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Surfers are simply a different breed
and no one here would know anything about that ...goose wrote:
Surfers are simply a different breed
Perhaps, since I'm a luddite, but . . . .Sisyphus wrote:It's 'shopped.
Sisyphus wrote:It's 'shopped.
Sisyphus wrote:Where is it, then?
<<NON ERRO>>Bigshankhank wrote:The world is a fucking wreck, but there is still sunshine in some places. Go outside and look for it.
The fellow they interviewed on NPR who knew that spot on Portugal's coast said he's much farther out than it looks, and that, for example, the fort in the foreground has been there for centuries and is still in one piece. He's farther out than it looks... but that just means that wave is fuckin' HUUUUUGE.Sisyphus wrote:Holy god in heaven.
The foreshortening of the photo makes it look shooped. My bad. It doesn't even look like there's room for a bottom turn in there, what the hell was he thinking?
<<NON ERRO>>Bigshankhank wrote:The world is a fucking wreck, but there is still sunshine in some places. Go outside and look for it.
That was excellent!12ci wrote:reminds me of Shel Silverstein:
Dave McGunn was a surfin' bum, half-crazed by the blazin' sun.
From Waikiki to the Bering Sea, he rode 'em one by one.
Now he hung offshore 'bout a mile or more, out where the dolphins played,
And his wild eyes gleamed as he schemed and dreamed
To ride the perfect wave.
Oh, ride the perfect wave, Dave, ride the perfect wave.
If you wait it out and you don't sell out, you may ride
The perfect wave.
He crouched in the spray and he waited all day till the sun gave way to the moon,
And his legs grew cold and he grew old and wrinkled like a prune.
And the years rolled by and the surf broke high and the 40-foot breakers sprayed.
But he sneered at 'em all, sayin', "Too damn small; I'm waitin'
For the perfect wave."
He was sleepin' on his board when he woke to a roar as thunder shook the sea.
'Twas the dreaded California quake of 1973.
And he stared at the reef in disbelief, then paddled with tremblin' hands
As a monstrous crashin' tidal wave came roarin' 'cross the land.
It was 12 miles high and it filled the sky, the color of boilin' blood.
And cities fell beneath its swell and mountains turned to mud.
Its deadly surf engulfed the earth and left not a thing alive.
And high on the tip with a smile on his lip was Davey hangin' five.
He hit the top of the Golden Gate at a thousand miles an hour,
Over the top of the Empire State and the tip of the Eiffel Tower.
And as he wiped out, you could hear him shout as he plunged to a watery grave,
"Hey hi dee hi, I'm glad to die -- I've rode
The perfect wave."