Whoa-zo. Had the recurring dream again. My shades are mistyed up with sweat again, nugget.
I was alone. Nothin but sand under my rad Air Jordans. My board was beside me (like always). Custom-made Birdhouse deck with “RADICAL” emblazoned underneath in striking bold. Only it wasn’t the usual “shocking silver” lettering. It was red. Deep red.
Like a blood red.
I inch away from this creep-ass board. I look forward. Is that… a halfpipe, far off in the distance?? I ditch my creep-ass blood board. I run, run, run. But before I can get any further, I see…
A man. In military uniform. His face… is mashed in like a fuckin lame-ass newb boarder who dropped off his board like a loser. He’s pointing. He’s pointing at me??
I yell “WHAT’S LAME, CRACK-ASS??” I get no reply. I wake up. Damn.
Same dream, only Rodney Mullen is there. Still alive. How??
“The money from Cool Boarders 6,” he says. “It’s mine. You stole my idea. Nuclear disarmament via flying skateboards? My idea.”
I hate you Rodney. LEAVE ME ALON
Rodney Mullin, Bam Margera, Tony Hawk, circa-2002 Spiderman, throngs of disenfranchised 13-year old kids. The faceless man in a military uniform. All pointing at me. All screaming.
I need to take a late morning ride. And a long shower. I can taste blood.
Lame-ass trippin bullshi