Was, and still, the most beautiful man in surfing. | Photo: @sensitiveseashellcollector

Australian woman reveals the disastrous text message she accidentally sent Kelly Slater… twice… following intimate shower date, “I felt sick!”

“We’d become super super good friends. We were pen pals, emailing daily. He was on and off with Pamela Anderson, I was helping him through that. And a few of my closest friends, guys and girls, said you gotta seal the deal."

What’s the worst text message you wish you could’ve unsent immediately after punching the hit button, that still haunts etc?

I gave my phone to a boozed gal in a bar one night, told her she could hit anyone she wanted, say whatever she wanted, and the dreadful woman wrote an unfathomably vile missive about the mother, dying of cancer as fate would play it, of the recipient.

Apple, of course, has released an unsend function for messages on its IOS16 update, which gives the writer fifteen minutes to change their mind.

The podcast of the insanely popular Inspired Unemployed Instagram account, two Australian tradies turned folk heroes, one-point-four-mill followers, riffed on the update in their latest episode, which is titled “Dedicated to Kelly Slater” for obvious reasons.

An Australian women of roughly middle age called in and described meeting Kelly at a bar-restaurant in Jan Juc, near Bells, twenty years ago, and how he memorised her telephone number after hearing her tell it to someone else, leading to a long-term and, mostly platonic, friendship.

The woman told the hosts Jack Steele and Matt Ford she was determined not to go beyond making out, or “pashing” as she describes it, using a long disappeared term, for she sought a long-term friendship not a one-time roll in the hay.

Her friends, however, convinced her there would come a time, perhaps in her dotage, when she’d regret, terribly, her decision not to ride the famous prong.

“We’d become super super good friends. We were pen pals, emailing daily. He was on and off with Pamela Anderson, I was helping him through that. And a few of my closest friends, guys and girls, said you gotta seal the deal… my best friend said you’re going to become old and regret you didn’t do it… I promised I’d text her as soon as it happened.”

Anyway, a little while later Slater is in Sydney, mystery gal in Melbourne.

She flies up.

“Middle of the day. Saturday. We obviously did the do. We were both in the shower and all I could think of was, shit, I have to call my best friend. I literally got out of the shower, wasn’t even dressed, and messaged these exact words. ‘Did it. Had sex. Going to leave now.’”

The message went to Slater, she says, not pal.

Despite disaster, she knew she had to inform pal of event.

The text went to Slater again.

“He was in the shower. I was sitting on the front of the bed. He asked me what was wrong, I said, can you please give me your phone? Give it to me!”

The friendship, she says, fizzled after the texts were revealed although, “I think he felt he had to prove himself after that. All I can say is he’s very competitive.”

Tall tale or true?

(Story starts at 25:22.)

An ode to the sublime experience of getting utterly pounded!

Come and share your favorite memory.

But when was the last time you were utterly pounded? Ocean waves of “historic” significance stacking out the back with your human, all too human, heart heaving right up into your human, all too human, throat?

Breathing in the salty mist, one suck at a time, while digging for the horizon with arms built of noodle, with hands lightly muscled by typing up the latest exploit-adjacents of the world’s greatest surfer Kelly Slater?

Of his luxury watch nemesis Laird Hamilton?

For me it has been far too long but there I was, minutes ago, breathing, scratching, duck diving, repeating until out the back and breathing again but this time actually huffing and puffing.

Another ocean wave, more than historic, maybe even three German Male Lower Legs or 897654 Surfline feet, there and mocking, forcing ego to crash reality but which wins?

Ego or reality?

Ego always.

Spin, noodle scrape, limp to feet, catch lip in that all too human head and…

…roll in the brine.

Knees bouncing off skull dulled by the mundane, leash tugging on leg, an economical Thai massage.

Getting pounded is totally underrated.

Share your favorite memory below.

Rogan (left) and Slater (right) (I think).

World’s greatest surfer Kelly Slater confidant Joe Rogan draws fire for comment about “shooting homeless people,” calls ex-US President Donald Trump an Adderall-afflicted “man baby” in explosive new interview!


The world’s greatest surfer Kelly Slater is many things to many people including, but not limited to, 11x champion, oldest Pro Pipeline in history and extremely popular podcaster Joe Rogan’s friend and confidant. The two recorded a much-loved episode nearly four years ago now though it feels like it was just yesterday.

Relive here.

Rogan, in any case, made headlines today by outraging both sides of the political fringes first by suggesting former United States President Donald J. Trump, likely the 2024 Republican candidate, enjoyed the affects of Adderall, a medication used to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder while also calling him a “man baby” and, second, by joking that the homeless in Los Angeles should be shot in a new episode featuring the standup comedian Tom Segura.

Explosive, I suppose.

But to our point, do you think Slater grows jealous when he watches Rogan effortlessly chat about this and that, real world events as opposed to crocodiles, with others? Conversations that burst into the mainstream and cause shock and dismay? His own aforementioned episode, though, again, much-loved, was not without critics accusing the current world number seventeen of kowtowing to the famous podcaster.

Back to the explosion, though, the rage caused by the “shooting homeless” joke, in particular, are you too seeing red?

Filled with passion?

Billy Kemper, Kai Lenny, Ian Walsh (pictured). Surf journalist just out of frame.

Following warrior path of Kai Lenny, Billy Kemper, Ian Walsh, brave surf journalist dusts off gun and paddles into menacing jaws of “historic” swell!

Fortune favors the bold.

The text came in early from a great friend. “Just dropped kid at beach summer camp. D Street is cranking.” And just like that, history had arrived on my very doorstep. As you are well aware, that same history has been lashing the Hawaiian Island chain’s south facing shores. Videos emerging of two-story condominiums getting completely barreled, weddings washed away, much wailing and gnashing of teeth as the largest south swell in decades steamed in from the deep.

18 – 24 foot faces.

678 – 986 foot Surfline.

Our heroes, wearing names like Kai Lenny, Billy Kemper, Ian Walsh, though, were undaunted, took the bigger boards and treated the world to a spectacular spectacular.


And so I got out of bed, knowing that D Street was cranking, wondering if my spine would be steeled enough.

Thankfully, as a recently transitioned biathlete, I’d been both surfing and running and hoped my body could take it as local San Diego newspapers were whispering of possible 8 foot sets. No telling how many Surflines.

I waited for the tide to dip, dropped by daughter off at ballet intensives then headed to the garage and carefully slid my 6’10 Channel Islands gun from the racks.

Breathing heavy.

Not wanting to overthink, I had decided to surf out the front, wandered down, hopped the tracks, scampered across the Pacific Coast Highway and studied the carnage. Lines of whitewater stretching from Swamis down to the Cardiff Reef.

No mercy.

I closed my eyes, thought of Kai Lenny, Billy Kemper, Ian Walsh and, then and there, decided to etch my name alongside theirs in the annals.

The water was warm, due the southern nature of the swell, and I regretted my 2 mil short-arm almost immediately though was also quietly thankful for the buoyancy it would give me and the mental security it might provide.

My wetsuit of armor.

The paddle was lightly tiring, as I had to duck dive four or five waves, but then I was in a lineup that hadn’t been so thin in months. Just five hellmen alone together.

One was on a single-fin Lightning Bolt, crimson and yellow.

Most of the sets were closing out but I managed to claw into a left, towering frightfully above my shoulder, and looked over its feathering lip to see if my comrades had seen it too.

Kai Lenny, Billy Kemper, Ian Walsh, Chas Smith.


Rob, drawing fingers to lips, questioned the proposition. “Ikea uses precious timber to build its stuff, yeah?” While one executive rubbed his hands into a nervous ball, the other responded, “Yes, but it’s all sealed in plastic.” | Photo: IKEA

Behind-the-scenes of IKEA/WSL collaboration inspired by Rob Machado, “We want to collaborate with you for the same reason Breitling grabbed Kelly, for his intimate knowledge of clockworks.”

“A coffee table. A square one. No, rectangle. No, in the shape of…a surfboard?” His mind whirred like a Breitling.

A hard-white sunlight pushed through the blinds of the marketing department Monday morning. A pair of executives sat comfortably on a Finnala© three-seat faux-leather sectional (available black, sherpa tan; pull-out, $2,455).

Facing them was cross-legged former world number-two surfer and environmentalist Rob Machado, sipping coffee from his Kejserlig© mug (black, grey, clay; $4.99/2-pk).

“You find the place OK, Rob?”

“Yeah, I saw those bright blue and yellow flags out front. It’s cool that you guys support Ukraine.”

The executives crossed eyes then returned to Machado.

“Hungry?” asked the exec as she extended a plate of Huvodroll© meatballs ($7.99/12) toward Rob.

“I’m vegan.”

The executives winked at each other knowingly and stretched another arrangement of Varldsklok© plant-mince balls across the glass table.

“How about these? They’re sustainable!” the exec exclaimed.

“What does that even mean?” asked Machado raising an eyebrow.

The executives leaned forward.

“That’s why we brought you here, Rob. We’re dreaming about a new fully sustainable surf-inspired line: furniture, cookware, beach gear. And we think you’re the perfect person for a collaboration. Full partners, IKEA, the WSL, and you, from forest to floor.”

Rob, drawing fingers to lips, questioned the proposition. “Ikea uses precious timber to build its stuff, yeah?”

While one executive rubbed his hands into a nervous ball, the other responded, “Yes, but it’s all sealed in plastic.”


Seemingly relaxed, Rob slipped off his sandals and slid his toes through the plush Langsted© area rug (low-pile, non-slide; $49.99).

“We want to collaborate for the same reason Dockers paired with Jon Rose’s Waves for Water. I mean, who doesn’t want―no, need―access to affordable slacks in drought-stricken regions of the world?”

The other executive added, “We want to collaborate with you for the same reason Breitling grabbed Kelly for his intimate knowledge of clockworks.”

The room went silent as if chloroformed.

Dropping their smiles, the executives explained. “You see, Rob, our company is about more than disposable furniture. We’re about preserving the environment and those living within it. You ever visit the San Diego IKEA?”

“The one on Fenton Parkway? Sure. And I’ve always dreamt about cruising a couple hours north to the Costa Mesa store in my conversion van.”

The executive began painting Rob a picture. “When you enter the San Diego IKEA, you see people from all walks of life―old, young, rich, semi-rich. Everyone is there, in every color, walking in perfect harmony, perpetually. It’s about multi-cultural sustainability for people and planet alike.”

“You should open one in Kharkiv,” interjected Rob innocently.

The executive talked straight into Rob’s eyes. “So far, we have a few items in the works but are stuck. For example, take a look at this.”

The executives unfolded a Kaseberga© prototype beach blanket on the table, plain white.

“Now, Rob, we want something that screams ‘SURFBOARDING!’ Tell us: what should we do with this blanket?”

Machado studied the cloth like a surgeon reading an x-ray, shifting his eyes around the four corners of the terry-cloth monolith.

“I’m thinking floral print.”

The executives pumped their fists in unison.

“YES! That’s exactly why we brought you in, Mr. Machado. Now, keep the flow here. Keep rolling.”

They made bicycle crank circles with their hands.

“What else is spinning in your head for the collection?”

Rob folded his arms, slid his eyes to the ceiling, then spoke slowly, carefully.

“A coffee table. A square one. No, rectangle. No, in the shape of…a surfboard?” His mind whirred like a Breitling.

“Oh, that’s beautiful, Rob,” cried one of the executives. “Beautiful. A table that looks like a surfboard.”

A tabletop drum roll and trumpet sounded from the executives. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Kaseberga© surfboard coffee table (bamboo, wire underframe, $99.99)!”

For the next four hours, the team poured over the new Surf-Core Line designs. They sketched, they grappled, they wondered, pushing the limits of design, taste and ethics. In the end, each piece of the collection was determined to have floral print. They also had the idea for a charcoal grill, also with floral print.

Rob, exhausted, fell back in his chair.

“This is all great, guys. But is it sustainable?”

Befuddled, the executives tossed their palms upward.

“We’ve gone over this. Everything comes from trees we rip down and what can be, will be, wrapped in plastic.”

“That’s not enough. I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Machado, just what do you mean?”

“You know, sustainable. Royalties in perpetuity.”

The trio burst into wild laughter.

“Now, how ‘bout we grab some plant-mince balls and drive up to Costa Mesa in that conversion van (Dodge, 1978, 7 mi/gal.).”