Durbidge (AUS) 14.84, Glenn Hall
(IRL) 11.94, Nat Young (USA) 6.17
Heat 10: Filipe Toledo (BRA) 16.27, Kolohe
Andino (USA) 11.93, Adam Melling (AUS) 8.40
Heat 11: Matt Banting (AUS) 9.76, Miguel Pupo
(BRA) 9.26, Julian Wilson (AUS) 9.10
Heat 12: Matt Wilkinson (AUS) 14.96, Joel
Parkinson (AUS) 13.47, Owen Wright (AUS) 10.34
Oi Rio Men’s Pro Round 2 Match-Ups:
Heat 1: Mick Fanning (AUS) vs. David do Carmo
(BRA)
Heat 2: John John Florence (HAW) vs. Alex
Ribeiro (BRA)
Heat 3: Taj Burrow (AUS) vs. Alejo Muniz
(BRA)
Heat 4: Josh Kerr (AUS) vs. C.J. Hobgood
(USA)
Heat 5: Jordy Smith (ZAF) vs. Ricardo Christie
(NZL)
Heat 6: Nat Young (USA) vs. Brett Simpson
(USA)
Heat 7: Julian Wilson (AUS) vs. Dusty Payne
(HAW)
Heat 8: Joel Parkinson (AUS) vs. Keanu Asing
(HAW)
Heat 9: Owen Wright (AUS) vs. Glenn Hall
(IRL)
Heat 10: Miguel Pupo (BRA) vs. Adam Melling
(AUS)
Heat 11: Kolohe Andino (USA) vs. Kai Otton
(AUS)
Heat 12: Adrian Buchan (AUS) vs. Fredrick
Patacchia (HAW)
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There's plenty that makes me like Brother. The
cuckolding, attempted or otherwise, of a chubby little TV hotshot
with a mouth invented for devouring hot fudge sundaes, for example.
Didn't you roar your approval when the pudgy Cinderella barked at
Brother during a live-cross interview?
An interview with its co-creator, What Youth's
Travis Ferré…
…well, yeah, I get it. Kolohe ain’t the
hotter-than-everything Filipe Toledo. Yeah, I get he’s a child
prodigy destined for great-ish things his entire life and so he
isn’t an entirely sympathetic character in the surf culture
narrative. An Instagram account that would seem ironic if it
wasn’t, doesn’t help either.
But then there’s plenty that makes me like Brother. The
cuckolding, attempted or otherwise, of a chubby little TV hotshot
with a mouth invented for devouring hot fudge sundaes, for example.
Didn’t you roar your approval when the pudgy Cinderella barked at
Brother during a live-cross interview?
This June, Brother is going to be available as a
free download on What Youth. Should you evaporate your
bandwidth on the movie Kai Neville describes as a “short, fast ampy
shred flick”?
Let’s ask Travis Ferré , the co-founder of What Youth,
whose mid-surf conversations resulted in the collaboration tween
his mag and the current world number 26…
BeachGrit: Can you describe the film to
moviegoers?
Travis: It’s quite simple. Kolohe surfing with his friends,
spliced together with some really good music, all over the world.
It’s not a bio pic by any means. More of a snapshot of his year.
But I’d say the unique thing is watching Kolohe surfing in long
form, which is really impressive. There are some really wild banger
clips, but it’s Kolohe’s style and form that shines to me.
BeachGrit: How long is this film, how many sections, and
where was it filmed?
Travis: It’s about 25 minutes long, there are six full sections
and a few other little interludes, and it was filmed in California,
Europe, Western Australia, Hawaii and Indo. Pretty classic
choices.
…yeah, you heard plenty about Kolohe’s
barrel-to-monster-oop from Portugal last year. See the film
sequence in Brother the movie.
BeachGrit: What was the purpose of
Brother?
Travis Kolohe has had a filmer (Noah Alani) traveling with him
for most of his life, and he’s had a few projects not come to
fruition, so we simplified the concept: Kolohe shredding with his
friends. And we really wanted to make sure the friend aspect came
across as he spends so much time surfing with them, but it rarely
gets shown to the world. Kolohe wanted to put something out that
was more impactful than a greatest hits web clip too, so we worked
closely with him and I think he hit the nail on the head with what
he was after.
BeachGrit: Where does it fit on the cultural ladder?
Travis: Well, it’s more of a snapshot than a profile film or
anything, but I think in the grand scheme of things at the moment,
with very little in between the mega blockbuster helicopter freak
show films, and the over saturated web clip and the few instances
to see Kolohe surf loose and full of smiles with his friends. This
is what I’d say is the perfectly balanced film for the modern
condition. And Kolohe’s surfing is really pleasing to the eye.
BeachGrit: How can we buy, see?
Travis: Brother will stream for 24 hours at What Youth on May
26th, and then it will be available on Red Bull TV on Demand May
27th for a week, and then June 2nd it will available for free
download.
BeachGrit: What do you love about
Brother?
Travis: Well, if we’re talking about the man, I love his hair.
And if it’s the movie, I love that I can rematch it and rematch it.
I haven’t rewatched a surf film more than this one since the old
Taylor Steele vids.
You should probably get involved too if you like
money and/or want more money.
Deciding to take my own advice, late Friday
night, I bought GoPro. I cracked into my piggy bank, opened a
Fidelity.com account, transferred money and then placed my order. 5
shares for $50.04 each. Fidelity.com warned me, with a red popup
screen, that this was a bad idea. The markets were, of course,
closed for the weekend and who knows what weirdness Nicholas “Nick”
Woodman could get up to between Saturday and Sunday and who knows
how his self-described “mad” behavior would crash the stock
price.
But I am as bold as I am handsome and overrode my digital
broker’s concern and placed it anyway. “What kind of investor
should I be?” I wondered whilst sipping a Moscow Mule. “Should I be
quiet and let my money do the talking or should I model myself off
famed activist shareholder T. Boone Pickens and bark orders up the
chain?”
By the time Monday’s opening bell clanged, I was decided. I
would be like T. Boone Pickens and make very many demands. I know
people who work at GoPro, you see, and some are as smart as they
are beautiful but most are dull. They need me to guide them into a
financially rich future. Especially since my position, three hours
in to the trading day, is already down 5.57%.
The first order of business, then, Nick Woodman is to fire
everyone who works out of your San Mateo office. I have never met
anyone from the Bay Area who knew a damned thing about style and we
are in the style biz. It’s how we are going to crush China. So that
also means no more overly washed True Religion jeans for you
either. Or way accessorized “action sports” kits.
Yes it’s time to buckle up and make some real money. By the time
I’m done you will officially be able to change your business cards
from “Mad Billionaire” to “Mad Millionaire.” The “Touched
Trillionaire.” Alliteration has a ring.
P.S. I also own Quiksilver. 40 shares at $1.62 each. As is, for
now, boys. The suit wetsuit is a work of art.
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…Julian Wilson is an extremely engaged consumer of
cars. His ride here is as captivating as a teen girl with a naked
navel between trousers belted very low and a t-shirt cut very
short.
Can Julian Wilson, Mick Fanning, Taj Burrow and
Josh Kerr really be wrong?
In the good old days, there were no Audis.
Surfers drove ugly long-snouted station wagons and those fat
maggots called Kombis. Every surf trip was a pain-in-the-ass that
kinked the spine and drained the wallet in gas money.
That was back when the surfer was damned, persecuted,
ostracised; when he was wild and deadly. When we were radicals and
self-proclaimed wave-dancing outlaws, however fatuous.
Our fascination with being hard-core changed sometime in the
nineties when the money spigot got turned on. Pro surfers became
millionaires. Whomever happened to fall into the surf clothes game
early drowned in his dividends.
The rest of us on the periphery soaked a little in it, too.
Shapers made some cash if they were smart enough to market
’emselves. Even the toy-collecting graphic designers who enslaved
’emselves to brands were scooping up six-figures.
And so, naturally, our car of choice changed.
Who wants to be broken down on the side of the road or driving a
car that sounds like it has asthma or swallowed by a cabin of grey
plastics and cheap digital clocks pressed into the dash when we
could be embraced by the finest in German engineering?
No, it ain’t Mercedes (median age of owners, 55) or BMWs, (a
garish kind of teutonic Subaru).
Audi. Don’t the name just ring? Cars so graceful and
beautiful they make our dreary lives seem richer. Luxury in
simplicity.
Ask Julian Wilson, whom I see patrolling the streets of Bondi in
a black A1 (with co-pilot Jimmy Lees) or Josh Kerr, rolling through
Baja in a Q5, or even Mick Fanning, in his nut-brown A4.
Josh Kerr and his S-line series Q5.
Luke Stedman had a S-series wagon; Andy Irons drove a Q7, Bruce
drives an A4. Taj Burrow’s three-litre A6 became legend among
his pals as it was handed from one to another, a lifeboat to his
carless friends.
The three-timer Mick Fanning and his Audi A4
Avant.
When Matt Biolos goes surfing at Lowers he doesn’t sling his
Couch Potatoes and Rockets in a Dodge; he chooses a sleek black
Audi A3 Sportback.
The Audi is an angel that stands in quiet piety among a crowd of
grotesque bland.
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Pat: "Do you really like me Dane?" Dane: "I guess so."
Pat: "Do you like me a whole lot?" Dane: "Look, don't get sloppy on
me. I might just slug you one."
And therefore, eventually, you turn into a selfish
tool. Is true?
After upsetting a number of people with suggestions that
they should forget the world and take a horribly selfish
and nihilistic approach to things, I felt bad. Had I gone too far?
What was I becoming? Where did the person who worked so
passionately advocating a better understanding of the mentally ill
and disabled go?
So much soul searching, and such an existential crisis.
I considered penance in the form of masochism and asceticism… my
default settings for life.
I usually exercise far too much, starve myself and get around in
ragged clothes. But it wasn’t feasible with my work
responsibilities this week, or with having a girl who cares about
my well-being.
Nor did it help that I got exceptionally good waves over the
weekend in a place that’s never that exceptionally good. The
memories of those sweet autumnal tubes soothed me to sleep.
Whereas, if the surf had been shit, I would of spent the night
locked in my head chastising myself over my insensitive jests.
Surfing seems to erase all guilt or mitigate the worst of
it.
Now I’m not one for equating surfing with having mystical
powers. That just seems kind of fraudulent. I kind of see the
notion of communing with the sea/ocean as strange. In my experience
of angry Western seas, the sea seemed anarchic, brutal and out to
get you. This makes it an interesting game of cat and mouse.
Perception, I guess.
If not quite as dark a view as above, I find the
ocean is a giant jigsaw puzzle to solve and I like puzzles. Each
wave becomes a game of what you can do and where. I get wrapped up
in that game and I forget myself and everything else.
It becomes like that most terrible of clichés: a mild
opiate.
And I guess like all good drugs, you eventually turn into a
cunt. You start out dabbling, having a good time. You then start
relying on it a little too much. You then need it to have a good
time. You starting blowing off responsibilities to chase wind-blown
slop. Then you get to a point where you just deliberately isolate
yourself so that you can wallow in your habit. Unfortunately, for
me, my father started me out young.
Hmmm… then again, maybe I’m just a selfish fuckwit; the result
of being a firstborn.
But don’t worry BeachGrit readers, karma has caught up
with me for my flippant remarks. I agreed to paint over graffiti
this Sunday at a local park. Turns out a little gem of a right and
left right I know of is set to fire that day… the agony, it burns
my selfish soul!
Oh well, as the police here say… “safer communities
together.”
