Inspired by Laird Hamilton's three-day XPT training camp on Kauai, Rory Parker has launched his own boot camp which includes: vomiting your way to a six-pack, aggressive sitting and the importance of a high-fructose diet.

Join: Rory Parker’s XPT Training Camp!

Inspired by the great Laird Hamilton! Vomit your way to a six pack! Aggressive sitting!

It is my sad duty to inform our readers that pre-enrollment for the 2016 Summer session of Rory Parker’s Kauai Spare Room Learning Academy for Surfboard Writers has been put on hold indefinitely.

Despite the success of last year’s session, which was hailed as “the ultimate in surfboard writing workshops” by unnamed sources, it has been decided that the prudent course of action is to halt business while dealing with pending litigation.

Rest assured, I expect to be cleared of all charges, but feel it would be unfair to begin accepting deposits due to our “no refunds under any circumstances” policy.

In the meantime, I am proud to announce the inaugural Parker XTREME Scientifically Inspired Fitness Lifestyle Boot Camp Experience 5000.

Drawing inspiration from the XPT Lifestyle, the PXSIFLBCE5000 will be held over three days, March 9-11, and is dedicated to helping provide our clients with the resources to make informed and healthful life choices that they don’t want you to know about.

Led by fitness celebrity, Rory Parker, and featuring guest speakers such as Susan Summers, Paul Craig Cobb, and sixteen time world champion Kelly Slater*, it’s three days of lifestyle training you cannot afford to miss.

All inclusive packages** start at a mere $2500, a 500% savings over other, lesser courses, and feature seminars such as:

Smoke your way to health: A guide to various inhalants and their proper application within your existing training regimen.

It’s all perspective: Making friends with the obese in order to appear slimmer.

Cutting words not cutting weight: Instruction in various rhetorical devices effective in building your self esteem by knocking down that of others.

The Low Impact Lifestyle: Extensive training in proper core strongening exercises featuring:

  • Aggressive sitting
  • Our patented RFit Lifestyle guide to delusion
  • Vomit your way to a six-pack
  • Government Disability Application Workshop
  • Offensive Scooter Driving

Dietary Counseling: Drawing from the best scientifical advances social media has to offer, and featuring cutting edge health advances such as:

  • Balancing your humors
  • Bloodletting in the 21st century
  • Creating a jawline using facial hair
  • Proper use of lard as a butter substitute
  • Proper use of butter as a ham substitute
  • Hyper-oxygenating your blood stream with carbonated beverages
  • The High Fructose Diet

We’re so confident in our space age revolutionary training methods that we’re also offering a 100% money back guarantee***.

Act now, because space is limited, and filling fast.

* Guest speakers as yet unconfirmed

** Food, lodging, airfare, and gratuity not included, additional fees apply

*** Guarantees will not be honored


Who do you think is the greatest athlete of all time? Slater? Gretzky? Bradman? Jordan? Ali? Pele? Phelps? Spitz? Jahangir Khan? Kolohe says KS! Fans say, "Suck a dick" and "You're a flaming homosexual." Kelly Slater says, "Gretzy is amazing. I'm just bummed he never beat anyone up."

Blood Feud 3-way: Kolohe, Slater, Fans!

“It's incredible that people can be so butt hurt over an opinion,” says Kelly Slater…

Does it surprise you, as it does me, how readily celebrities will engage with their fans, and foes, on social media platforms? Slater is the most prolific, although the San Clemente surfer Kolohe Andino must come a close second.

When Slater turned 44 one week ago, Kolohe posted a photograph on Instagram of Kelly accepting his first world title with the innocuous words: hbd to the greatest athlete of all time. any sport. the best of all time.

Innocuous to most. If you’re a little off your hinge, these words make you see a whole galaxy of stars and put you in unspeakable agony.

@scottlapeer kicks the game off with his dissent, suggesting the Canadian hockey player Wayne Gretzky is clearly the superior athlete (twenty years in the game, 60 NHL records) and quickly engages in a back and forth with @octavisu_flex.

“Ur a fucking idiot.”

“Are you just a little comment section coward who talks tough, then slinks back to Mom’s basement?”

“good one….. Bud. Stop talking, u sound stupid. How many Stanley cups does Gretzky have? A lot less then 11. 😂😂😂 Go sniff a jock strap.”

“can we all agree Gretzky competed against multitudes of better ATHLETES than Slater? Absolutely. Don’t be mad, little fella. Slater’s still good. Chin up there, little guy.”

“Who is we? U and your peewee hockey team? Lol stfu u kook. Slates is the most dominant athlete in any sport. A literal freak of nature. Not to mention his career is 25 years strong and still going. Gretzky hung up the skates after 21 years. Get ur facts straight ‘lil fella'”

“‘We’ is the general population of sports writers/reporters/scholars. Which sport is tougher on the body, hockey or surfing? Thus, Slates’ longevity. Comparing Stanley Cups with titles in an individual sport is a false equivalent, so logically, it doesn’t even make sense to measure that way. Gretzky holds more records in his sport, against a much greater amount of competitive peers, than your boy. What’s next? You gonna argue for Tony Hawk or Shaun White? Jack Nicklaus is even more dominant in his sport than your guy! Roger Federer! The list goes on, little buddy…”

The storm gathers momentum.

From @wrvsurfer26: Find me a hockey player that hits harder than pipeline, Waimea and jaws just to name a few and then maybe you would have an argument. @scottlapeer but obviously you have never surfed anywhere. if you can even swim to know the toll surfing takes on ones body especially when surfing world class waves like the pros do!

From @connieb_totally @scottlapeer first off, you clearly get delivered bags of dicks daily. Second off you only follow kolohe and other pro surfers so you can act like you are keeping up with the times in front of your Clove-cigarette wielding frat Bros who pretend they surf because they have been to the south Florida every summer since they were 9 and lastly if you’re gonna speak, and if your even allowed to speak at all (which should be reviewed by a committee or board of intelligence) you should never fuck with the King (@kellyslater) or his acolytes. And for that reason you should slam your dick in the car door and repent.

From @its_litstagram @scottlapeer by common consensus, It is clear that you are a flaming homosexual that knows nothing about surfing. Why are u even commenting on this picture? Dont u have a Gretzky fan page you can tug off to?

From: scottlapeerNo, @its_litstagram because I’m not gay. I just enjoy seeing you little surf boys get so mad and have temper tantrums over an opposing opinion.

And, then, after… minutes… the owner of the account makes a visit.

koloheandino22 @scottlapeer you’re tripping dude. surfing is by far the hardest sport in the world. just because the fact you have control over so little. and for someone to be that dominant in that difficult of a sport. it doesnt even compare to anything else. won in ever condition. from huntington to chopes. from lowers to the eddies. from lowers to pipeline to mavericks. he has literally left no stone unturned. and has dominated in every way in every condition for over 25 years. theres is absolutely no debate and ill never change my mind that kelly slater is the greatest athlete of all time.

And, finally, Kelly Slater. Hello!

@kellyslater @scottlapeer Gretzky is amazing. I’m just bummed he never beat anyone up. For that Chelios is my man. It’s incredible that people an be so butt hurt over an opinion. It’s no wonder this world is so messed up! @koloheandino22 thank you, my man. Much appreciated.

Read the long, long stream here. 

And do you remember when Kelly Slater had the closing section in Campaign? Watch here!


Watch: Snapper get ripped!

An all-star cast including Steph, Sally, Alana and Dimity!

Australia’s most famous wave has been very very good lately, in case you have not seen. All the regulars have been getting theirs, including standouts Steph Gilmore, Sally Fitz, Alana Blanchard and Dimity Stoyle!

Come and watch them bob and weave around speed bumps, etc. etc. etc. It is amazing to me that anyone could surf Snapper with such flair, timing little snaps, gouges, ducking into the tube etc. etc. When I surf crowded home, I focus on all the people I might hit and so basically end up just racing down the line and then feeling frustrated with myself at the end. All those missed opportunities to shine in front of my neighbors. All that emptiness.

Do you surf great in crowds? Do you attack both lip and trough with equal ferocity even if you might run over the hamstrings of a young man, potentially altering the course of his life? Have you ever smashed anyone very badly? Did it change the way you surf?


Finnegan on: The San Bernardino Massacre

Your favourite surf writer reports on Californian slaughter in The New Yorker… 

Back in December, Chas Smith and I were swinging our bag around LA, chasing advertisers, web developers, and a few other things, although, as always, observing a scrupulous, if cruel, chastity.

As we pulled into a mall carpark for a lunch meet (why the malls? Always malls!), Chas called:

“Turn on your radio. Mass shooting a few miles away.”

Big deal. Every day in the US, right?

At least it didn’t have an Islamic component, I thought. The last thing the USA needed was violent religious zealotry, especially of the sort giving London, Paris, Amsterdam and, lately, Sydney, its rich multicultural favour.

But, yeah, as it turned out etc.

In this week’s New Yorker magazine (February 22 issue), your favourite heavyweight surf writer, Bill Finnegan, pieces together the last days of the Pakistani-born Syed Rizwan Farook and his wife Tashfeen Malik.

You know the story of the San Bernardino Massacre? Fourteen killed, 22 knocked around bad.

Read here to fill in the gaps.

As you’d expect, Finnegan’s story is compelling. Let’s examine several passages.

“Why did the attack happen? Farook and Malik did not make a martyr video or leave a manifesto. They didn’t wear suicide vests or scream “Allahu akbar” when they opened fire. Malik did post to Facebook a short, garbled, last-minute shout-out to the leader of the Islamic State. But their families, neighbors, former classmates—and, in Farook’s case, colleagues and fellow-worshippers—expressed only astonishment after the attack. There had been no displays of anger, no indication. Only growing piety.

“Farook, born in Chicago to Pakistani immigrants, grew up in the sprawling, sunny suburbs of Riverside, just southwest of San Bernardino. Malik, born in Pakistan, had been raised largely in Saudi Arabia, where her father was an engineer. She earned a degree in pharmacology in Pakistan in 2012, met Farook on a matrimonial Web site called BestMuslim.com, married him, and moved to the United States in 2014. A daughter was born in May, 2015. He was twenty-eight and she twenty-nine when they died in a storm of police gunfire after a car chase.

“Then surfaced the strange tale of Enrique Marquez, Jr. In 2004, his family moved in next door to the Farooks on Tomlinson Avenue, in Riverside. Marquez was fourteen, lonely, struggling. He started hanging out with Farook, who was eighteen, tall and shy, and worked on cars in his driveway. Marquez became the older boy’s acolyte. Neither of them seems to have had other friends. Farook taught Marquez motor mechanics, and introduced him to Islam. In 2007, at sixteen, Marquez converted. Farook prayed with him. Soon after, he turned him on to the sermons of Anwar al-Awlaki, the American-born imam who had joined Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. Together, they read Inspire, the Al Qaeda magazine, and other jihadist literature online. Farook confided that he was considering going to Yemen to join Al Qaeda.

“Awlaki was, to a certain cast of mind, a mesmerizing preacher. This world is but a station, he proclaimed. It is the next station, the Hereafter, that matters. “We do not belong here. We are travelling. . . . We need to prepare for death.” Awlaki called for jihadists in the West to attack soft targets, particularly in the United States, and many took inspiration from him, including the London Tube and bus bombers (2005); Major Nidal Malik Hasan, the Army psychiatrist, who killed thirteen and wounded dozens at Fort Hood, Texas (2009); Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the airline underwear bomber (2009); Faisal Shahzad, the Times Square van bomber (2010); and the Tsarnaev brothers, who carried out the Boston Marathon bombing (2013). An American drone strike killed Awlaki in Yemen in 2011, but his message continues to resonate through the Internet. A recent issue of Inspire reprints his work, again stressing that it is best for the believer “to perform his duty of Jihad in the West.”

“According to Marquez, he and Farook came up with two maximum-carnage plans in 2011. One was to throw pipe bombs into a crowded cafeteria at Riverside City College, where each of them had studied at different times. The cafeteria had a second-floor balcony. They could attack from above and then escape. The other idea was to hit a local freeway, State Route 91, at rush hour. They chose a stretch of highway west of Riverside. It had hills on the south side and no exits. First, Farook would halt the eastbound traffic with pipe bombs. Then he would walk down the line of cars, shooting trapped motorists where they sat. Marquez, stationed on a hill with a sniper rifle, would pick off police officers as they arrived, and then emergency workers. Marquez, who was nineteen, bought two semiautomatic rifles. (They were concerned that Farook’s South Asian looks might arouse suspicion.) Farook reimbursed Marquez. Marquez also bought smokeless powder for the pipe bombs, and Farook bought two handguns. All legal. They started practicing at local shooting ranges

“It felt cool, I’m guessing, to have this bloody-minded project. Things looked peaceful, normal, banal. Nobody suspected what was coming. Divine vengeance. Their little corner of Riverside—ranch houses, pickup trucks, the Sonic (“America’s Drive-in”) at the corner, the Macy’s and Cheesecake Factory down by 91, certainly those self-involved, blithely sinful college students, with all their partying—had no clue. The two young warriors would smite the necks of the infidels, as the Koran said. It would be a crushing defeat for the enemies of Allah. Farook had become extremely devout. He went to mosque before dawn every day, and again every night, for last prayers. Marquez was more easygoing. He couldn’t match his friend’s level of zeal.

“Then Marquez got cold feet. In November, 2012, a federal terrorism bust went down in Chino, only twenty miles away. Four men were arrested. One was from Riverside. The men had met at a mosque in Pomona. Their plan, allegedly, was to travel to Afghanistan to join the Taliban and, eventually, Al Qaeda, to kill American soldiers. The ringleader was an Afghan who had served in the U.S. military. He had used Awlaki videos to help recruit the others, who included a Mexican immigrant and a Filipino immigrant. (The group also included a confidential informant for the F.B.I.) Two of the suspects quickly began coöperating with prosecutors, hoping for lighter sentences. The other two were looking at twenty-five years, possibly more. Somehow this news slapped Marquez awake. He saw his own future, best case. He backed out of the massacre plans with Farook. They stopped hanging out.”

Read the full story here. 


Humiliation: 7 Ways Surfing Screws You!

Y'know, tripping over your leash, hand-slip takeoffs, pulling back and still going over the falls… 

I hurt my toe surfing a few days ago. The one on my left foot, front foot, next to my big toe. What’s it called? Your pointer toe? A pretty useless appendage, but causing all sorts of trouble. Likely sprained, it’s a magic magnet that attracts every doorjamb and subtle incline I encounter. Doesn’t hurt to walk, but every time I bang it on something, four or five times a day, I see stars.

I prefer the term “foot finger” to toe. Have since ninth grade Spanish when Señorita Martin taught me dedos de pie. And I like to use my feet as hands when I get the chance. If I’m sitting on the couch, and whatever my wife is too lazy to get herself is somehow out of reach of my ten foot long chimpanzee arms, I’ll stretch a leg and use my feet fingers to grab and toss it. Got pretty good aim after all these years.

It drives her nuts, and fair enough. I never wear shoes, my feet are usually filthy.

It’s taught me that, later in a session, as I start to get tired, I sometimes drag my feet when standing. Good to know, a terrible habit.

And it got me thinking about all the petty cruelties surfing inflicts on us. Seven of ’em that I can think of.

Tripping over your leash

There are few bigger barney moves than leashing up in the parking lot, something I witnessed a few weeks ago. Said to the wife, “Watch, this guy’s gonna eat shit,” as he ran to the water’s edge with his rental wax in and a nine foot leash dragging in the dirt.

Sure enough, tossed a loop around his foot, went face first into a mix of sand and driftwood. The guy played it off well, got back up and kept going. Pretend it never happened.

But we’ve all been there, sprinting down the berm to build some speed for a nice long skim out over the surge, only to catch a tangle and eat shit in the sand. I know there’s footage of Kalani Robb doing it, back in one of the early Taylor Steele videos. Maybe Focus or Momentum 2 or Good Times? But no soul’s been kind enough to rip and upload it

Front foot slip to faceplant

Hard off the bottom, feet planted firmly, eyes on the prize. You’ve got all the speed you need, time to push that back foot through the lip.

And at the last moment your world comes apart. Maybe you shifted a little weight onto your front leg, maybe you just need a touch more wax, here comes the deck of your board to give you a kiss with all the fervor of an inexperienced seventh grader.

Pulling back on a heavy drop you could have made, then still getting sucked over the falls

Unless you’re some hyper-talented freak raised in dredging barrels, you’re only gonna stick an air drop into the tube one out of a dozen tries. If that. The beatings are worth it, but sometimes the spirit is weak.

Sometimes you’re a hair too far inside, and a bomb rolls right to you. Someone on the shoulder hoots, you take two strokes, look over the ledge, and display the ultimate in cowardice. Pull back, let it pass.

That little voice in your head starts ranting, “You fucking pussy, you could have made it. You’re a waste of space, a nothing, a… oh no… what have you done?”

Blowing the drop and coming up right in front of someone

Whatever the cause; getting tangled in your leash or hitting an awkward ripple or just going full-on kook and forgetting how to surf, eating shit as you stand is bad enough on its own. But when you pop to the surface a few seconds later, board upside down and underwater, unable to reel it in, and look outside to the guy going next… Lock eyes with the poor fucker as you’re spread across twenty feet of takeoff area with no way to dodge or dive, what can you do? Smile sheepishly, shake your head, apologize.

It happens to everyone, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

Standing tall and getting clipped in the barrel

The thing about being tall, when all the little acrobat fucker are getting stand up barrels you’re still hunched over, trying to fit your ungainly frame in the slot.

But every once in a while one bottoms out and goes proper square, and you can stretch your spine, stand up straight, and plant the top three inches of your head firmly in the ceiling.

Forgetting something crucial

You really only need two things to surf, your board and a pair of shorts (or wetsuit for you poor cold water souls). Forgot your leash? No big deal, do some swimming, it makes you strong. No wax? Sand or a pebble or a stick are all perfectly functional wax combs.

I can wrangle my million item spearfishing checklist without fail, yet time and again I show up at the beach in a pair of over-sized jorts (because I’m a product of the nineties) and have to make the trek back up the hill to exchange them for something functional.

Hand slip board kiss takeoff

Paddle paddle paddle, plant those hands, feel one slip. There ain’t no recovery, just kiss the deck and skitter down the face. Hope to god it ain’t the first wave of your session. Smells of weakness, the wolves will circle. If there’s more than a handful of guys out you’re gonna have a hell of a wait until your turn comes next.