StrangeLove

Welcome to the latest edition of SENT where I present the ham-fisted highlights from the stupid emails that I sent last week…

I like email. I like writing emails and I like receiving emails. I write long emails. It’s well known that I write long emails. I think most of my friends hate my long emails because most people treat email like a text, or a tweet—there’s a character limit. Nuh-uh. I don’t know if you’ve looked, but there is no bottom to an email. That’s right, it goes to infinity. I’m not kidding. Try it. I just hit return on an email and sat here for about five minutes watching the cursor descend… and descend… and descend… I’m pretty sure my cursor is in the Marianas Trench right now.

Big Brother’s 30^th anniversary is next year in 2022. There have been some rumblings of exhuming that dead horse once again and beating it one more time in the form of a last issue, or something. Negotiations are not going very well at the moment, however, so I’m not confident anything “big” like that is going to happen. Who knows? But amid our initial discussions, I was forced to venture into my archives for something or other and stumbled upon a folder filled with scans of my Red Herring covers. I hadn’t seen them in a long time so I was surprised that I was giggling at them and finding it difficult to select just two examples for my purposes. They’re so horrible, I thought. Perhaps they’re worth sharing?

My bad alter ego is a horrible fellow named, DARF—arrived at by slurring “Dave.” He’s generally completely blacked out and a total nightmare to deal with. Thankfully we haven’t seen much of DARF recently and that’s perhaps due to the fact that I have since developed an alter alter-ego named, Big Sur Steve. Big Sur Steve was born a few years ago when I was driving north from the Fernwood in Big Sur to the grocery store near Carmel to pick up some supplies when I came upon an accident in one of the many windy cutbacks that distort the distance between the two locations. A car was on the shoulder smashed into the guardrail. A group of four Asian men were standing around the car seemingly confused about what to do since the car was no longer a car.

Okay, so it was me. I did it. I fully admit my participation and subsequent culpability for the "Shit Man" and "Dickman" graphic transgressions that took place during the last century for Zero Skateboards. Wait, what? Why am I even copping to having done such an egregious thing when this detail could have just as easily been swept under the substantially soiled rug of skateboard history, let alone talking about a fellow competitor in the market place on the day of a product release on our very own website? Well, the reasons are many, sad to say, so let's just go point by point and alleviate this weight from my conscience once and for fucking all.