Every so often in life a "perfect storm" will blow up out of nowhere. For us, that was the other week, which just so happened to coincide with an unexpectedly "accelerated" release of two new pro model graphics. You know the ones. The Kirby-esque inspired designs for Max Murphy and Timothy Johnson that I've been carpet bombing all over our Instagram handles to the 200-odd followers who actually get them dropped into their feeds. Normally I would provide a direct link to them here for your purchasing ease, but at some point in the future those coded connections will "break" and that results in a negative ding to our website's overall performance score—its "health," if you will, according to Google Analytics. Being an overachiever at heart—although, sadly, not always in practice—I simply cannot let such things happen any longer; a bulletproof percentage grade on Google means much more to me than making your idle clicking life easier.
Boy oh boy, have we got something fun for you. Well, not something, rather someone: Bobby Puleo. That's right, he's our extra special guest poster for today, because he's the only one we know with the ability to go down an intricate warren of rabbit holes and come back alive with all the numbers (and more!) still intact. So buckle up, Danny Boy, as we prepare to go deep C-diving behind the ever so puzzling door of Room 237. And now… heeeere's Bobby!
It's no secret that we have an upcoming board with a rabbit on it. Unless, of course, you did not purchase our latest sticker pack, in which case you may remain ignorant to the late lepus matter in whole. And that's okay. Ignorance is bliss, as the idioms do blithely say, but if you do wish to join the ranks of the informed please run up your credit card here. Regardless of your level of awareness, though, this tale has nothing whatsoever to do with the bunny lurking in our wings. Hell, it's not even mine to tell. It's Darren Howarth's, a skateboarder originally from the UK who I only recently encountered this year through an odd email exchange that succeeded in dredging up a few memories of my own from the past (the lot of which you can sure as shit bet I'll be all too happy to interject via my patented method of footnote madness).
Toward the tail end of my grandfather’s long life, we were all sitting around a table at Applebee’s one Sunday noon for lunch when out of left field he started talking about an event that took place during his service in World War II. This was somewhat jarring and unusual considering I had never once heard him speak about that time period in any great detail throughout the entire 40 odd years of life we’d overlapped on. But here he was now, recounting a particularly traumatic experience from the Pacific Theater as we all waited for our assorted entrees to arrive while sipping on sodas and lemonades.
Look, I ain’t gonna front. I haven't a clue about anything that’s going on here this month and I'm not even about to pretend I do. I know, sounds weird coming from a guy who worked on Big Brother skate mag through the hey-daze of The Bong Olympics and Captain Stoney (RIP), but I was the straight-laced nerd of the crew who simply raised an unamused eyebrow at all the weedy puff pieces. Others enjoyed it, though, so who was I to rain on their big pot parade? Not to mention the fact all that stuff was infinitely more popular than the esoteric bullshit I was taking up valuable editorial real estate with, you know, stuff like snack cracker reviews and bi-monthly blow-by-blow recaps of the greatest TV saga ever, Beverly Hills 90210, all of which they were kind enough to let me do, so why not be kind in kind to the kine?