Loser News

Greetings dudes, dorks, and dweebs! Ya know, kooks and grommets are always asking me, “L. Ron, why are you so off the Richter?” Well brohams, just hop on the stern and watch out for spongers, cuz we’re about to shoot the pier.

Now, most days I’m locked inside the Green Room, maxxing out on honkers, and chumming honeys. But once in a while I come across a field of meatballs and totally drink the Neptune cocktail. At those junctures, it’s real easy to get blown-out, but then I totally pearl and realize that selling the Buick is no reason to give a hodad a sand facial.

Cutting a bro some slack is way gnarlatious compared to shooting a stink-eye from the soup.  Plus there’s no point staying worked when you can just hit your stick and crest a cruncher. 

So, the next time you have to cut out cuz some poser in a beaver tail bogarts your barrel, just hike up your doggers, shake out the knots, and grab a heavy.  Dude’ll probably go over the falls on some shore break and gets nailed by his skeg anyway.

Later, bras.