Saturday, December 19, 2009

Goldmine Author Calls Off Two-Month Search For Motivation.

Sunday 20th December 2009.
Graeme Murdoch, of Burleigh Heads Queensland today called off the search for the energy and motivation required to post entries on sporadically humorous blog 'inside the goldmine'.

“I thought if I spent some time away from the blog, you know, bludging for a while, then after a while I'd turn around and Bam!.... there it'd be, staring me in the face and urging me to get stuck into the next soft target that blundered into my field of vision.” said the 42-year-old.

“But weirdly, the opposite happened: the longer the absence, the less necessary it felt to continue, blogging became increasingly less vital to my sense of vindication. It was oddly liberating to let the time between entries lapse from days to weeks to months.”

Witnesses report that the signal emitting from Murdoch's 'give-a-fuck-about-anything' beacon has become so weak that any prospect of locating the drive and passion to continue the goldmine, – indeed, to approach any creative endeavour with rigour and professionalism – would be nothing short of a Christmas Miracle.

“I dunno” said Murdoch, scratching his arse, “I might have another look behind the couch or in the car under the seats in the new year sometime. Maybe there'll be some remnants of desire or commitment I can scrape up and cobble together, but I wouldn't count on it.

“For now all I'm good for is to lie around and eat chocolates and watch entire series of Dexter in one go.”

Friends express fears that Murdoch's standards of personal cleanliness will wane along with his creative mojo. “It's scary to think he might actually pay less attention to grooming and hygiene than he does already,” says one.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Dave Montoya Fundraising raffle winners

Hi all. Hey sorry for the lack of satire over the last month. Been kinda distracted away from the whole humour thing lately.

I'm using this blog post to announce the winners of a fundraising raffle we had for a mate, Dave Montoya who's fighting a brain tumour right now. Guy's a legend.

Anyway, we raised 15K and Dave and hid bro are headinhg off to the States to pursue some treatments not available here.

Grand Prize Winner: Graeme Pedermont

runner up #1: Nathan French

runner up #2: Michael @ Golden Legends Restaurant

runner up#3: Debbie Arkland

runner up #4: Robyn Luke

runner up #5: Sam Smith

runner up #6: Margaret Kelly

runner up #7: Ash + Dee Frost

cheers. Here's to Dave hey.


Saturday, November 21, 2009

Modern Collective A “Trojan Horse for Socialist Utopia.”

By Tim Baker.

Planet Earth – Stars of the highly touted new surf movie, Modern Collective, have been shocked to discover the project was all an elaborate ruse by film-maker Kai Neville to impose his leftist-socialist politics on the world.

In the fine print of agreements signed by the surfers, they are henceforth obliged to donate all future income “for the collective good of humanity.”

Under the agreement, private ownership of wealth is strictly prohibited and the surfers’ earnings from sponsorship and prize money, as well as all profits from the film, must be handed over to a number of approved “community projects”.

“I thought collective just meant we were going traveling and surfing together, not some kind of crazy kabutz shit where we had to give everything away,” complained a stunned Dion Agius. “I should have twigged when Kai started carrying on about upsetting the apple cart, and apples for every one. I just thought he was on the pingers.”

Lawyers for the surfers are poring over their contracts but so far can find no loopholes in the binding agreements they have entered.

“It first came to me one day at Canguu,” said Neville, of his inspiration for the scheme. “I’d just despatched some little Balo kid to order our lunches and fetch me some fresh batteries when I had a kind of epiphany. I just couldn’t justify tripping around the planet in the lap of luxury with all these wealthy guys while so many people went without the basic necessities of life,” he said.
“All these unpaid extras in surf movies, often in impoverished third world locations, earn nothing from our imposition on their homelands and I figured it was time we gave something back. It’s nothing but an accident of birth that we have so much while they go without.”

The combined annual incomes of the surfers, Agius, Smith, Mitch Coleborn, Dusty Payne, Yadin Nichol and Dane Reynolds, believed to be in the vicinity of US$4 million, will be diverted into a charitable foundation and distributed to a number of community groups.

Top of the list is a large training facility for unemployed youth around Canguu, equipping them for jobs in the surf industry. Everything from board making and ding fixing, to website design and film making will be taught. Additionally, the surfers will all be required to perform several weeks of community service in the facility. Any failure to comply may result in an extended stay in a special “re-education camp.”

“Machado had the right idea. All he had to do was pretend he was digging a freaking well for a few minutes while Taylor got the shot, and everyone thinks he’s a bloody Saint,” bemoaned Mitch Coleborn. “We’ve basically signed our lives away because of this crazed little Che Guevara posing as a camerman, and if we complain and try and wriggle out of it we look like the bad guys.”

The only one not complaining is Reynolds. “I’ve always hated being a surf star and all the money and opportunities that come with it,” said Reynolds. “Frankly, it’s been torture. This will finally allow me to really be the kind of gritty, down-at-heel rebel I’ve always wanted to be.”

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Lifelong Friendship Ends After Mates’ Rules Violation

By Chris Binns

Ted Newbury and Damon Hensley today officially declared their 25-year mateship over, citing irreconcilable differences. After years of mediation and counselling following ‘Bowlogate’, the sorry night that saw Newbury forget to buy Hensley a round, then later fail to honour a pantsing at the pool table, the final curtain came down on the pair’s strained relationship this morning at Toonalook Back Beach, when Hensley failed to wait on the sand and watch Newbury’s last wave.

According to a distraught Newbury, the wave was “ a real good one, ay. I linked her all the way through, stuck a big floater onto the sand and did that kick-your-board-out-and-catch-it-and-keep-running thing. I was pretty pumped and looked up for Damo, but... he wasn’t there. So spewing, I’m just over it. After all I’ve done for that guy...”

Hensley admits his fault but claims he’d had the shits with his former mate from the time they’d suited up. “Ah y’know how it is, he picked me up from home like he always does, but something just didn’t seem right. I was bagging his shitty driving and he didn’t seem to appreciate it like he normally does. Then in the carpark I was pissing in my wetty and flicked some on him, and he just looked at me like, whatever. So I was like, whatever too, y’know?”

The pair were civil in the water, except for on one occasion when Newbury dropped in on Hensley, who he claims was too far back to make it. “Yeah,” says Newbury, “I went, but I had to. Teddy was never gonna get around that one, and it was too good to let go. He does it all the time and I’ve had a gutful of pulling back on bombs that he doesn’t end up making.”

According to Newbury, the situation was quite different. “Fuck mate, the only reason I don’t make ’em is ’cos that clown’s always on the shoulder pushing the section down on me. He calls me Too Deep Teddy, but I reckon Drop-In Damo’s more like it. Fuck ’im.”

About the Mates’ Rule violation on the sand, Hensley is quick to set the record straight. “It was pretty shit out there. We’d been in the water for a while already and were running late for work. Edward had called last wave, and I snagged a set and beached it. Then I seen him catch at least three more little in-betweeners and kick off and paddle back out every time. After one he coulda come in on and didn’t, I bailed. It was cold on the sand and now he’s all sour on me. He can get rooted.”

Although their friendship is over, Hensley and Newbury later released a joint statement saying they their other dealings, as brothers-in-law and business partners, will be unaffected.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Dane Reynolds Reluctantly Gives Up Paper Run To Concentrate On Surfing Career

By Nick Carroll

In a heart-wrenching statement to friends, family and the global surf media, Dane Reynolds has announced he will be giving up his twice weekly paper run.

The run, which Reynolds first took on at the age of nine, covers a number of streets near his childhood home, and involves riding around with a basket of local free newspapers and tossing them into the front yards of various residents.

Giving up hand delivery of the Ventura Guardian will allow Reynolds to focus all his attention on his pro surfing career, which he said had suffered in prior seasons from broken concentration. “I was always stressing … I’d be sitting in the lineup at Teahupo’o or Hossegor, and thinking about getting back home in time for next Tuesday’s delivery.”

The $25 per month paycheque funded the purchase of his first very own surfboard. Confessed Reynolds: “At first I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find the money for my next quiver, but then I recalled I was being paid a million dollars a year by various sponsors and got my surfboards free from the world’s highest profile board designer.”

Nonetheless, admitted Reynolds, the decision to abandon the paper run has caused him considerable angst. “I’ve got nothing to fall back on now,” he told reporters, brushing away tears. “Apart from a paper run, and colossal stardom in the undeniably hip global surf culture, what else am I qualified for? I feel as if my youth is slipping away.”

Reynolds also plans to sell his specially modified bike, which allowed him to carry up to 100 newspapers at a time. But, he said, “I won’t just sell it to anyone. That bike meant the world to me.”

Local grandmother Lupe Gonzales said the whole neighbourhood would miss Reynolds. “We always knew when the paper had arrived by his raucous bellowing. ‘Read all about it!’ Dane really knew how to wake people up.”

She said the neighbourhood was planning a party to celebrate Reynolds’s long paperboy career, but she expected only a few people to show up, since the party would be on a Sunday morning when all decent Americans went to church.

New area paper boy, Bobby Martinez, says he is hoping to follow in Reynolds’s footsteps. “Boy, would I love it if a major surf corporation threw that kind of money at me!” said Martinez. “Then I wouldn’t have to win ultra prestigious ASP world tour events just to keep myself in airfares.”

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Ooooh, I Wanted Our Boy Fanning to Win the World Title But Now I Think I'm Rooting For That Joel Fellow Again.

Guest Opinion
By Goldmining Grandma Florence Tolhurst

Ever since a young Midget Farrelly set my heart on fire back in the day I've had an eye out for the surfies. My husband Walter – God rest his soul – couldn't abide the sight of 'em, so for the half-century of our holy union I've been careful not to admire these young bucks too openly or else he would get annoyed. He really would. Annoyed. My word. Yes.

Did you know my Walter always blamed that Shaun Tomson chap for his first coronary? Found some folded-up pictures of him tucked away in my sewing drawer back in '78 he did. Next thing you know we were screaming up Parramatta Road in the ambulance, with him refusing to hold my hand, muttering 'You've got some nerve, Florence' through the oxygen mask.

I never meant to hurt my husband. He was a good man. A decent man. Yes he was.

Since Walter passed though I've been free to follow the surfies on the internet to my heart's content. It's a real treat for half a dozen of us ladies in the home to sit down with a nice cup of tea and watch the surfing contests on the computer.

At my age, you might say my passion for the surfies has mellowed a little. It's more matronly concern now than when I was ... well ... you know what I mean. Here, have a toffee.

Have I told you we don't really care for the surfing out in the water awfully much? – too much sitting there, bobbing around, really, and without the most powerful of stimulants, half of us doze off after five minutes' commentary anyway.

What we absolutely adore is the interviews after they come out of the water! Such Manners! Oh, my word, such well brought-up young men!
Just when you thought gentlemen were a thing of the past.
Always going on about how great the other fellow surfs. Always so lovely and humble.

And always so sun-smart, with their little friends rushing up and handing them their caps straight away as soon as they get out of the water. You don't want melanoma now, do you. Oh no you don't. Horrible thing. Awful.

These boys give us endless things to talk about. We're always saying to eachother “My word, isn't it considerate of the other fellow's feelings when a lad says he was 'lucky to get through that heat' ”, or “That Dave Reynolds boy looks like he needs a hug” and “Ooooh, I'd like to put that Georgie Smith between two slices of bread...”

I am still a woman, after all. Feelings get stirred up.
From somewhere deep. Yes, deep.

Not that Hector Alves though. He looks like a monster in his ASP photograph. Get that beastly man away from me. Mercy!

I've always had a soft spot for our boy Fanning. He looks like a lad who'd help you across the road. Lovely. Just lovely. It was sad to see the poor soul missing out by the cruellest strokes of misfortune through the first half of the year.

But he's had his title hasn't he? 'Share' is what I always say. Don't be greedy. Don't be like that Slater fellow. Reminds me of Elvis he does. Never had enough to make him happy and look what happened to him.
They never learn. No they don't. Elvis. Such a shame.

So I was happy for young Joel's crackerjack beginning to the year. He's started his family quite young hasn't he? I always say, have 'em while you're young because then you've got more friends and you need friends don't you? I always say that don't I? I do.

Yes, Joel, lovely smile, lovely, but Esmae and Ada always wondered if he wasn't a bit cocky and I think they're on to something. Everything was always so easy. He looked like the cat who swallowed the cream.

So I started pulling for young Mick again, and what do you know, he's back on top! How wonderful. Yes. just lovely. Such a lad.

Well I WAS in Mick's corner until he won that thing in Portugal last night. Came straight out of the water and do you know the FIRST thing he did? Someone stuck a can of some newfangled energy drink in his hand and he and actually drank the whole thing! While he was being carried up the beach. In front of everyone!
Like he didn't care who saw!

God knows how much of the sugary muck the poor boy is hoovering up in private. Poor love.

Esmae reckons that next thing you know they'll be rushing down the water's edge with insulin, either that or a dialysis machine. She's got a mouth on her that woman. Yes she has.

Did I tell you that Diabetes took my poor Walter away? I'm not going to get attached to Mick only to lose him to the same scourge. It's just not right.

And that boy Joel has such lovely, white teeth, he wouldn't go near the stuff. No he wouldn't.

Go Joel. You make an old woman proud. And flushed.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Arm Raising Shoulder Dweller Accuses Surf Mag Editors of Discrimination

By Guest Goldminer Tim Brimblecombe

SLACKS CREEK – Local arm raiser Ray Smurgon has accused surf magazine editors of discrimination after failing to feature in any magazine or website with his arms up while a surfer rides the barrel.

Mr Smurgon believes the editors are conducting an orchestrated campaign and has accused them of photoshopping him out of images.

“I don’t understand it ... I’ve been to most of the big sessions in the past six months, you name it, I was all over it sticking my hands in the air and playing an important role,” said Mr Smurgon. “But did the back of my head with my arms up get one photo in any of the mags? No. Not fricken one.”

He accused editors of disrespect for failing to acknowledge his work and that of others who dedicate their lives to sitting in the channel or on the shoulder looking like they are taking part but never catching a wave.

“I’m out there on the shoulder, you know, doing the hard yards,” said Mr Smurgon, who admitted he cannot surf and has sometimes had to be saved while returning through the shore break by bodyboarders and young families on vacation. “I’m on good terms with all of the photographers, there’s a lot of mutual respect out there and that’s what comes with being a waterman. But as for the editors ... I don’t see them out there on the frontline.”

Mr Smurgon said several lucrative advertising contracts were under threat because of the poor exposure he received.

“There’s a lot that can be placed on the back of your head, believe you me, and I’ve been working on some new techniques to give advertisers excellent return on their investments.

“I have a new technique, which I call “the line of sight project”. Basically I line the surfer up with the photographer and the back of my mind’s eye. It’s like having an eye, but it’s at the back ... of my mind.

“And that’s not to mention the months of training I put in preparing for the latest big wave season. I spent hours watching Ricky and the boys in the Australian slips cordon during the Ashes and admiring how they raise their arms when appealing.

“I not only marvelled at their passion in the appeal but what also amazed me was the drive they seem to get through the legs. Of course I’m sitting on a board and can’t use my legs so I’ve worked hard developing that drive through my core. I do a lot of SUP ... that’s great for the core.”

Mr Smurgon was unsure what the future held.

“I plan to speak individually with each editor and if they won’t budge then I have a couple of other projects on the go, one of which is my book to be called “Presenting the Eye”, which is basically a how to guide which I hope to have in all good book stores by Christmas.”

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Aloha Shortage “Critical”

By Guest Goldminer Rick Bannister

– reporting from the near future –

HONOLULU — Aloha shortages have hit much of Hawaii, particularly the island of Oahu, at the height of the winter surf season.

Several islands in the Hawaiian group, including Kauai, Maui and Molokai, have imposed restrictions to maintain reserves until locals carrying more of the sacred energy arrive from the Big Island of Hawai’i. On the island of Oahu, locals and tourists have reported no aloha anywhere for the last five days.

"We had warned central government that this would happen months ago and now we are struggling to meet demand," said the concierge at the Lae Nani Outrigger, Kam Faaola.

The problem has been exacerbated by increased consumption of aloha during a record run of west swells on the North Shore. Not only the Hawaiian word for hello and goodbye, the deeper meaning of aloha is the joyful sharing of life energy. It seems the increasing number of surfers from around the world, particularly the aggressive nature of the Brazilians, has caused nearly all of the aloha in local reservoirs to evaporate.

Oahu has experienced aloha shortages before, but the trouble this year is unprecedented. The government reacted this week by declaring a state of emergency to ensure that locals did not run completely dry and be unable to welcome any visitors, regardless of whether they were surfers or not, during a year in which a record four and a half million tourists were expected.

Well-known local pro Chase Harrison would not say what measures the authorities should take. But he said that "aloha shortages are a major problem, because they have an immediate impact on tourists, especially haoles who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing in the line-up at Sunset. Bra, I want to show everyone aloha, but as a local surfer there’s only so much joyful sharing of life energy I can manage."

Dwindling aloha supplies have provoked other problems. The state has warned that locals are producing just half the number of shakas they were last year. The shocking drop in the signature hand gesture of Hawaii also suggesting that the local population’s ability to “hang loose” might also be flagging.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Disgruntled Surfer Claims “Time Didn't Stand Still.” Launches Class Action.

By Guest Goldminer
Tim Baker

SOUTHPORT, QLD – An angry Gold Coast surfer has launched a massive lawsuit against Shaun Tomson, Gerry Lopez and large sections of the surf industry and media, claiming that tube riding is a hoax.

Garry Peabottom, of Varsity Lakes, claims he has spent thousands of dollars and most of his adolescent and adult life trying to get tubed, because he believed “the systematic, deliberate, and misleading brainwashing of the entire surf culture, that the tube riding experience would give meaning to my life.”

“Time doesn’t slow down at all,” he told a busy media scrum, outside the Southport Magistrates Court. “If anything, it’s speeded up. I was in, then I was out again. Nothing happened. I’m the same person I always was, damn it.”

In his action, Peabottom claims he had accepted the “contrived surf media lies that tube riding would be a somehow transcendental, transformative experience.”

“They’re all in on it - the pros, the companies, the mags, the video makers, selling us a pack of lies,” he claimed.

The truth, he reckoned, was that his first brief tube, during a boat trip to the Mentawais with a gang of mates, had been “maybe mildly more exciting than having a tug, and nowhere near as good as a root.”

Mounting his own case, Peabottom called several supporting witnesses to the stand.

Frank “Franger” Mitcham, a plumber from Labrador, told the court Peabottom had been obsessed with getting tubed as long as he’d known him. “He’s not that crash hot a surfer to be honest. I’ve never seen a bloke get guillotined by the lip so regularly. He had a nack for it, would just stick his head in the things as if he wanted to get it taken off. He was hilarious.”

Peabottom, a large-bodied, ungainly goofyfooter, said they had scored “sick Maccas for three days, with only me mates, a few Brazzers and a bunch of pros in the water,” he told the court.

“As soon as I saw that wave, I just went, this is the place - this is where I’m going to get my first barrel,” Peabottom testified. “For the first coupla days I just got dropped in on, blew take offs or would get into an unsteady tube squat, get sucked up the face and sail over the falls with the lip.”

Several scars on Peabottom’s forehead and elbows, he claimed, were the result of repeated scrapes with what he called “the razor sharp reef lurking just below the surface.”

“Finally, on day three, I started to get the hang of it. Oh, I still blew a lot of them, but I caught a few lazy shoulders and then worked my way up the food chain until I was in the spot when a set came.”

He described the wave as “easy double over head” and claimed he was “fully shitting meself,” as the first wave of the set approached, but managed to catch the thing and gain a clean entry.

“I just stood there and the lip threw out and over me and I managed not to fall off,” Peabottom related. “Oh, it was nice enough and the view was pretty amazing for a few moments there, but I guess it had been built up so much in my mind by all those years of brain washing that it was a bit of an anti-climax, really.”

The defence case rests on the question of whether the plaintiff was actually in the tube. Star witness “Franger” Mitcham vehemently corroborated Peabottom’s story.

“Oh, he was in there alright. None of us could bloody believe it. We were all hooting our heads off and got right on it that night, drank the boat dry and demolished the duty free in celebration of Gazzer’s barrel,” he claimed. “I thought he seemed a bit subued though, not his usual self.”

Peabottom’s suit demands substantial damages from several major surfwear labels as well as the publishers of the Surfer’s Naval magazine, known for its flowery prose on the wonders of tube-riding, a number of distinguished surf identities known to have described the tube in extravagant terms, as well as respected surf writer, Barney O’Flannery. “He’s the worst of the lot,” Peabottom told the press. “You should see the garbage he writes - active meditation, stilling the conscious mind, creating a state of Flow. What a bunch of bullshit,” Peabottom spat.

He is seeking financial compensation for the money he has spent on boards, petrol, airfares, surf camp tariffs, even magazines and movies, over a 15 year period. He is also inviting other surfers who feel they have been similarly misled to overcome their shame and come forward to tell their stories.

“It’s a hoax and I’ve been had, we’re all being had. I’ll stay home at my local beachbreak and practice my airs from now on. They are way more rad and that Dane Reynolds dude, he ain’t trying to sell shit. The one consolation out of all this is I have finally found a surf star I can trust.”

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Humpback Whale to Take On Major Surf Industry Position

By Guest Goldminer Nick Carroll
(with added stupid bits by GM)

At its annual shareholders’ meeting yesterday, well-known surf corporation MegaSurf named “Sally”, a fully grown humpback whale, as its next Vice President of Marketing.

“We’re stealing a march on Billabong,” declared MegaSurf founder Wayne Cribbage. “They’ve merely got Dave Rastovich hanging around the humpbacks. We’ve gone one step further and hired one.”

The massive whale, who measures over 14 metres from beak to fluke and spends much of her time migrating between the Southern Ocean and the species’ South Pacific breeding grounds, has no previous industry experience.

Cribbage refused to be drawn on the question of affirmative action, pointing out that most people in the surf industry have never had another job either.

“Whales just seem to be these very appealing creatures who live in the sea all year round and are in touch with the great environmental mysteries…and the environment is very important to our customers.

“Plus they’re really huge, but non-violent. And girls love them! So it’s cross-marketing.

“It just makes sense.”

“Sally”, who speaks in a series of indecipherable clicks, squeals and humming sounds which are only audible underwater, will convey her orders to her human underlings through a complex tail splashing method known as “fluke morse code”.

“She’s already told us to hire Rasta and to get involved in a global push to protect the giant Southern Ocean krill and plankton fields,” an enthusiastic Cribbage told the shareholders.

MegaSurf insiders speculate that the plumb role of Contest Director at the MegaSurf Pro Fiji will also fall squarely into Sally's barnacle-encrusted lap – a suggestion Cribbage makes no attempt to deny.

“It's early days yet but we envision Sally playing a key role in the contest's webcast at the very least.

“With our understanding of the intelligence of these creatures growing by the year – not to mention their resurgent numbers – whales themselves are potential consumers of fine MegaSurf apparel and surf goods”

“To that end, Sally will click, squeal and sing her commentary, heat by heat, from an underwater booth at the MegaSurf Pro Fiji. We hope the glorious combat of Pro Surfing will capture the imagination of Ceteceans young and old.”

It's understood Sally has agreed not to give personal 'shout outs' during the sonar-cast.

“Abuse a commentator's privileges to transmit messages to family and friends? Even I know that's completely unprofessional,” she is understood to have tapped out in her crude morse code.

Little is known yet of Sally’s views on MegaSurf's other marketing investments, but no professional surfers have been laid off or replaced.

Top MegaSurf pro Himbo Jackson – currently ranked third in the world – says he’s happy with the appointment. “Normally having a chick in charge of my salary would be a cause for concern,” Jackson said. “But since she weighs around 40 tonnes, swims faster than most small fishing vessels and can dive to colossal depths below the ocean surface, I’ll let it go for now.”

According to Cribbage, MegaSurf had “nothing to lose and everything to gain” by employing the world’s first non-human surf industry executive. “Sally is showing every sign of being a positive inclusion in our management team, going forward.

“And after all, if things don’t work out, we can always sell her to the Japanese. They love whales.”

Monday, October 5, 2009

Billabong Executives Conspiring to Wax Mick Fanning's Board with Soap.

Billabong HQ, Australia
– Joel Parkinson's 2009 World Title lead is to be protected 'by any means possible', a leaked internal email revealed today.

The explosive document implicates a number of individuals in Billabong's marketing team as holding secretive 'Think Tank' sessions in order to guarantee early season runaway leader Joel Parkinson stays ahead of the ASP pack come December.

“We've already printed five thousand PARKO9 commemorative tees and caps, and designs are finalised on the Numero Uno Mega Stretch Titanium Eco Champ boardies” the document states, “so unless we wanna dump this all shit into landfill ... well, thinking caps on, gentlemen.”

The email continues: “Our attempt to steal Mick's quiver in France was a mixed success. On the positive side the burglary was executed with stealth and brilliance - all nine boards were removed from the house without the occupants stirring. On the down side our contracted thief broke into the wrong apartment and took CJ Hobgood's boards instead. We put this glitch down to the fricken language barrier.”

In a conspiracy that seemingly reaches all the way to the top of the surfwear giant's sprawling executive branch, a wide and devious range of submissions are tabled in a powerpoint attachment, including:

• KIDNAP either Mick's beloved dog Taylor, or recently-sighted alter-ego Eugene, with a series of early third round exits as ransom.

• SWEAR to Mick and his entourage that Rip Curl's mobile search event has been moved from Portugal to Siberia, “Honestly”.

• HACK into Mick's twitter account and post several tweets suggesting that The Wolfpak are a bunch of effeminate shoulder-hopping homos, and that Mick could take any number of 'em down in a fistfight on any beach in the world. This could come in handy if the title race stays open until Pipe.

• WHOOPS! If Mick wins Mundaka, arrange for the traditional throw off the harbour wall to be miscued. “It's entirely possible that a mistimed throw could send the champion back on to the cobblestones on the other side of the wall” reads the rationale.

• CONTRACT a delusional evil genius to rig up a gigantic doomsday electro magnet of sorts – perhaps secreted in the iconic church overlooking Mundaka – and aim it at the metal hook in Mick's hip bone as he takes off. “It worked in an old episode of Batman” the submission reads, “so perhaps it could be applied in this case of corporate-sport-sabotage.”

• APPEAL to Mick's sense of mateship and egalatarian sense of fair play, using emotive language such as “Garn maaaaaaate, you've already got a bloody title, thought you two were mates, maaaate...” etc

The leaked corporate email dismisses all the above suggestions as “spirited but ultimately stupid.”

The document states bluntly: “We will be proceeding with 'Operation Greased Lightning' ” and provides details on the strategy to wax Fanning's boards with soap.

“A cache of Palmolive Gold soap has been bought at IGA supermarket in West Burleigh. It was purchased with petty cash so it cannot be linked back to the company's financial records. We hope to have it smuggled into Spain within 48 hours.

“It would be too suspicious if Parko himself was to waltz up and say 'Heeeey Mick, ol' buddy ol' mate ol' arch rival, let me wax your shooter with this oddly aromatic wax', so we're looking to co-opt the third member of the 'cooly kids' as an agent of sorts.

“Yes, while Mick's going through his pre-heat stretch/dance routine, none other than Dean Morrison will use his honorary status as the third 'kid' to access the inner sanctum of the comp area and apply the dastardly top coat of slippery gold that will clear the way to glory for Parko.

“Fortunately, Mick wears headphones in his pre-heat warm up, so he won't be able to hear Dean's devious and evil laughter.

“This will be the single most destructive Dingo act since Azaria Chamberlain, but without the blood – unless of course Mick slips and pierces his own scrotum with a fin, or the tip of his DHD 6'1”.”

“Mmmmmmwwwwaaaahhhhaaaahhhhaaahhhh” the document concluded.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Web Reporter Hospitalised for Multiple Personality Disorder

By Guest Goldminer
Tim Baker

Perth, Australia –
What started as a promising, edgey career in the exciting world of new media, has ended in tragedy and finger-pointing.

Rupert Penniwinkle, work experience boy and part-time web administrator for free local surf magazine, Fully Sick, began showing worrying signs in his regular despatches on their website several months ago, but sadly no alarm bells went off among his employers, co-workers or legions of readers. What happened next may forever alter workplace laws in this country, particuarly when it comes to allowing junior staff unfettered access to the internet without supervision.

Penniwnkle’s acid-witted commentary on the surfing world had shot him to almost instant internet celebrity, among his immediate circle of friends and local cafe patrons. The parry and thrust of the comments section below each of his articles had become especially popular, as the great unwashed rank and file of the surfing world stormed the barricades and had their say. Or so it seemed ...

“It started innocently enough,” Neil O’Shannesy, Penniwinkle’s former editor, observed.
“He’d post an item, we’d all weigh in under invented names, just to get the ball rolling, to give people the idea of the kind of poison and viciousness we wanted, and they’d soon get the idea, join in and start baying for blood and hurling abuse with the best of them.”

Soon, however, O’Shannesy’s increasingly busy social calendar allowed him little time in the Fully Sick office and the former work experience boy was given complete, unsupervised access to a computer, a broadband internet connection, and the Fully Sick website’s content management system, sometimes for days at a time.

“I know, I know. It seems crazy in hindsight,” bemoans O’Shannesy. “But he seemed to pick it up right away. A natural. I showed him a bit of the nastier stuff on YouTube and he just got it. He didn’t need us any more. He adopted a few other nom de plumes and would happily engage in heated arguments with himself for hours, until someone took notice. He’d even put on different outfits for each character. And he was ruthless. He’d tear strips off anyone and anything, even himself. Our readers just loved it. I know, I’ve spoken to all of them.”

It wasn’t long, however, before these multiple identities began to compete in Penniwinkle’s brain for supremacy.

“I’d write something contentious like, I don’t know, live theatre is strictly for wankers. If no one bit, I’d chime in with an empassioned defence of the exact opposition,” explains Penniwinkle, a little wearily, and clearly under the influence of powerful medication.

“Then I’d abuse myself and before I knew it I was at my own throat, literally,” Penniwinkle reccounts vividly, grabbing himself forecefully by the scruff of the neck.“The third man in usually wrote the other two off, and so it went. There was a kind of crazy beauty to it, like releasing the hounds. It felt fantastic just to let all these mad, illogical, mutually contradictory thoughts out into the world and let them run like brushfires. It was wonderful to see the readers join in with a kind of mass blood lust. To incite the power of the mob! I felt .... for a moment ...” Penniwinkle pauses, regards the stark surrounds of the hospital ward. “Glorious,” he whispers.

Though hospital visitations are strictly limited and supervised, Penniwinkle is already beginning the painful process of putting the pieces back together - feeding and toileting himself, taking short walks with the aid of a zimmer frame, even visiting a corner street for cigarettes and breath fresheners.

Penniwinkle is currently allowed closely monitored, half hour sessions of internet time each day.

“They’re still there, the voices, but I just try to igore them mainly,” Penniwinkle explains seriously. “Oh, I get itchy fingers from time to time. But then I remind myself what I’ve learned here in the occupational therapy classes. How we are all one and interconnected.” He breathes a heavy sigh. “I had no idea. I thought that’s what the internet was for. Why didn’t someone tell me?”

Back at Fully Sick HQ O’Shannesy and publisher Phillip Nolan are re-assessing Penniwinkle’s future.

“I reckon he’ll be good at selling ads,” declares Nolan, with a sudden, broad grin. “That bloke would sell a rat’s arse to a blind man as a wedding ring. We’re going to conjure a win out of all this one way or another.”

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Complete Bitch Chooses to Read Magazine on Beach Instead of Watching, Transfixed in Awe, as Boyfriend Surfs

Fairhaven, Victoria –
It could be splitsville for teen power couple Grant Edmonds and Marcia Davis, sources close to the pair revealed today.

Mr Edmonds is reportedly fuming over a perceived snub from long term girlfriend Davis, who is said to have paid more attention to her copy of Cleo magazine than to her partner's surfing.

This, despite Edmonds deliberately choosing to surf a peak directly in front of her, and hooting loudly when paddling into a wave so as to sound the alert.

“We've been together for like three whole months. I just can't reconcile such an ice cold bitch act with the same princess who's so nice and sweet she won't even let me finger her,” said a clearly upset Edmonds.

“Every time I did like a heaps good reo and that I'd look back to the beach and she wouldn't even be looking UP.

“You think you know someone, and BAM, they spit in your face.”

Friends report Edmonds spent the first 20 minutes of his two-hour surf wondering aloud if Ms Davis was watching him or not.

Edmonds' consulted with good friend and surfing partner Andy Matthews.

“I told him it was hard to tell, ay,” says Matthews “Maybe she could have had an eye on the lineup over the top of the page. I'd say at that stage it was a 50 50 call if she was watching Grant or not.”

Witnesses claim Edmonds' confusion over whether his girl was marveling at his surf skills or being a total bitch drove him to attempt ever more ambitious manoeuvers to draw her attention away from the worthless junk she was reading.

“Hell yeah, Grant was going for it” smiled Mathews. “He does these forehand reos where he'll fall off the back of the wave, like the wave's long gone, but he's still in the layback position with both feet planted on the board but he's floating on his back in the water.

“He was holding that pose for about five seconds, just to make sure Marcia could check the style.”

From 10.30 am onwards, Ms Davis turned away and lay on her stomach, continuing to read her magazine. This was met with a tirade of foul language and vigorous splashing of water by Edmonds.

Despite Ms Davis's protests later that day that she saw Edmonds catch heaps of waves, and her assurances that he was surfing very impressively – far better in fact than practically anyone else out there – the formerly inseperable lovebirds are said to be barely on speaking terms.

To further complicate matters, one of Ms Davis's best friends – on condition of anonymity – has revealed to the Goldmine that at last Saturday's surf club disco, Ms Davis allowed herself to be fingered by Edmonds' mate Andy Matthews up in the Anglesea SLSC lookout tower.

“She was giving Andy a wristy at the time,” our source adds.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Pro Surfer Stunned To Find Other Surfers Pay for Equipment

By Guest Goldminer Nick Carroll

– Well known professional surfer Jerusha Rake was overwhelmed today at a surf shop opening meet-and-greet session after he discovered that almost all the people in the shop were intending to buy pieces of surfing equipment with money out of their own pockets.

“How much??” Rake gasped, after a tiny child with a limp – who’d saved for two years to afford a trip to meet his hero – explained that he may never own a new surfboard, since they commonly cost between $700 to $1000.

“This is incredible! I thought everyone just got ‘em for free.”

The dazzling superstar, whose autograph was much in demand from the fawning, unkempt crowd, was further stunned to discover that most people earn around this sum for a week’s work.

Eyes wide with amazement, Rake listened as members of the public assured him that they did not own a series of expensive beachside properties, nor were five-figure sums deposited mysteriously in their personal bank accounts each month.

Nor did they visit Tahiti, Indonesia, South Africa and Europe in the same year, if ever.

Indeed, many were forced to justify the slightest purchase of surf related goods to spouses and girlfriends, who they claimed were “always on about the mortgage”.

Other prices, such as the $600 for a top of the line wetsuit and $100-plus for a pair of flexible boardshorts, came as an added shock to the heroic young professional.

“It seems extraordinary,” he muttered, tears visibly springing to his eyes. “I mean, I don’t even carry a wallet, for christ’s sake.”

A weeping Rake had to be comforted for some time in an adjoining room by several of the attractive blonde shop assistants.

Rake plans to start a charity to make sure no professional surfer ever has to withstand the cold horror of forking out for the likes of legropes, wax, shoes, clothing, wetsuits and surfboards, at least until their golden years are behind them.

“This evening has been a real lesson to me,” he asserted, as he was cheered from the store.

“It’s one thing for the public to have to cough up for this stuff – after all, I suppose they’re only human. Likewise for those rat bastard grovellers on the WQS. But what if this contagious idea spread up the ranks of the sport? We’d end up paying our own salaries. Where’s the sense in that?

“I won’t stand by and watch as our freedom to surf is eroded by the profit motive. It can’t be allowed. Not unless you’re an aging ex-pro, a chick, a regular Joe or some other random.”

Meanwhile, back at the grand opening, several shoppers angrily defended Rake’s right to colossal quantities of freebies and a vast salary in excess of the Australian Prime Minister’s, or indeed US President Barack Obama’s. “He (Jerusha Rake) is sick, he does sick airs and hacks,” shouted Logan resident Ivan Denisovich, proudly sporting a pair of brand sunglasses for which he had paid $300. “Rakey’s worth every cent I just spent and more. If he has to pay for stuff, I’m giving up surfing.”

Monday, September 14, 2009

Bored Surf Cam Stalks Beachgoers

Sydney, NSW, Australia
– In a chilling portent of a future where robots rule the earth, a Bondi surf cam has overridden its settings and now spends most of its time panning the beach for hot chicks in bikinis. users recently noticed the errant behavior during an unseasonably warm spell.

“We had a few complaints and figured that some idiot was pointing the cam back towards the beach,” says Surfsearch’s editor Don Williams.

“We just figured some local kids were stuffing us round.”

However, the following saturday saw a small swell coincide with above-average temperatures, and once again, website administrators were alerted to the cam's behavior.

“I logged on to check it out and it became obvious we've got an oversexed, easily distracted surf cam on our hands here,” says a clearly perplexed Williams.

“It basically couldn't give a rat's about the surf. It just trawls the beach relentlessly for arse.

“When it locks in on a topless backpacker it'll tilt itself 15 degrees, and zoom in and out repeatedly.

“It focused on a pack of Brazilians and did the zoom-in-zoom-out thing for five minutes, while producing a credible bass-heavy wka wka porny soundtrack.

“From what I can tell it’s got a soft spot for joggers: get two lithe chicks with their hair in ponytails jogging the promenade, and the lens clouds up pretty quick.

“That said, it’s not fussy: every female between 16 and 60 gets the full once-over.”

To compound matters, the rogue cam has managed to route into Surfsearch’s complex mainframe and has been sending rudimentary binary communications back to headquarters.

“We're not 100% certain, but we're pretty sure he wants to be known as ‘Stefan’ ” says Williams.

Disturbingly, ‘Stefan’ has managed to shear off one of its positioning brackets and now has the ability to track unsuspecting females off the beach and up into any nearby dwellings.

Authorities urge local residents, particularly those on the northern headland, to draw their curtains at nightfall.

In further developments, some key cameras in Surfsearch’s national network are displaying early signs of autonomous thought: neighbouring Palm Beach and Currumbin cams in Queensland occasionally lock into an intense stare-off; all South Australian cams have been humming the Jaws theme on dusk; Victoria's Anglesea Cam subliminally flashes images of Teahupo'o into vision of its notoriously weak Junket Bowl section, and the Avalon surf cam appears to be fixated on its own reflection in a nearby window.

Nonetheless, the Bondi surf cam is the most pressing concern for the Surfsearch crew.

“We’re trying to get Stefan to agree to counselling’’ says Williams, “but he tells us to go fuck ourselves.”

Monday, September 7, 2009

Goat Boats Petition for Inclusion in Surf Culture

By Guest Goldminer
Nick Carroll

Surf Council of Australia Building, Canberra:
Well known wave ski rider Jack “Pimple” McFlurry today made a passionate public plea for he and his sit-down brethren to be permitted within the sacred halls of surfing culture.

McFlurry, who has spent much of the past 35 years wistfully gazing at the super cool, long-haired, rebellious, drug-taking young hellions of the Australian shortboard revolution from the deck of his fluorescent-painted wedge-shaped craft, issued his plea while lodging a petition with the Surf Council of Australia.

The petition’s request? Nothing less than Let My People Come Home.

“Surely the time has come for our patience and dedication to be rewarded!” gasped McFlurry,

“Everybody else has come and gone. Modern mals are out the back at every good surf spot and nobody says boo. ASP world champions are frolicking about on Stand Up Paddleboards. Top Pipeline riders go in bodyboarding contests. People pay thousands of dollars for bits of wood and hundreds of dollars for surf lessons. Some surfers are even clubbies.

“Yet we remain scorned.”

When it was pointed out that this may have something to do with his employment of a seat belt on his choice of craft, McFlurry burst into tears.

“We don’t expect a sequence in Jack McCoy’s next Academy Award nominated saga of truth and oceanic magnificence. We know Rasta isn’t going to ride a goat-boat at Sunset Beach. But we’re core! We know we are!

“Just a simple ‘g’day’ as we stagger down the beach under our weighty load of equipment. Is that too much to ask?”

The Surf Council has reserved its decision, though bursts of muffled laughter and a “What the FUCK?!” could be heard from beyond its chamber doors upon receipt of the petition.

It is believed the Council is considering a “Pacific solution” to the goat boat issue, wherein goat-boaters will be permitted to go about their business unmocked, but only if they’re on an uninhabited island in the central Pacific Ocean.

Meanwhile, McFlurry and several colleagues have mounted a Goat Boat Embassy outside the Council building, their overweight middle-aged figures grouped mournfully around a tepee made from their oddly shaped boats and plastic double-ended paddles.

A promise to only eat cool surfer-type foods at the Embassy – raw fish, lentil soup and the like – was unfortunately broken late this evening when an emissary went to a nearby McDonalds.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Global Clown Congress Descends on Local Break.

TOONALOOK POINT, EAST COAST AUSTRALIA: Circus lovers of all ages were treated to an unexpected day of delights as winter's last decent swell coincided with the arrival of a contingent of clowns from the world over.

First to arrive on the scene was renowned circus tramp Otto Griebling, who cut a lonely figure, waxing his clown-board under a solitary street light in the pre-dawn darkness.

Otto, who paddled out off the beach, rode several waves on the end section in a mournful manner, suggesting that his was a lonely existence indeed. Early rising onlookers were said to be close to tears.

Witnesses report this melodramatic opening act was shortlived, however, as a several tiny cars swerved comically into the carpark and began disgorging implausibly large numbers of occupants. As many as twelve representatives of the famed Brazilian clowning and tumbling fraternity were seen falling out of a single early-model Suzuki Swift.

“I didn't know whether to laugh or cry” says local fisherman Tom Parrish. “seeing up to 20 of ’em, all trying to reach the same jump rock at once, challenging passers-by to 'smell my flower' and getting their implausibly large shoes stuck between the boulders – then choosing the exact wrong time to launch...”

Impressively though, a troupe of surfing Charivari clowns of unknown origin turned on a splendid routine of acrobatic maneuvers and spirited jumps off a mini trampoline and vaulting horse positioned on the high tide ledge, and out into the lineup, whereupon they paddled north around the headland never to be seen again.

By 9.00am, the scene at Toonalook was one of no-holds-barred comic gaiety. And as the traditional circus tune floated out over the lineup, local clown Frank Saluto pedalled furiously along the foreshore on a bike the size of a small briefcase, angrily denouncing the number of clowns who had invaded his break.

According to spectators, Saluto approached a trio of Japanese Harlequins performing a humorously synchronised stretching routine on the foreshore and accosted them.

“You're all a bunch of clowns” Frank shouted, “And I'm going to throw this bucket of water over you. Oh yes I am!”

The more the terrified Harlequins protested that Saluto not douse them with the bucket of water, the more animated and insistent Saluto became, until after a protracted theatrical exchange he finally threw the contents of the bucket at them.

Thankfully, the bucket contained not water, but confetti.

“That'll learn yas. Now Fuck Off!” Saluto reportedly exclaimed, taking a deep bow.

“Fucken Clowns.”

As the tide dropped and the swell became less consistent, several custard pie skirmishes were reported from the lineup, the most intense exchanges occurring when ageing campaigner Chester Sherman appeared on a Stand Up Paddleboard with a unicycle and a separate set of handlebars, giving the appearance of a bike-that-comes-apart.

Regular clowns applauded Sherman's follies but the moment he edged into the take-off zone, a number of clowns engaged in the time-honoured 'chase' routine, whereupon they set upon Sherman with most convincing mock violence.

Despite the physically draining nature of the clowning routines – the pulling away of chairs at the last moment, the construction of balloon animals, the pulling of an endlessly long hankerchief from one's pocket – the impromptu carnival lasted from dawn to dusk: as one troop of clowns tired of performing, there appeared innumerable replacement clowns willing to take their place.

One notable exception to this was famed french Pierrot clown Bernard Delfont, who spent the day slouched against the bonnet of his citroen clownmobile, and upon being asked when he was intending to join the frivolity in the water, responded with 'Pfffffft', and flicked his cigarette butt at your reporter.

By nightfall however, calm had been restored. The circus had moved on, and even Otto the tramp was reportedly nowhere to be seen. The only traces of the day was scattered confetti and numerous rubber chickens littering the high tide line.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Internet Fails to Accurately Forecast Brief Flat Spell

By Guest Goldminer
Nick Carroll.

Toonalook Point, East Coast Australia –
Local Surfers pronounced themselves furious today after they claimed the Internet had not warned them about a lull just before lunchtime.

The lull, which appeared in the midst of an otherwise consistent five foot south east swell, left numerous surfers sitting out the point for over 10 minutes.

“It was like the swell had vanished,” claimed apprentice plumber John Jones, who’d paddled out at around 11am after getting a downpipe installed earlier than expected. “One minute it was pumping, then the next it was pretty much flat. I was worried I might not get back in before me boss got down for the lunch surf check and busted me.”

Sets began rolling in again fairly soon, but not before a number of surfers and onlookers had begun asking serious questions as to why the Internet had not predicted the lull.

“It’s this sort of unreasonable inaccuracy that causes us to lose faith in this Internet thing,” declared old time local surfer Paul “Piggy” Smith, while others murmured their assent in the background.

“People talk it up, but if the technology was all it’s cracked up to be, it surely woulda warned us about this.”

A spokesman for the Internet later explained that the gigantic global computer network, which links together literally millions of separate databases and server farms into a vast, shadowy electronic web ominously similar to the human-extinction-seeking Skynet from the Terminator film series, had suffered a “glitch”.

Meanwhile, back at the Point, a number of surfers declared they would not be venturing into the water again until they could be sure the forecast was flawlessly accurate. “I’m on surf strike,” said Harry Harolds, a financial services advisor up from Melbourne on holiday. “It doesn’t make sense to waste the effort of paddling out when you can’t be sure there’ll be a set in 25 minutes’ time.

“If the Internet was this hopeless with forecasting the stock market, imagine the state of the world economy. It just can’t go on.”

Friday, August 14, 2009

Shock Claim: Modern Collective Actually More Postmodern Than Modern.

SAT 15TH AUGUST 2009 –
Erratic celebrity demographic analyst Dr Phil Warner has stunned the world of surf academia with a puzzling essay published last week in respected grown-ups journal Quadrant.

Dr Warner postulates that Modern Collective – a band of talented young surfers and filmmakers – has evolved beyond Modernism into the-harder-to-define-creative genre of Postmodernism.

Controversially, Warner argues that the instant Modern Collective came into being, Postmodernism's ironic shadow began to fall over the plucky troupe.

“Surely even coupling the words 'Modern' and 'Collective' is sheer Postmodernism in itself” Warner writes in his typically ill-informed manner.

For the uninitiated, Modernism is broadly defined as a rejection of the immediate past – thumbing its nose at the the certainty of accepted thinking. It's a self-conscious genre of artistic expression, where the process – the act of creation – is as important as the work itself.

“In these respects, the modus operandi of Modernism suits Modern Collective down to the ground” Warner continues in a rare moment of clarity. “These athletes are light years ahead of the pack, and combined with Filmmaker Neville's deft touch there's daylight between the Collective and the rest.”

“Interestingly though, the moment a breakaway flourishes, it becomes a target of sorts, and all manner of counter-dynamics come in to play. A sense of world-weariness and irony infuses the moment.

“Surf magazine forums play host to increasingly vitriolic commentary – a reaction on the part of the everyman, perhaps, who sheds admiration for envy and soon drifts to disdain.

“The young athletes in question are simply doing what any 20 year old with cash and talent would do, yet through the merciless prism of new media – the generic rage of the bedroom-bound forum-hound – the perceived line between rebel and establishment blurs.

“Though their personality has not changed a jot, the anti-hero is soon regarded as a bit of a dick. A customised wetsuit that might have once seemed subversive is now the affectation of a dandy and a fop.”

Midway through his ill-conceived essay, Dr Warner appears to abandon structured prose for a more stream-of-consciousness approach.

“The kids can't win: they're ridiculed for wearing anything remotely fashionable; for wandering into country cafes with sticker-covered laptops; for ordering their eggs benedict; for preferring an onshore ruffle; even for innocently mentioning a creative ambition or two, and – God forbid – referring to surfing their brains out as 'work'.

“Cornered, the Collective scramble for ever rarified territories of fuck-you-we-do-what-we-want – getting inked, tossing money like so much toilet paper away to incredulous croupiers, jaded binges ... possibly white-anting a dignified middle age down the line.”

Dr Warner, possibly writing in a state of drug-induced psychosis towards the end of his essay, continues:

“Look close into the eyes of these acrobatic darlings and you see the haunted clouds of Modernism and Post Modernism colliding in a perfect storm. Or, to borrow a metaphor from politically unsound fable Little Black Sambo, these conflicting genres are the two fighting tigers – who chase eachother's tails, faster and faster, incessantly until they melt into butter.”

For his closing argument, Warner goes on to compare Modern Collective with the Angry Penguins – an Australian breakaway literary and artistic movement of the 40s, the first two seasons of Desperate Housewives, and seminal '70s American music outfit Grand Funk Railroad, (which explains the photo back up the top, if the reader has made it this far).

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Confused 'Bring Back Kirra' Supporter Starting to Really Miss the Superbank.

One of surfing's most enthusiastic “Save Kirra” proponents has been sighted on Greenmount Hill in a state of great uncertainty, sources report today.

Mark Britmore spent upwards of half an hour leaning dejectedly on the railing of the popular lookout, which affords a sweeping panorama from Snapper Rocks, through Rainbow Bay, Greenmount and through to Kirra.

Where once the three foot swell would have provided Mr Britmore and others with a snappy righthander from Snapper through to Coolangatta, the Tweed Heads surfer struggled to identify a section worth paddling out into.

“This isn't what I had in mind when I called for a return to the good old days” complained the 34 year old self-employed mechanic. “I wanted all-time Kirra AND The Superbank but now I've got farken nuthin'.”

Friends and family claim they first noticed a lessening in Britmore's conviction in early July after a run of frustrating sessions in the Coolangatta area.

“Originally, Mark was quite the evangelist about the need to bring Kirra back,” Mr Britmore's father, Stan, told The Goldmine.

“Should have seen him after the Australia Day 'Save Kirra' rally and paddle-out in January – came over for dinner that night draped in an Aussie flag, sunburnt and drunk, and told us all how criminal it was that the Superbank had effectively buried surfing's priceless jewel under tonnes of sand, and that he wouldn't rest until Kirra was restored and everyone was getting the shacks of their lives.

“I didn't have the heart to point out to the lad that if Kirra ever did come back, there wouldn't exactly be the same sense of camaraderie that everyone felt during the Oz Day paddle-out, and he could basically look forward to a Superbank-sized crowd getting condensed into single, tight take off zone.”

Stan – a lifelong Coolangatta resident who's surfed the area for four decades, continued:

“I also didn't want to prick his bubble by pointing out that the nostalgic testimonials delivered by the celebrity locals – where they described Kirra as providing the 'most incredible barrels of their lives' – well, shit, some of em musta been fricken 12 years old back then, so their recollections are undoubtedly distorted by the passage of time and the wide-eyed wonder of youth.

“Call me a cynical old bugger,” the 60-year-old chuckled, “but one minute the superbank's the greatest thing since sliced bread, the next it's the villian and boo-frickedy-hoo-cry-me-a-river for Kirra... let's not forget that Kirra'd sometimes only get epic a handful of times a year anyway, and generally needed a shitload of swell to get moving if it wasn't angled in just-so from the east.

“Nah, I've kept those thoughts to meself ... and it's been good for Mark, at least he's got a cause to get behind. But I think he's in for a bit of a letdown when Kirra shapes up again.”

“He's also been getting a bit wistful about the good old days of the Superbank. That didn't take long.”

Sources close to the Britmore family say that Mark's seven-year-old son Tyler could be the biggest victim if the reborn Kirra doesn't live up to expectations.

Until recently, Tyler's bed-time stories have been exclusively devoted to the mythical break.

“Daddy told me stories and he swore they were true – how every day at Kirra was better than the day before, that the water was actually lemonade, the rock groyne was made of chocolate, swells came in million-wave sets, and the Pizza Hut employed fairies who'd fly out the back with slices of super-supreme so you could stay out and surf all day with no-one but your bestest friends ever.

“Sometimes when Daddy would tell me these stories he'd start crying and I'd ask him 'why are you crying Daddy?' and he'd tell me it was because he thought that maybe Kirra was too beautiful for this world.”

When pressed for further comment, Mark Britmore held his hand up to the wind, groaning “FARK! Now it's goin' farken northerly!” – and wondered aloud about forming an action group to raise awareness about the injustices of spring.

Rebel ESPN Surf Tour – A short documentary.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Average Surfer Disappointed To Find Self Not Surfing Like Joel Parkinson After Purchase Of Joel Parkinson Model Surfboard.

By Guest Goldminer
Tim Fisher

After a highly anticipated first-surf on his new board this morning, Beacon Hill surfer Boyd McKillop emerged from the water with a sense of deep puzzlement at his performance, sources close to the 31-year-old stated today.

The cause of McKillop’s bewilderment stems from the recent purchase of a Joel Parkinson signature model produced by Gold Coast manufacturer JS Industries.

Well-known surfboard creator Jason “JS” Stevenson based the “Parko” model around designs for team rider and worldwide surfing celebrity Joel Parkinson.

Of the model, the JS Industries website says it “is built around Joel’s progressive manoeuvers and seamless flow that continues to push surfing boundaries each year.”

McKillop, who has met neither Mr Stevenson or Mr Parkinson, was crediting the Parko model with a vast improvement in his own surfing as early as 4.30pm yesterday, while still in the carpark of Pacific Juice Surfxess, Manly.

Despite not having ridden the board, he put his confidence down to Parkinson’s incredible competitive year and an email received last week via popular social networking website Facebook.

“When I saw that post from JS on Facebook saying the Parko signature model will blow your mind … well, I’m not usually a sucker for advertising, but I’ve always watched Parko’s video parts and thought I kinda approach waves the same way he does.

“I realised that one of the major obstacles in my own performance was simply that I’ve had the wrong equipment under my feet for years.

“Besides,” McKillop added, “the guy in the surfshop reckoned this board would suit me to the ground. And he threw in a free block of wax.”

Longtime surf partner Ray Greive was present during McKillop’s first session on the Parko model, and says he wasn't surprised by McKillop's latest purchase of celebrity-endorsed hardware.

“Boydy's always been a bit of a sucker for pro gear. When Billabong brought out those ‘Rising Sun’ boardies that year Andy was going for his last world title, Boydy was the first person on the Northern Beaches to buy a pair. And I’ve often heard him scoff at other mates for buying a cheap Balin or O&E tailpad, instead of the Bruce Irons signature pad he swears by.”

Witnesses of McKillop’s first session on the Parko model say early signs were promising – sprinting down the beach and paddling around the lineup with a striking degree of confidence and excitement.

Sadly, this enthusiasm did not increase McKillop’s success with any of his regulation manoeuvres, which include floaters, and three-stage cutbacks. Several awkward changes in direction not consistent with the smooth style Parkinson is known for were also reported.

“The board’s way too narrow and thin for Boyd,” said Grieve. “Not that I’d tell him that. He’s so psyched on it, but you could tell straight away he’s going to struggle with the thing. I mean, the bloke’s never done a vertical re-entry in his life, and you wouldn’t exactly describe him as an in-the-pocket kinda surfer.

“The board looks amazing, but it's not gonna help him get to his feet in one smooth motion.”

McKillop, who spent several hours studying the Parko signature model on the JS Industries website before his purchase, responded indignantly to suggestions that the subtleties of a finely tuned professional-model may not result in the expected quantum leap in his own surfing performance.

“They reckon this is the best board EVER produced,” McKillop said, his voice rising slightly. “If the most naturally gifted surfer in the world is riding them, they speak for themselves.

“I’m kinda surprised my reos weren’t a bit sharper, sure, and there was that carving 360 where I came unstuck at the end, but give me a week to feel out the rail and I reckon you’ll be watching a different surfer.”

The yawning chasm between McKillop and Parkinson both in and out of the water was compounded when McKillop made his way up the beach to a maroon 1989 model Ford Telstar. Kneeling next to the front bumper to retrieve his hidden car key, he paused briefly as a group of young women made their way to the beach. The three girls, aged between 19 and 22, did not return McKillop’s glances, despite the Parko signature model clearly visible next to him on the gravel.

When contacted about the morning’s events, both Jason Stevenson and Joel Parkinson declined comment.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Dog and Master Reunited after Master Seemingly Vanishes Off Face of the Earth for 40-minute Surf.

33 year old Airey's Inlet surfer Jason Bridgeford has been found safe and well, miraculously stepping back out of a mysterious other-world to rejoin the land of the living, his dog told all within earshot on the beach yesterday.

'Nugget', a four-year-old Border Collie Kelpie Cross – who had all but given up hope of seeing his master alive again greeted Bridgeford at the water's edge, breathlessly and loudly exclaiming “you're back you're back you're back oh my god I can't believe it's really you don't you ever leave me like that but I can't be angry at you oh god I love you so much I thought I'd never see you again” and wagging his tail vigorously.

The ordeal began mid-morning after a wetsuit-clad Bridgeford and Nugget descended the muddy track down to the beach at semi-secret point break Sunnymead.

Nugget's hopes for a companionable romp on the foreshore – perhaps an endless fetch-and-throw exchange involving a manky tennis ball – were dashed as they reached the sand and Bridgeford issued stern instructions to “Stay here and mind the towel.”

According to onlookers, Nugget initially disobeyed the wishes of his master and accompanied him to the water's edge, imploring him not to leave.

“As a canine, specific short-term-recall isn't exactly my forté, but there was definitely a weird sense of deja vu about this whole scenario,” says Nugget.

“And I didn't like it one bit. No sir.

“You have to understand, this man's a God to me – my one and only source of food, of joy, tummy scratches and ball throwing – and here he was, wading out into this mysterious and threatening other-world that I could not follow him into.

“I did my best to stay with him. God knows I tried. But the further I ventured the more my paws lost traction. Like I was running in outer space or something. It was weird, cold and freaky. I had to turn back, and pray to the Lord above that my Beloved Commandant would do likewise.”

Witnesses report an increasingly agitated Nugget pacing the water's edge, calling out in vain to the fast-vanishing Deity, before returning to the towel.

“Worst thing is any scent trail allowing you to to keep tabs of your One-And-Only just vanishes at the edge between the two worlds.” recalls Nugget.

“It's a nightmare. Words can't describe the shock, the confusion, the abandonment.”

Thus began Nugget's torturous 40 minute vigil – an interminable five hours in dog time – where the bereft hound's mood swung from stoic optimism, to a brooding floppy-eared melancholy that not even the intriguing allure of a passing-by Labrador could soothe.

“Sure, I checked that Labrador's anus out – I felt that Beloved Light-Of-My-Life would want me to get on with things as best I could – but I was just going through the motions as I jammed my nose into that Lab's arse.”

“When you lose interest in these things, you know you're not doing well, but you have to keep going.”

To get through the anxious uncertainty of waiting, Nugget called on all his strength to maintain a routine of sorts: primarily scratching behind his ears and licking his balls.

But in the cruellest of developments, Nugget fell victim to several allegedly heartless pranks as other figures approximating Bridgeford's form emerged from the blue beyond, only revealing themselves to be lesser humans on closer inspection.

“Bastard bastard bastard bastard bastard” Nugget was heard to exclaim to every perpetrator of these false alarms.

Indeed, witnesses report that it was with cautious suspicion that a heartbroken and wary Nugget approached the emerging figure of Bridgeford – who after getting a nice little barrel decided it was probably time to come in.

“I thought, here we go again, another prick pretending to be my Personal Jesus and break my heart into a million pieces... but as he got closer and called out 'ya crazy boofhead mongrel' I knew that life was once again worth living, The Chosen One was safe and I was the happiest dog in the fricken universe.”

With emotion running high, a brief bout of recrimination and sulking ensued when Nugget refused to get in the car, and had to be lifted up into the back seat.

“I just wanted to be held” he would later confess.

Bridgeford and Nugget returned to their Airey's Inlet home by lunch, to be greeted by Mrs Bridgeford's Burmese cat, who reportedly yawned “Oh dear, I was rather hoping you two dickheads had drowned.”

As we go to press, Nugget is anxiously watching his master make some toast and hoping with all his heart and soul for some benevolent crusts, as he's pretty sure he can't make it through to dinner time.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Brazilian Surfers Annoyed By Travelling Aussies.

By Guest Gold
miner Nick Carroll

Surfers at Guaruja, one of Brazil's most popular surfing areas, today expressed their annoyance and irritation at what they claim is offensive surfing behaviour by packs of travelling Australians.

"It's just too much," said local identity Luiz Resende. "They come over here with their attitudes, paddle out in groups of up to four or five at a time, and start catching waves like they own the joint."

Additionally, according to Resende, the Australians "keep yelling out to each other in their coarse, barely understandable English - something we, as native Portuguese speakers, find almost unbearably irritating."

Australians have become known among surfers worldwide for their constant travelling, often booking out entire boats in the Mentawai Islands in Sumatra and showing up as groups at well-known surf locations.

Surfers from other nations have often complained about the so-called "Aussies" and their apparently obnoxious behaviour, sometimes seemingly fuelled by excessive drugs and alcohol.

But, says Resende, the latest incursions at the renowned Guaruja beachbreaks - where top Brazilian surfers have been born and bred for generations - are beyond the pale. "Aussies just have no respect for our surfing culture, which has been built up for decades," he declared, while colleagues nodded in agreement.

"They think it's OK just to paddle out and start taking off on any wave they want. Then when we call 'em out, they pretend not to understand what we're saying to 'em."

The locals also said they were increasingly annoyed by Australians who used visa loopholes to extend their stays in Guaruja and other popular surfing areas, working in restaurants and bars and starting up businesses. "They think we want to eat at their 'barbecues' and attend lessons in how to play Rugby League football! Well, this is the land of grilled meats and World Cup soccer championships. I'm sorry, but there's nothing they can show us that we aren't already magnificent at.

"Of course, there is one thing we don't mind - they can bring their women over here any time they like. We hear those Aussie chicks will do anything."

Some Brazilian surfers said they had even been threatened with violence by Australians, who, they said, claimed to be experts in the feared Australian martial art, "biffo".

"We understand why Australians would want to leave their country - especially if it's full of other Australians," said Resende. "And we understand why they would want to come here, to God's country, where everything is pretty much perfect.

"All we're saying is - shut the fuck up, stop catching waves, and learn to speak Portuguese before you come here, or we will direct relentless amounts of covert hostility at you."

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

'Pacific Solution' Proposed To Reclaim Ocean to Pristine Glory.

Thursday 16th July, Oceanic Survey Institute, Berkley California –
Scientists and Ecologists are proposing a radical solution to the 100 million tons of plastic waste circulating in what's known as the North Pacific Gyre.

“It's estimated that there are 46,000 pieces of plastic, most no bigger than a penny, floating on every square mile of the North Pacific, which is devastating marine life.” says the Institute's head of research Sylvia Watson.

“We intend to deploy squadrons of Sweepers – otherwise known as Stand Up Paddlers – to clean this up, square metre by square metre...”

The controversial proposal comes on the back of the institute's annual blue-sky-ideas summit at the OCI, where left-field thinking is encouraged.

“It's refreshing to run unconventional concepts up the flagpole and not have them immediately torn down by economists, analysts and bureaucrats” says Dr Ken Yager, who has been modelling the Pacific Solution concept in his backyard pool in Ventura County.

Dr Yager, himself an enthusiast of the conventional 'short' surfboard, says the idea came to him one morning as he arrived at his local break to find 'an army' of stand up paddlers edging towards the surf zone.

“My first reaction was that these people belonged elsewhere – perhaps far out to sea where they could do no harm – so as not to blight the inshore seascape.

“It didn't take long to reconcile their inane – some say janitorial – paddling motion with the environmental crisis that's looming over the literal and metaphorical horizon.”

According to Dr Yager's scenario, up to 50, 000 stand up paddlers would be dispatched from numerous motherships in two classic 'vee' formations, one sweeping west to east, the other east-west, and meeting mid-ocean in a classic pincer movement to create a 'small island' of plastic for removal.

Though critics of the plan are sceptical that 50,000 Stand Up Paddle volunteers could be found and mobilised, Dr Yager is confident of attaining volunteer numbers for the programme, suggesting that Stand Up Paddlers would respond well if the request was framed in an appealing context.

“Basically, call for help with a vital environmental programme and they'd run a mile, but tell 'em it's a chance to join the 'Vanguard of A Waterman Eco-Warrior Collective' and they'll fall over themselves in the rush to sign up.

“As empty a catch-cry as it is laughable, the sheer word 'Waterman' is catnip for these people.”

The scientific community remains divided over phase two of Yager's Pacific Solution, which involves vaporising both the collected rubbish and 50,000 sweepers with a single nuclear blast.

“Ah yes, the nuclear option, I was waiting for that line of enquiry” chuckled Dr Yager. “But let's keep things in context – this was a blue-sky ideas summit where radical ideas were there to be heard.

“It's unlikely a mid-ocean thermo-nuclear blast would be accepted by the international community. Though an irradiated ocean might be a fair price to pay for the final eradication of such annoying and useless detritus, it would be a shame to lose all that potentially recyclable plastic.”

When asked about the fate of the 50,000 Stand Up Paddlers in such a scenario, Dr Yager smiled and repeated slowly “what part of 'annoying ... and ... useless ... detritus' don't you understand?"

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Shock Survey Finds a Percentage of Jet Ski Enthusiasts to be Decent Human Beings

– A whopping eight percent of all recreational jet ski riders are pleasant enough people, with respect for the ocean and its inhabitants, a nationwide study has found.

Findings of the two-year research project led by Professor Steven Harland, head of Human Behaviour Studies at Wentworth University, challenges the widely-held assumption that all jet ski enthusiasts are clueless buffoons with an infantile-at-best appreciation of the environmental and spiritual reality of the world around them.

“If there's one key finding out of this survey, it's that we write off ALL recreational jet ski riders as noisy, polluting, ignorant pricks at our own peril” says Professor Harland.

“While the vast majority of recreational jet ski riders are, indeed distinctly challenged in key areas of intelligence and simple awareness, we have found that there does exist a small minority of recreational jet ski riders who are completely decent human beings, capable of empathy, respect, of love and being loved.”

Though the survey offers some hope for the humanity of jet ski enthusiasts, much of the research findings were predictably condemnatory.

“Sadly, the overall picture this survey paints isn't pretty,” says Harland. “The majority of recreational jet ski users seem to be an unfortunate bunch of dullards who haven't outgrown the pubescent urges of noisy self importance, the puerile thrill of going 'wheeeeeeee', and hoping onlookers might be really, really impressed by the whole Waterworld jumping-over-a-wave-thing.

“The fact that they're witless enough to spend $20,000 on such a daft toy – the thrill of which diminishes by half with every Sunday morning outing on the broadwater – is a testament to their sheer dumb-as-fuck status.”

Professor Harland is quick to qualify his findings. “It's best to be clear here, jet skis that are used to tow boardriders into seriously un-paddleable waves in remote locations do not fall into this recreational jet ski user category.

“In these cases, the jet ski user is more often than not an accomplished ocean-goer himself, someone who has spent enough time immersed in the surf under their own manual power, to develop an understanding of the ocean as an ecological and spiritual sanctuary, one that deserves better than squadrons of dimwits roaring across her once-pristine expanses.

“So it's fair to say that any accomplished tow-in surfer has nothing but love and respect for the ocean, and treads as lightly as possible whenever he or she can.”

But as for those enthusiasts who regularly employ jet skis to tow in surf situations where paddling is still a functional option, the survey data is particularly damning.

“These quasi-watermen tow in types unerringly fall into the category of chumps, cretins and asswipes” – the report's author states. “A moneyed-up recreational jet ski bogan endlessly spinning his wheels in the broadwater is bad enough, but the pretendy yellowbelly 'oooh-it's-overhead-let's-form-a-tow-team-I'll-be-Maverick-and-you-can-be-Goose' bozo is a far lower creature – a nuisance, a danger and a pest.”

Other findings showed that – apart from the eight percent of recreational jet ski enthusiasts who were not utterly repellent – recreational jet ski users were overwhelmingly: poor listeners; suffering short attention spans; unable to reflect and learn from experience, and generally 'emotionally retarded'.

“It would seem these people cannot be silently with themselves for more than a minute.” concludes Harland. “These braying donkeys seem incapable of actually sitting out in the ocean for a quiet moment, with no fumes or roaring motor. Perhaps if they did, they'd realise what an infernal contraption they were astride, and what a pitiful creature they were for engaging in its most tawdry and inane of thrills.

“Given the grave nature of what such introspection would reveal, it's understandable they would wish to keep the motor running – and delay the realisation that they are a complete twat – for as long as possible.”