World Surf League left scrambling as Dubai-based Russian blogger sends trip down 100 ft waterslide viral days ahead of The Ultimate Surfer premier: “How is anyone going to have room for Koa Smith getting micro barreled, huh?”

Dave boots up his laptop, which he places down on his desk next to the refrigerator, and walks over to the cupboard to grab a bowl, every one he looks at featuring little stuck on brown flakes left over from what he assumes to be oatmeal.

“Fucking Elo. You gotta pre-rinse, ya doink,” he for some reason verbalizes audibly to himself.

He shuffles to his desk, pulling a box of cereal from his work satchel, which he pours into his bowl. He opens the fridge to get some milk, because cereal plain without milk is gross, finding two of the three bottles to be empty and the third, containing 2%, which the others find disgusting but he prefers, approximately half-full still. He takes out the empties, tossing them in the recycle, and fills his bowl with the 2% up to 1 cm shy of the top of the flakes. He puts the the container back in the fridge and turns around to see Erik’s face spookily two feet from him.

“Gee golly, someone’s tense!” giggles Erik through his recently re-extra-whitened chiclets, which appear phosphorescent in the dim yellow lighting of the kitchenette.

“Whoa, excuse me… I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Haha, I’m like a ninja assassin, hehehehe.”

“Urgh, you can’t say that, ah you know…” grumbles Dave.

“Right. Right. It’s only me and you, though…”

Dave stares at him blankly, the left side of his mouth slightly drooping as if trying to show disappointment.

“No matter, it’s almost time for our meeting!” Erik blurts.

Before Dave can respond, his phone starts to ri… well not ring exactly, but starts to play “Ants Marching.”

“Neato! Kinda cliche, but uuhhhhhnn,” grunts Erik, who begins to enthusiastically and unathletically dance.

“It’s Jessi!” says Dave. “Hey, Jessi. Where are you?”

“Hellorh, David, I’m tryn a find pahhking, heeahr. I kant find anyfing…”

“You can’t find street parking?”

“Noooorrr.”

“She doesn’t need to be in on the meeting today,” whispers Erik to Dave.

“What?” whispers Dave back.

“Yeah, this meeting is about Ultimate Surfer, not anything she’s involved in.”

“Oh,” sighs Dave. “Hey, Jessi. You there? You actually don’t need to come into the office today. If you can’t find parking, you can go back to wherever you’re staying.”

“Whhhaat? Nibblies up the clackah!” Jessi yelps. “Fine, I’ll head to the hotewh,” she says as she clicks off the call.

“She’s fiiiine.”

They walk out of the kitchenette and make their way to the conference room, where they find Strider already seated.

“The Waaaaaaaaz,” exclaims Erik.

“Hey, Strider, what’re you doing here?” asks Dave.

“Oh, bro, like Erik invited me to talk about Ultimate Surfer. This show is going to be epic,” he says with a shrug as if he has no idea why he’s there either.

“I invited him because he could give us some good insight into what we could do to make the show more appealing to the everyman surf bro… plus he was in the neighborhood and, for a man his age, he consumes a ton of YouTube,” asserts Erik.

“You know it!”

“Anyway, so, Wazzman, how do you think people will receive the Ultimate Surfer?” asks Erik.

“Well, you know, it good be mental, people could really love it, they should, but they might also not like it that much.”

“Couldn’t you say that about almost anything?” begs Dave.

“I mean, I guess so… not Fruit By the Foot. Everybody loves that stuff! It’s gnarly,” answers Strider.

“OK. I gue…” starts Dave.

“I would be worried about that Russian dude doing that waterslide in Dubai. If we’re not that exciting, I don’t know what you’re going to do,” offers Strider.

“What does that have to…”

“No, Wazooo is right. There is only enough space for people to pay attention to one water sport related activity/event at a time… Oh, bugger,” cries Erik.

“Surfing is completely unrelated, and that can’t be true.”

“It is, Dave!… Thanks, Raspberry, you can head out now.”

“Sweet. I’m going to skateboard out of here and pretend like I’m surfing. Fun times, brah. Hey, Elo, you said I could probably get one of Dave’s sandwiches…”

“I didn’t bring any today. I’m just having cereal,” says Dave, pointing to his bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes.

“Bummer,” replies Strider, who then grabs the microphone he brought with him off the desk and takes off down the hallway, narrating every moment of his ride to no one.

“That was kind of a disaster,” remarks Dave.

“Hey, don’t be mean to him. He’s special needs.”

Dave gives him the same blank, disapproving look as before, the left side of his mouth slightly drooping.

“How ’bout we break for lunch?!” suggests Erik.

“Sure, what’re we…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I asked Koa to pick us up something at the end of his shift at 2.”

“His shift?”

“Yeah, he’s doing Postmates on the side now… I’m talking Koa Smith, btw… anyway, I think he said he’d be bringing Poncho’s. That’s a place, right?”

“I guess.”

“He should get some for all the other employees in today,” says Erik.

Dave looks around the empty room. “Other employees? Besides you and me?” he says, gesturing to all the nonexistent people around them.

“Hehehe, yeah.”

Dave walks back to the kitchenette to go on his computer to do some work, while Erik stays in the conference room, opening up Chrome on his trusty iPad to sort through his search results for “black anal creampie” on the already opened xhamster tab.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……”