"The Surf Don reckons wave riding was perfected by Taylor Knox at Trestles in ‘98. Anything that came after that is just gristle on the bone."
Yesterday, Charlie Smith sketched for us his outline of the Modern Surfer.
He is, wrote Smith, repressed, flaccid.
Youthful, yes. But domiciled by the invisible shackles of an information-saturated world.
Content to never break free.
And one that, maybe, cut this writer deep.
But, that’s beside the point.
Because Modern Surfer is only one side of the canvas. We must also inspect the other.
The Yin to the Modern Surfer’s Yang.
The Surf Don.
Named after the classic literary figure Don Quixote. The Surf Don is an idealistic crusader always looking for a fight, and an opportunity to prove just how right he is.
The Surf Don has risen through life, absorbed everything thrown at him, and came out tops.
No handouts. No favours.
The world is his, and there ain’t any tilted beanie or windmill that’s gonna tell him otherwise.
Want to know more?
The Surf Don works a trade, and has been doing so for the last thirty years. His appointments are timed around surfing, he only ever responds to phone calls (generally 3-5 business days later) and he charges like he’s suing for reparations.
The Surf Don looks at any feeble bodied, feminine cocksucker that doesn’t earn a living with his hands lower than he would Ando, or AOC.
The Surf Don is divorced, and if he’s not he should be.
The Surf Don has a long relationship with a local shaper and can’t believe what cocksuckers will pay for those goddamned Oriental pop-outs.
The Surf Don has been recycling through the same three board quiver for the last decade. Every few years he gives a silent, knowing nod to his shaper and an extra 1/4 inch is added to the thickness and width on his next order. But this is never openly discussed.
The Surf Don reckons wave riding was perfected by Taylor Knox at Trestles in ‘98. Anything that came after that is just gristle on the bone.
The Surf Don says his stiff style is all about economy of movement, but you probably wouldn’t understand. Cocksucker.
Anyway, you’ll never see the Surf Don in the water as he only frequents solitary banks and ledges. He don’t move with no crowds.
The Surf Don still dismisses thirty-four year olds as ‘groms.’
The Surf Don doesn’t say you should have been here yesterday. The Surf Don says you shouldn’t be here at all.
The Surf Don hates the WSL and everything it stands for, and wishes those lousy cocksuckers would fuck off and let somebody smart run the show. Like the Surf Don.
The Surf Don spends any spare time not surfing or working doing blokey things, like building retaining walls for friends and unknowingly reading alt-right media.
The Surf Don enjoys parking in liberal elitist cocksucker’s 2007 Prius hatchbacks with his late model F250 truck.
The Surf Don would live off grid if he could, and compensates for the fact by buying portioned cadavers direct from a butcher to store in his three commercial freezers ( eg “One deer leg thanks, Buck”).
The Surf Don is financially conservative, a self-labelled libertarian that would discover he’s an anarcho-capitalist if he ever looked it up.
The Surf Don buys an upgraded version of the same flannelette hoodie every two or three years.
The Surf Don reckons music peaked with the Foo Fighters’ 1999 album There is Nothing Left to Lose.
The Surf Don only drinks domestic and/or Mexican beers, which he enjoys with the odd hot one down by the beach with a few of his Don buddies.
Or, alternatively, he’s been off the booze ever since (insert drunken event that probably would have involved the cops if he didn’t have some “good people around him” here).
The Surf Don actively decries social media and all those who use it, yet spends most waking hours rotating between his Disqus and LinkedIn profiles.
(He had to get rid of Facebook after the ex caught him sexting a Russian bot)
What did I miss?