Albuqueerque Exposure

There I was, staring death right in the face as I put my foot on a skateboard for the first time in three decades. I gaped at mile after mile of Indian School ditch as it meandered menacingly downhill from the Whites of Albuquerque into the valley somewhere below. Indian School was like so many other ditches--Morris, Comanche, Four Hills, Jefferson--that I'd talked shit on SnB about but had no intention of ever riding. How had it come to this? I thought of stabbing myself, shooting myself, hanging myself: where was that crack that ConcreteMolotov was talking about? Let me overdose, now! I'd take a hatchet and gash a pussy into myself and offer to bang the whole crew... maybe then they'd let me live! But no. I'd have to skate. Or would I?

"My attempts to skate uphill only angered the crowd further..."

I realized then and there that I was facing certain death for no reason other than having aced high school typing class (where I fucking ruled shit and will still fucking out-type your bitch ass!). How god-awful ironic. Despite having earned millions as an astronaut, raising six kids and sending them to Ivy league schools, having directed the school Christmas play, I'd secretly longed to live a life of danger as I'd grown older, ultimately running across SnB and posing as my death-defying alias, speedcokeshitwhore. Chat room thrills had completed my cushy life, but I'd never guessed it would come to this.

So, with Deathpunkhatekill grinning devilishly at me, waiting to send me to my literal death down Indian School ditch in Albuquerque, NM, my life passing before my eyes, I realized that being a rich family man with a lot of good, safe years left in me to hang out with the grand kids and collect skateboards wasn't so bad, after all. "Fuck you," I told him and took the walk of shame back to the limo, directing Jeeves to the sunport.

As I relaxed on the flight back to Rhodesia I had to laugh at the barrage of SnB posts calling me out as a pussy assed bitch who got straight exposed in Albuquerque. Hey, I thought, in all the talk about the proper dimensions necessary for ditch skating leading up to this event, no one ever bothered to mention the most important dimensions of all: that is, the difference between my two dimensional computer screen, behind which I was able to talk hella shit under some ridiculous bullshit fantasy alter-ego handle, and the three-dimensional reality staring one in the face when considering actually riding one of these arroyos.

In the end I had to thank this experience for so expertly delivering such a clear and unforgettable message: not everyone has to be into skateboarding, even if they technically skated back in the '80s or whatever. As the term itself implies, skateboarding is probably best left to those who actually ride skateboards, and maybe those people aren't really interested in whether a bunch of geriatric skateboard collectors with a lot of time on their hands think they're doing it right. Maybe, just maybe, having a grip of money and free time doesn't automatically qualify me as an expert in something I don't do... But then again, I thought to myself as I logged onto Silverfish, I always did like the handle: Turfripperhardcorefunkyflexesupreme!

Suspicious Autotext Faux Paseses

Man, I don't know... maybe I'm just overreacting. But it seems to me that a lot of the obnoxious texts I've been getting lately that the homies are blaming on "autocorrect" aren't just innocent faux passesses. I mean, check out a couple of these text exchanges and tell me what you think.

Or how about this one?

You're right! Now that I look at them again it's clear that these are in fact just autocorrect errors. Ha! Those raucous skate jesters! Their jocularity knows no bounds! What a joy to consort with such merry mirth makers, and just in time for the holidays!!! Soldier on, my comedic skate companions! Might that mere mortals grasp your immense hilarity!

Guantanamo Hey

Damn. Lock down here at Guantanamo Bay sucks a fat warm one, let me tell you. The torture regimen is carried off like clock work daily and, in case you haven't seen any updates on the news recently, is getting more and more creative. Luckily, after our 6am testicle-ocution wake up call followed by the usual Doberman Pincer hide and go seek game at 7am, the guards give all us (alleged) terrorists a few minutes to update our blogs for the folks back home. Ha! The dumbass guards keep forgetting that I'm up in dis he-ya bitch for the crime of "blogs against humanity" to begin with, so this is especially fun stuff for me.

Anyway, I know I've wasted a lot of cyber space bitching about supposedly "inauthentic" forms of skateboarding, such as longboarding and snowboarding and such. But, if you'll permit just one more rant to that effect, nothing, and I mean no form of skateboarding mimicry is lamer than waterboarding. I mean, I don't see the thrill in this one at all, what with you being held upside down, your face smothered, and water poured all over it for hours on end... all to an endless loop of Britney Spears singing some Star Spangled Banner shit in the background... I mean geez, it's so goddamed annoying I'd almost prefer snowboarding. But fuck it. This waterboarding shit's all I got til I break out this mutha fucka... so if Tom and Elmer are reading this, you know what up!... aw shit. Here come the fucking Dobermans... Just enough time to type one last "FUCK YOU HOMELAND SECURITY ASSED BITCHES!!!!"

Butt Clit

Definition:
A magical flap of skin packed with nerve endings that exists just inside the anus of some special women, such as Natalie.  One can also sing "Natalie butt clit" to the tune of the Living Spaces furniture store commercial theme. 

Example:
Natalie came multiple times while being pumped in the butt (fucking ass --ed.) because of her highly sensitive butt clit.

Source:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/products.php?term=butt%20clit&defid=3189960

I have to say that I'm surprised and disappointed to know that this phrase is so widely understood and used. I thought old C made that shit up. Just goes to show you can learn something in the goddamn can. And, if you're wondering: Yes, the Coiler has been seized by the fucking pigs; Yes, I'm in goddamn jail; and Yes, I still love butt clit, no matter how cliche it's become lately. And to all you Homeland Security assed bitches who think you got my shit on lock just cuz you seized this site and got my shit locked up and shit: FUCK YOU!!! --Ed.

UPDATE

Gas Money Skate Auction

With gasoline prices averaging $3.36 a gallon nationally and, by the looks of it, some psychotic free market worshiping libertarian likely to be elected the next president, I can't just be hauling people around to remote skate parks for free... even considering the bank the Daily Coiler staff hauls in off this web site. But if I do, you'd better not leave your shit in my ride or it's going up for auction. So, without further introduction, the Coiler is proud to present the first Gas Money Skate Auction.

Item Number One: Mini Broom

The next time you and your friends venture out to a skate park located as far from civilization as humanly possible, make sure to bring along this tiny terror. The joke will be on your friends when they realize that it'll take them three times as long to sweep out the bowl than with a regular sized broom. Don't worry, you'll be relaxing in the shade draining some of the beers you bought with the money you saved by not chipping in for gas. This item is sure to provide its owner with sadistic laughter for years to come.

Opening bid: $2




Item Number Two: Coleman Mini Cooler
The number one rule on road trips? Pack light. Especially since you know that by not contributing to the gas fund, you're pretty much considered dead weight yourself right off the bat. The beauty of this little cooler is twofold. One, it only holds about six beers, so you can pound the PBRs you bought with the money you saved by not contributing to the gas fund and dig right in to the driver's cooler, thereby drinking for free. And, two, the thing doesn't really keep anything cold anyway, so, not only will it provide you with incentive to hurry up and drink your beers and get into everybody else's, it'll also leak all over the driver's car after you "forget" it there. This little gem is a skate trip must have.

Opening Bid: $2.50


Item Number Three: Tôn Loc Shades
We understand your quandary. You gotta look cool skating outdoors to make it in today's ultra-hipster skate scene. Yet, you also have to look cool enough indoors to wack yourself off in the mirror between sessions. Don't worry. The Coiler's got you covered with these vintage Tôn Locster shades donated to the Gas Money Skate Auction fund months ago. They even come with custom, dried up over-spray from the previous owner's last few bed air sessions. With these shades on, no one will ever see you eying the escape route to your own vehicle after your free ride to the park. In fact, with this type of anonymity, you can make sure to rub in the fact that you didn't pay shit for gas... who would ever notice? Just don't get carried away and think you're too cool, now. You gotta save some for the ladies!

Opening bid: $2 (free beer in photo only)


We'll accept bids through Saturday, October 22. Shipping not included.

Skate Jocks

I remember back in the '90s seeing an interview with MC Hammer wherein he defended himself against charges of "selling out" by arguing that anyone who criticized anyone else for "selling out" was essentially jealous of the accused's success. I.e., his working assumption was that anyone who could make money and become a big star would invariably do so, as if no one could possibly have any sense of integrity or vision that might complicate the matter. All art must be crap, he seemed to be saying, so why not get paid for creating said garbage? 

These days there seems to be a similar line of reasoning among "skate jocks," you know, the dudes stressing over skating--how they look, whether they did the trick "right" or if anyone noticed them doing it. Skate jocks think they get accused of being skate jocks because everybody's jealous of their skills, that indeed everyone is an aspiring circus gymnast, a mere monkey in training waiting to unleash a slew of stylistically inept, textbook, soulless "maneuvers" on the perfect skate park terrain (skate jocks have to have a perfect park, now). Skate jocks think they rip and they "prove" it by doing the trick their homie has been trying right in his or her face.

Skate jock: "DIY trannies are inconsistent and often too tight"

Skate jocks look forward to contests. They have something to prove and, at the end of the day, think skating is basically like any other sport wherein the idea is to be the best in everyone else's opinion. They crave others' approval but really only have their own. Skate jocks get mad all the time and don't ever seem to have fun skating. They only skate certain things (the things they've mastered) and are notorious for complaining about terrain they didn't build, or even help build, but was put there for them to skate, which of course the skate jock claims they would have made better. Skate jocks don't seem to grasp the difference between ripping and competing... when they push it, it's always in an effort to make something someone else has already done. They've got a list of tricks they want to do before they "hang it up," because all skate jocks think in terms of some sort of skating "career." In fact, unlike the real lifers, skate jocks wouldn't skate at all if they didn't get recognized as the "best" because it really isn't that much fun for them anyway... and of course it doesn't mean anything to them, so they may as well get paid doing it, too. Anybody in their right mind would, they claim.

Skate jocks don't get it. And no matter how hard you try, you won't be able to convince them that, for something to be important, it can't be taken too seriously. But they want skating to be "popular," and work diligently to improve the public's perception of their beloved "sport." They sure as hell never spray painted the bowl at the local concrete park to make sure the surface skated better. They skate like they have a stick up their ass, and act a lot like that too. And, I suspect that if any of them saw that interview with MC Hammer back in the '90s, they understood his pain, the rest of us being jealous and all.  Perhaps most curiously, skate jocks tend to value other human beings based on their ability, rather than their desire, to ride a fucking skateboard, and then wonder why it is they don't seem to have any real friends.

Fucking Hippies

I guess that to be "punk" these days, at least among the younger types who just discovered it, you have to throw out frequent references to your complete and utter disdain for hippies. "What are you, some sort of hippie?" I hear, over and over again, every time I suggest that used baby diapers belong in the trashcan or that it's possible to go outside without strewing broken glass all over the sidewalk. "You talked to another human being without punching them? What are you, some kind of a fucking hippie?" "You read a book? What are you, a goddamn hippie?" The interrogation goes on endlessly, despite lacking historical consistency. For instance, even though I've never tried it, I get the idea that if I did something a first generation hippie may have actually done, like, say, take a big old stinky, hairy dump out in public, I'd be embraced as "punk" by today's hipster hooligans, whereas, if I were to do something that a first generation punker might have actually done, like, say, think, I'd be reviled as a worthless, bigfoot-felching hippie. Funny how times have changed.

Old punk, new look: Embrace your inner hippie

I didn't get into punk rock or skateboarding until the 1980s, so I'm no expert on their origins. But, when it comes to the punk rock scene I was aware of as a kid, I distinctly recall that, during that time, the basic attitude we embraced was one of social defiance, not of social conformity. In a nutshell, the opposite seems gratingly true in today's so-called "punk rock" scene, which conveniently misrepresents lethargy, disinterest, and mindless destruction as appropriate "punkness," in effect, as a way to represent a well-established, ultra-conformist, neo-conservative rationale for complete and utter capitulation to the dominant social values of greed and convenience. What can I say? Stupid, arrogant and lazy don't add up to "punk" to me. They add up to mindless, ignorant, hedonistic, conformity; you know, the type of shit we claim to hate? But if being a stupid, worthless, lazy piece of shit is "punk" to you and all your hippie-hating, "punk" homies, then please, by all means, consider me a Birkenstock-wearing, nature-loving, 'chuley-oiled, dingle-berry gargling hippie (just not a credit card hippie, please!). In the meantime, I already consider you a fucking kook.

Western Wallride

Mocoso of the Wallride Side crew sent in this pic of a backyard bowl build he's been helping on out West. Looks like Wallride Side got the permanent shut down by the city recently, which went so far as to send in a SWAT team to bust up the park and haul in whichever of the loc builders lurking at the site they could nab. Mocoso, Matamaricones and Estéban all escaped and decided to cool it for a few months by signing on to this job out West.

Click on the bitch

Fucking weird, but that backyard looks kind of familiar to me. I asked Mocoso who was behind it, though, and he said I wouldn't know the guy. "I recognize that place," I insisted! "It's like I've been there before or something." But to no avail. Mocoso ain't say shit, other than to throw out some cryptic explanation about Jimmy Acosta's goofy-footed stunt double or something. So don't get your hopes up.

One thing's for sure: It's hella cool to see people getting right to the point on this whole "backyard revisionism" thing that came out in Confusion Magazine a few months back. I mean, it's good to know that even with all the sick skate parks out West there are still people dedicated enough to make a backyard scene happen, which is the best way--in this age of predatory corporate colonialism--to build skating, since projects like these do more than just make skating possible. They protect its integrity, if there is such a thing, from the seemingly endless onslaught of cocksuckers trying to fuck it up. And that ought to be commended.

Falling Down

Nothing says "Autumn" around where I live like grabbing the ride and hitting some nearby hills. Shit, within a mile of my house I've got a bunch of good ones with about everything you can ask for when it comes to hill skating. There's blind curves, serpentine double and triple drop hills that weave through area farm and forest land. And, of course, you've got a straightaway shooter like "The Hill that Really Killed the Dead Man that Dead Man's Hill is Named After Hill," pictured below.

Dead Man's Reeking Stinking Maggot Infested Rotted Entrails Hill

I mean, it's not San Francisco: these hills ain't actually gonna kill anybody and, despite the goofy names I've given them, I'm sure the reputation of your town's "Dead Man's Hill" is perfectly safe. And no one would ever bother shooting video of bombing my neighborhood hills--well, unless some total fucking douche bag ripped his head open or something. But, when the leaves start turning, the temperature starts nipping a bit, the breeze kicks up just enough to strew those leaves about, and those Sunday brews start tasting extra savory, I can't think of a better way to spend the afternoon. Or, even if I could, I'd probably be out skating these hills anyway. It's become kind of an annual rite of passage for me. One that serves as yet another metaphor for life that seem to abound in skating. It's about keeping things simple. Much like life, when it comes to hills, you just gotta get on the bitch and go... and of course hope you don't get hit by a car. One way or another, you'll get to the bottom. The idea is to avoid being called a "pussy" in the process. No matter how you look at it, though, everything seems to come together this time of year when it comes to skating. Whether it's the cold ones, my skateboard, or just me, things have to go down in the Fall, right? It's the way nature meant things to be.

Coiled Again

If you ask people what trick they would do if they were only physically able to do just one, "frontside grinds" is almost always the answer. Sometimes it's frontside airs, and I suspect that a lot of people couldn't give up being able to crack an ollie anywhere... though I've yet to meet a well-rounded skateboarder who rates ollies above frontside grinds. No one ever says backside grinds, which really aren't even considered a trick unless you smith one out, but I bet backside airs make several peoples' short lists. All told, nothing seems to rank up there with the frontside grind... in fact, I've heard a lot of people say things like: "I would definitely still skate if I could only do frontside grinds." That's a lot of respect for something considered "basic" when it comes down to it.

The fact is, like everything in skating, "basic" is a completely relative assessment, especially since fronstside grinds can be done in so many ways and in so many different places by people of all skill levels. The "travelability" of the frontside grind ensures that it captures everyone's attention pretty much anywhere. You can frontside grind everything from a curb on flat ground to (theoretically) the edge of a capsule while carving upside down, which I saw this guy almost do at Lincoln City II (I always wondered if that ever went down) and just about everything in between.  When you can nollie kickflip nose-grind 900 all those things, let me know... I've got a shop deck with my name on it for you that'll only cost you $30: you're sponsored! Until then, gimme frontside grinds, ro-ros and backside airs, and I'll still be skating in another twenty years no matter where I happen to be.

Imminent Death

The Coiler is back from vacation. Next year, we'll be sure not to schedule the entire staff's vacation at the same time so as to ensure a smoother transition over the summer.  --Ed.

Ace field reporter Chango sent in the following description of a new ditch he sniffed out somewhere in the Southwest:

"Fuck no, ancient chinese secret.  just kidding, yeah go for it.  it's rad under a bridge, shady, 5-10 min away, Curbs, its kept up too, got filled after a big rain then i came by and it was fucking clean.  Big pile of dirt off to the side so someone is loving this too. 
Its the only ditch I've seen with a deathbox.
Its off kind of a frontage road under an overpass.  There is a gravel business to one side and that's it.  Its a little mellow and rough so it keeps the park pussies and scooter turds away.  Throw on a set of 80 wheels (if you can find them) and your stoked.  Worth a trip haha."

Good to know there are still people out there looking for spots and that there are still cities building ditches that are actually skateable... also good to know that there is a ditch that hasn't been trooped on by 300 film crews following skaters who feel it's necessary to alter a good ditch by bondoing it up, etc., so as to enable them to get footage of the one trick they can do at every spot in the United States... can you say "Santa Teresa." Much obliged to the Chango for sending this in.

Surveillance Log: Day One

Bill McPherson, undercover skate cop here. I've been assigned to carry out surveillance on the local skate park and infiltrate the wild band of radical skate rebels who are corrupting the area youth by promoting their communistic, demonic skate cult. Recently, I met some dumb-ass looking dude who runs this web site who agreed to post my surveillance log for the benefit of concerned citizens everywhere.

Big score today at checkpoint "Loco." A group of the "old fuck" skaters showed up at the park... I knew it was them immediately when their marijuana smoke-clouded Pinto came to a skidding halt against a telephone pole in the parking lot upon arrival. Several impressionable kids from the park immediately approached the vehicle and appeared to purchase various illegal substances from its (clearly) inebriated occupants. In an odd twist of events, another kid seemed to trade some illicit substances of his own for a skateboard. Several of the older commies then proceeded to either urinate or vomit outside the vehicle, one complaining loudly of an uncontrollable crab infestation on his "nut sack" and warning the others not to frequent a particular well-known area brothel.

Suspected Ringleader "Old Crusty Nuts" (File Photo)

The older miscreants then proceeded to lug several coolers of beer and an extremely large marijuana bong over to the park and begin to skate, smoke and drink... excessively. In fact, in all my days on the force, I've never seen a more blatant display of mindless civil disobedience... all of it enveloped in a veritable cloud of the most vile, ungodly language imaginable. The younger park participants seemed rather awed by this demonstration, and several of them were soon heard commenting about their new found desire to check out the aforementioned whorehouse frequented by the older skater, whom everyone referred to as "Crusty Nuts."  He seems to be the ringleader.

Oh, what evil lurks in the hearts of these radical rousers of retarded rabble? The crew of drunken miscreants proceeded to skate the park ruthlessly, only pausing to heckle the younger skaters mercilessly. Several area youths were seen exiting the park in tears, vowing never to skate again (and, if I must editorialize here, thank heavens for that!). Other youths joined in the hazing, imitating these older derelicts in the style and substance of their verbal and physical abuse of the younger "kooks," as they called them. Let me tell you, it took every ounce of professional training as an undercover agent to keep from personally intervening on behalf of these poor youngsters, especially when the older crowd began going "monkey style" on them, which is their description of their despicable habit of literally defecating in their own hands and throwing it at the unsuspecting little ones!

God, how I yearn to lay the heavy hands of American justice, the mighty torch of wholesome law and order on the guilty brows of these wayward hoodlums. But I council patience, my friend! I must bide my time! Having identified Crusty Nuts, it only remains to dredge up evidence on the rest of this incorrigible band of skateboarding, Satan-worshipping hooligans for the forces of righteousness to prevail! My next move? Even now, I'm inflating my blow up doll in the hopes of using it as bait for a conversation piece with these lowlifes; I've been told Tanya will give me instant credibility among this outlaw crew. Once I master their radical skate vernacular, I'll be ready for tomorrow's operation: Infiltration!

Bill McPherson: Undercover Skate Cop

My job? To clean up the streets by eliminating the radical band of skateboarding ruffians who have infiltrated our community. That's right, thanks to the limp-wristed, socialist Obama administration, a public skate park has been built right here in America! And let me tell you, the reefer blowing teenage malcontents who frequent the place are a pretty tough crowd.

We ought to fry the lot of them, I say. If electrocution doesn't scare the rest of the kids straight, then lock 'em up in an impenetrable dungeon somewhere. But "no," the damn sergeant says, before I can fire a single round at these youngsters, I have to infiltrate the wild band of older skaters! That's right, the so-called "old fucks" who don't come to the park, but who spread their evil, subversive skate doctrine by selling drugs and whores to these unwitting teenage accomplices.

So, thanks to Sarge, I've been carrying out surveillance on the local park scene for some time now, hoping against hope that the older crew will show up. But so far, it's just me and these little bastards. Believe me, I've come to hate these young communist Anti-Christs! Look at the little bastards skateboarding... right out in public. There's not a single referee anywhere in sight. No common shower. No cheerleaders... No wonder they call these guys "skater queers." I haven't seen one fight break out amongst any of them yet! Oh... wait. There's one. Anyway, these young punks mock upstanding social values with their wild maneuvers and unfettered style of dress... undoubtedly influenced by those scary older fucks whose ungodly, anti-American antics have cost this damn country more than desegregating our armed forces! How are we supposed to invade our neighbors, burn down their cities and rape their women with a bunch of raving homos created by this demonic skate cult! I mean, I even offered to give one of these punks some money if he'd quit skating for just a minute... and he didn't take it! Refusing money! Next thing you know, these kids won't kill for oil, or even for money itself or... (choke, gasp) for God!!!! It's downright sadistic!

Thanks be to God, I met this guy from the Daily Coiler in the parking lot today! Ha ha! He was on an undercover park surveillance mission too, he told me! And, get this, he can get me into the wild ruffian gang of radical skaters whom Sarge says I have to infiltrate... That's right, whom. All I have to do is learn how to skate and I'll fit right in, he says. Hell, he says if I just bring a six pack and my... er, I mean, a blow up doll I'm in. Talk about a score! Plus, get this: He says he'll post my log (he thought that was really funny for some reason) right on this here web site so good citizens everywhere can follow my heroic efforts as I save America's youth by bringing to justice the insane band of skate hoodlums whose communist "citizenship" resulted in this goddamned skate park being constructed by our queer city council.

Can you believe they used taxes to pay for it??? Instead of our tax dollars going to inadequately arm Latin Americans seeking citizenship so as to secure oil revenue for the ultra-rich, destroying not only a country, but an entire geo-political region, those pink-lipped, monkey-docking, cum garglers put money into something constructive!!! Goddamn it... pretty soon those bastards will start funding bullshit like edu-fucking-cation again, just like in the 1980s... in Russia!

Any goddamn way, I figure, since me and Coiler boy are both out of ideas, and especially considering that no one ever sends pictures of these older mutha fuckin' skate hoodlums actually skating, this is good enough for now. So, if you've read this far, we appreciate it, bitch. You're one hell of a loyal Coiler follower. However, let me be the first to warn you: your loyalty may subject you to following my adventures in the coming episodes of Bill McPherson: Undercover Skate Cop!!!!! Or maybe not. Fuck it... The Coiler is only as good as the participation of its citizens. Act now... or watch the goddamn commies take over... again!

D.I.E. Skates

D.I.E. Skates is Tom and Elmer's (of Piney Flats Skate Punk Crew fame) new venture. The acronym stands for Do It yErself. They met me down at their new shop which, to my astonishment, was stocked with nothing but chainsaws and some seriously fucked-up looking shop decks... in fact, the latter seemed to be hand-made single plies. I sat down with them and they explained their concept.

DC: So where did the whole D.I.E. thing come from?
Tom: Well, last time I was in the bing I was reflecting on just how much I wanted for myself and pretty much everyone in the world to die. So I just thought it would be a cool name for a skate company.
Elmer: Plus it fit with the whole "do it yerself" concept. We were tired of seeing skate companies that try to act all punk but fucking don't really exist on a d.i.y. type level. We wanted to get back to some shit where the skaters take control and literally do it themselves.
DC: So how does that work?

D.I.E. Skateshop

Elmer: After I busted out of the joint we were skating this park and these kids were wanting to buy boards from us and shit. I was like, "look kid, there's a fucking tree right there. Cut it down and make your own goddamn skateboard. Don't wait for some fucking commie Chinese skate company to do it for you. Do it yerself! Now go die!"
Tom: Then it was like, "damn! There's fucking trees every goddamned place... why the fuck aren't skaters making their own decks instead of buying the shit from a bunch of pinkos who don't really even skate?" I mean, I support anything that's fucking wrong with the world, but subjecting workers in a communist country to the work environment dictated by a capitalist free market is too much even for me to take, dude. 
DC: So is that where the whole chainsaw thing comes from?
Tom: Hell yeah. Come in here and fucking take one of our saws--we'll even lube it up for you--and go chop down your own tree. It's fucking d.i.y. to the essence, dude. Real punk shit. Fuck the environment... fuck the world for that matter.
DC: So that's it? Just go chop down a tree and make a deck somehow? You got any glue or anything?
Elmer: What am I? A fucking scientist? Figure it out yourself you little bitch.
DC: But, I mean wouldn't it make sense to at least rent out the chainsaws or something? How the hell can you make any money?
Tom: Damn, you're stupid. If you "got" the punk thing at all you'd understand we ain't no sell out ass bitches. We ain't selling shit. Strictly hardcore.

D.I.Y. deck crafting

Elmer: Besides, we're perfectly capable of kicking your ass and taking your money. We don't have to sell you anything, dude.
DC: What about these shop... er, "decks" I guess you'd call them? Aren't they for sale... or are they "team" boards?
Elmer: Well, yeah, I guess technically you got us there. We do "sponsor" a lot of the local skaters. But it's rad, though. We only charge $15 bucks a board, so it really helps everyone out.
DC: One of your shop riders is a homeless Vietnam vet with no legs who pan handles from a wheelchair! He broke your shop deck by eating tacos off of it! He claims you make him buy two, three decks a week at gun point!
Elmer: No, we "sponsor" him, just like any other shop does. Our decks may not be the same quality as some, but since we're grandfathered in at the wood shop we basically get them for free and can make a few bucks selling them to our team members for cheap. It keeps the local scene alive, dude. Plus cheap shit is way more punk than good shit. You'd know that if you weren't a poser.
DC: Some of these kids buy three or four decks a week and then go around telling everyone they're sponsored! You don't think that's taking advantage of a thirteen-year-old? If a kid's really sponsored, why not legitimately hook him up with free shit instead of making profit off of him?
Tom: I got a question for you. How you gonna keep asking all these questions with a chainsaw shoved up your ass? We told you we're d.i.y. Pretty soon you're gonna start asking about our Nike deal or what?
Elmer: Yeah, dude. We're punk cuz we say so. Don't you understand that old skate punks are entitled to make millions of dollars off skating one way or another? I mean, didn't you watch the Dogtown movie? I bet the guys featured in that became instant millionaires when it came out.
Tom: Exactly. Punk's about freedom, dude. Specifically, it's about the freedom to be a fuck up your whole life and then cash in on it. Other than that, there are no rules, dude. So quit fucking blowing our scene with your "do-gooder" questions.
Elmer: But before you go, gimme your wallet, bitch... Oh, and remember, the new shop decks are in! Go ahead and take a couple, since you're on the team and shit. Let's see, that'll be... ten, twenty... hey! You owe us ten bucks, mother fucker!

I'm not sure if D.I.E. Skates is going to enable Tom and Elmer to "cash in," as per their sense of entitlement, but I can tell you that this advertising platform for their new shop is absolutely free to them! Here's hoping that other companies will wise up and allow us to pay them to advertise for them as well. Now that's punk. Why? Cuz Tom and Elmer said so!

*UPDATE* Heavy Night at the Masque

Editor's Note: Not many people seemed to get this one. Literally. So, the idea is to go over to uber-blog PunkNOTprofit and download F-Word's 1978 "Like it or Not (Live)" album which, if you haven't heard of these guys, is one of the best punk rock albums ever to come out of the LA scene, IMHO. Get it here: http://punknotprofit.blogspot.com/search/label/F-Word but keep in mind that the commentary that goes with the free download is basically erroneous. Rik L. Rik went on to sing with San Francisco's Negative Trend shortly after F-Word broke up... it was Negative Trend that Shatter, etc., later Flipper members played for, not F-Word. If you want to hear Rik with Negative Trend, get the classic "Beach Blvd." compilation from Posh Boy Records.

Man, it was pretty heavy at the Masque last night. Kind of a weird mix of hippies and art school types milling around and, from the get go, it just seemed like there was trouble brewing. The few dyed in the wool punks who turned out basically had to instruct all the hangers on how to pogo... lame. But the billing lived up to its hype. UXA opened and seemed to put on a good show but, since I got there a little late, I missed most of it. By all accounts they were worth checking out for sure and I could tell they got things off to a good start. The Controllers then proceeded to rip through about ten songs in fifteen minutes and definitely got the crowd into it. A lot of the hippies split after their first song but I could tell that most of the art school fucks were gonna go home and cut their hair first thing after the show.

F-Word

F-Word closed the place down with a raucous performance! They were absolutely aggro! They had everyone in a frenzy with favorites like "Hillside Strangler" and, by the time they got to "Government Official," you could tell the LAPD guys posted at the door were gonna try to shut the place down. In true form, Rick L. Rick, who I think is the best front man in punk rock hands down, saw the opportunity and the band launched into the club classic "Shut Down." The confrontation was on and everyone started throwing bottles at the police... there would have been an all-out riot if Rick hadn't intervened and calmed everyone down. No one got arrested as far as I could tell, and the real drama seemed to be among the F-Word band members. I guess the word's that Dim Wanker's gonna call it quits. Too bad cuz F-Word are the best LA punk band today, in my opinion. But fuck it, we're all gonna die anyway, right? Stoked I got to see a good show from these guys before they get all hippie on us. All in all, it was a pretty heavy damn night, as usual, down at the club.

More from the Mail Room

Well, the support just keeps coming. It's amazing that we're able to have such an impact on the lives of everyday people all over the global village and beyond just by producing our little skateboarding blog. This month I've decided to post a couple of the best exchanges that we've had over the last few weeks with our seemingly endless list of ultra-supportive and financially generous readers. Thanks to them, running the Coiler has been something like a Fang song come to life: the money just rolls right in.

Dear Mr. "Coiler,"

I recently discovered your blog while disciplining my young, impressionable, skateboarding son, Michael, who apparently reads the utter filth you so mindlessly and irresponsibly post on your satanic web site. In future, please think of the children who might happen across your devilish musings before you compound your previous sins. Due to your misguided influence, little Mikey speaks of doing "grinds" and "banging sluts" constantly. Have you no shame? I fear where Mikey's life as a skateboarder may lead him!!!

Yours in Christ,

Liz C. Worth

Dear Ms. WORTH, LIZ C. UNTil little Mikey does a grind and bangs some sluts he ain't no skateboarder, so don't worry about it, bitch. And for your information, I AM thinking about the kids. Who the fuck else would I be thinking about??? Just remind little homie that going to Satan is stupid... especially since he'll come right to you if you just raise a little hell. If you'd have taken it up the ass like you normally do, you wouldn't have this problem so don't get all "morals" on me now, slut. 

Sincerely, 

Mr. "Coiler"

PS: Just for the record, I don't seem insensitive, do I? I've really been trying to work on that aspect of my personality lately. Any feedback would help. Thanks!

What up, man. Don't mean to be overly critical, but when I log onto a "skateboarding" site, I don't think its' too much to ask to see some good pictures of skating... I mean, all I really see here is like 20 years old or you just have some not so funny crap. I mean, I'm down with the site and all but you really need to step up the coverage. Here's my "top ten' list of what you can do to improve the site:

1-10: More good skating pics, dude! (ha ha just kidding... kind of!)

Darren C.

Lakewood, Michigan

Dear Darren. Let me list the "top ten" reasons why you're a faggot.


1-10: You're a faggot.

 --Ed.

Hey man,, Just so you know, our web site is monitoring you, dude, so every time you fuck up and say some uncool shit about longboarding or whatever we'll just bump the thread about what a gay ass blog your running. Alls you do is steal our ideas anyway, it's just that we're way funnier and hipper than you when we do it and if people voted they'd like us way better, probably because we invented skateboarding and humor. Just give it up already.

Editorial Staff
Stingray Skate Zine

Let me list the top ten reasons why you're a bunch of faggots. --Ed.

Keep sending in the cash folks! Thanks to your undying support, retirement is only a few short decades away. The Daily Coiler: Utter proof that you can't sell out if you can't even give it away!

How Not to Fuck Up DIY Coping

Pouring your own concrete coping is fun, easy and--like all things skate related--eternally rewarding.  Follow these simple instructions and your trucks will be showering the neighborhood with sparks in no time.

Step 1) Invite over your most trustworthy skateboarding friends to help. Yes sir. It takes real dedication from the whole skating community to build a true scene.

Step 2) Get drunk and figure that, since you've done this before, there's no need to follow the directions on the bag of Kwikcrete. Add water liberally. Go ahead... pour some beer in there too since you've convinced yourself it'll make your grinds more "manly."

Step 3) Spend rest of afternoon frantically trying to trowel out excess liquid until you've achieved a somewhat acceptable-looking pour. Notice disappointed friends abandon scene after it's too late.

Step 4) Let cure and voila! Perfect concrete coping reminiscent of world's finest.

Simulated photo

Any questions? I didn't think so. Feel free to send money.

Real 80s Suck Weekend

Despite my carefully laid plans to "80s out" this past weekend, only speaking to people who skated in the 80s and, of course, only skating 80s-type terrain like jump ramps and shit, my weekend was doomed from the get-go. One, we fucked up the weekly budget so I wasn't able to buy a piece of plywood to build my jump ramp... a poorly conceived 80s retro idea to begin with because, back then we obviously would have stolen the wood anyway. Then I was dumb enough to listen to some dumbassed kid who told me that a certain park had an "80s style" mini ramp... which he swore was a vert ramp chopped down to "eight feet."  I figured if this panned out I'd easily salvage the weekend, 80s style.

Not surprisingly, the mini turned out to be a typical, lame-ass 6 x 16 pre-fab job at some ghetto-ass municipal park. "Fuck it. It's my day off, I'll skate anyways," I thought. Not so fast. The chain link fence was pad locked and the parks and recs maintenance guy who happened to be tooling around said the place was closed indefinitely due to a "big hole" in the mini ramp, as evidenced in the photo. "Don't worry about it, though. There's an even better park twenty minutes down the highway in the next [shit hole]," the guy informed me. To my persistent queries of "is it concrete?" his answer was a resolute, reassuring "yes sir!"

Great. No problem. It was still early on Friday, so I figured I'd head out there and check it out. Perhaps not surprisingly, I started getting suspicious about ten minutes into the drive. I mean, what were the chances of a concrete park within an hour of my house that I hadn't heard about? Sure enough, the next park was obviously built by the same pre-fab scam outfit. Who knows how many years ago? The set up looked alright from a distance, though, so I figured I'd skate the bitch.

Unfortunately, the only real difference between the first and second pre-fab parks was that the hole in the mini ramp at the second park wasn't quite as large as in the first one, so the park was still open. The mini and in fact the whole park was in awful disrepair with screws jutting out everywhere and unfastened edges gaping out all over the place. In retrospect, this dump's rabid sketchiness was really the most attractive, fun feature about it. I skated about an hour and a half and, of course, not one other skater showed up despite that it was a super nice day. Later on at home I looked the second park up on line and the pre-fab company who built it had the nerve to advertise it as "skater made." What a crock of bullshit, unless by "skater" they meant "roller-blader," which may well have been the case.

Anyway, I figured "fuck it." 80s weekend had become late 90s pre-fab weekend. It was still Friday so I was sure I'd salvage some sort of retro action. But it wasn't to be. It rained all goddamned weekend from that point on. So, skating took a back seat to brew drinking and lazing around the pad watching videos of other people skate. Which, had I planned it that way, would have worked nicely as my "Real 80s Shit Weekend" to begin with! Overall, I did learn an important lesson by trying to go retro, though, which is that the only disadvantage I've got in comparison to the good old days of the 80s is my geriatric age. In a lot of ways, I think skating is better, at least for me, nowadays than in the desperate, difficult days of yore, when things to skate--even shitty things--were often at a real premium. Perhaps more importantly, I know I appreciate it a lot more. That's for sure.

You Kick Shit and Fuck Cows?

Dear faithful readers:

The Daily Coiler is very proud to bring to you the first of our promised guest contributions, and  especially proud that our inaugural guest spot is being filled by none other than C Bad, an original Leathasak and Daily Coiler co-founder and contributor. Hopefully C will continue to bring his high quality journalism to the Coiler in the near future.  I believe a standard disclaimer is required for this one, despite that the Coiler secretly does endorse C's views. So, without further ado, "You Kick Shit and..?" Well, I'll let him tell it. Pics are from DC issue #1 back in 2000... and you think the layout of this blog is bad!

So I’m drinking and rapping with this beardo who goes by the handle of El Desmundo, which I believe is Mexican for Desmond.  Anyway, he tells me of this intronet thing and a little place where he tells skateboard stories.  I ask if I might contribute a piece.  He’s pulling a swig when I ask him this and suddenly he spews out brew from his mouth and nose.  He looks up at me, eyes watering, and beer dripping from his nose.  He wipes the slobber from his chin and says “You fucking asshole!”  So I took that as a “sure, write me up a story, you are a talented mutherfucker.” Anyway this story is an all-time favorite, true as shit of course.   

Whether there is a moral to it or not remains to be seen.  Specially since I ain’t sure what morals are. We must have been about 16 or so, still at that scrawny-little-fuck stage, and were driving down the street just after a heated sesh somewhere.  I believe it was three of us, Desmond, Jeff, and me.  Anyway, we’re rolling through a hospital zone where you have to slow down to 15 mph.  This truck pulls up along side of us.  Now we live in the southwest so seeing a beat up pickup filled with real cowboys was nothing unusual.  There was about three of them in a single cab.  Judging by the pubic hair growing on their faces, they were at least of drinking age.  So as they pass us, the driver leans out his window and asks “You all ride skateboards?”  Obviously the genius saw the skateboards piled into the back of the hatchback and put 1+1 together (well done Brokeback!).   

Now while this may seem like an innocent question to most, I should tell you something about skateboarding.  Not too long ago it wasn’t considered cool to be a skateboarder.  What! You say. Not cool?!? That’s right bitch, skateboarding was nothing like it is today. No Boffo and Dildo’s TV skate show or longboarding with the local frat fags or your dad with his cool DC shirt and Hurley hat (are those fags even a skate company?)  Skateboarding was not cool and it still isn’t but that’s another rant.

Anyway, Brokeback asks us if we skateboard.  So Desmond, curious as well, calmly asks him, “Do you kick shit and fuck cows?”  Now, judging by the look on Brokeback’s face, he’s not asked this question very often, if ever.  He seemed quite surprised.  They all seemed quite taken aback, I believe is the phrase.  Come to think of it we were all pretty fucking surprised and laughed our asses off as soon as Desmond blurted this out.  Now I guess these guys take offense to their cow-fuckin' because they were not laughing.  In fact, Brokeback was now hanging half-way out his window and demanding an apology.  Naturally, Desmond calmly replied, “fuck you.”  Now Brokeback just looked utterly confused.  This quickly turned to anger.  It was still funny as shit though. 

So now Brokeback did the only thing he could do.  He pulled his truck in front of us, in the hospital zone, in front of the hospital.  This was pretty surprising to us.  I should mention that in this weird Twilight-Zone-Spaghetti-Western surrealism, there was absolutely no one around.  No other cars, no pedestrians, nothing.  I thought our final showdown had come. So Jeff, who is putting the car into reverse, starts yelling out the window, “This is against the law!”  Brokeback, now parked and blocking the entire road, steps out of his truck, grabs at his ginormous belt buckle and states, “I’ll show you some law boy!” and starts walking toward us.  I swear I fucking heard spurs clinging.  Jeff is now yelling for help, I’m thinking I’m gonna get beat down by HeeHaw, and Desmond is yelling at the dude to get his piece of shit truck out of the way.   

By this time the other Brokebacks have gotten out of the truck and are walking toward us.  “Desmond, just fucking apologize,” Jeff and I say.  So yeah, Desmond said he was just joking and surprisingly those dumbfucks bought it.  Like some sort of weird Cowboy Law where you accept an apology and be on your way, they got back into their truck drove off.  We looked around at each other and started laughing our asses off again and decided to get some beer.  

So the moral of the story… I don’t know.  Maybe it’s be proud of who you are and stand up for yourself.  If you kick shit and fuck cows, be proud of it.  You don’t have to rub it in people's face or brag like you're some fucking rockstar.  Hell, I tried to fuck a cow once.  I was super drunk and so it probably wasn’t the caliber of love making that some of these guys are used to performing.  It was more like cramming an old soggy banana into a wet sock.  Anyway, I’m gonna go skate.

C Bad

Real 80s Shit Weekend

By now everyone's seen and of course bitched about Quicksilver's "80s Vert Jam" event wherein a bunch of 80s vert pros--you know, from Hawk to Hosoi--throw on some flowery shorts, show up with a flock of seagulls coif, pull out an 80s retro model and proceed to shred... a 13' vert ramp. Actually, I've no idea what the actual dimensions of the ramp are, but it sure looks to me a lot like a standard 13' tall, 11' tranny vert ramp. I'm sure I'm wrong about that, but I'd nevertheless like to see some of those dudes skate a "real" 80s vert ramp, or at least a typical backyard vert ramp from that era. I'm talking 9' tall with 8' trannies and a foot of vert. You know, the one that seemed to be on every corner in the mid-80s... the one you couldn't skate because the owner didn't allow drinking, or because he just didn't like your little ass.

C Bad would fuck up a jump ramp back in the 80s

Or scratch that. Fuck the old pro dudes: I'd like to skate a good old 80s vert ramp with those dimensions. And, since everyone claims I'm living in the 80s anyway, it might be a good idea to practice what I preach and simply accept that I'm what everyone claims I am: that is, an 80s retro moron who's completely out of touch with today's skateboarding scene.

No problem. Done. But I'm going to take it a step further. Not only am I going to seek out real 80s type terrain to skate this weekend, and possibly for weeks after that depending on whether I can find anything good, I'm literally going to attempt to live in the 80s by refusing even to talk to anyone who didn't grow up skating in the 80s! That'll teach anyone not to be as old as me! In fact, I think I'll compound the idiocy by acting exactly like I did back then, meaning I'll be a total dick to every other skater I run across, if any (that should be the easy part, I'd guess.)

So rather than head out to the brand new, state of the art concrete skate park down in Cherokee, I'm going to build a jump ramp and skate it in my driveway this weekend. I've also got a line on an 80s-style mini ramp that--get this--is located on South Central street, of all places, so I can get my 80s "Bloods and Crips" on as well. I doubt many 80s gangstas skated, but we're making the rules here, so fuck you. The point: there's no reason to run a blog if you can't find excuses to act like an idiot. Plus, I want to find out just how comfortable I am with my 80s self, you know, for the kids. Anyway, I'm off Friday. So, if you grew up skating in the 80s, know who I am, and can hang with some real 80s shit weekend shenanigans, gimme a call. If not: don't talk to me! Or I mean: shine, dude! I'll be out shralping. Definitely more to come on this one.

We're Back

Well, no thanks to Blogger we're back. I spent all weekend emailing the Blogger techs complaining that Hulksta had hacked the site and started posting largely unintelligible crap about "wait liffin n shit," as he put it, and didn't get so much as one word in response! Fortunately, Tom and Elmer (the Piney Flats crew) showed up over at Hulksta's house late last night and--as promised--they "took care" of the situation for me... Not sure what all went down but after one hell of a lot of screaming and gun fire I'm able to log in as per usual and post and stuff, though I can't seem to delete any of that fuckhead's posts. The Piney Flats crew wanted me to post this picture of pre-roided up Hulksta though, which I agreed to do just to add insult to injury to that prick.

Looks like the fucking Hulksta wasn't so damn impressive before he met the roids! That dumbass used to box or some shit I guess. What a fucking goober. But the coup de grace came when Elmer handed me the following photo... seems that Hulksta used to be a roller skater for a traveling circus show! Ha! Look at that skinny-asssed little bitch! I guess his story is that he hates skating now because roller skating has basically disappeared from popular culture and he blames skateboarders for "exposing the gay element" in roller skating and blading.

So the short of it is that Tom and Elmer have assured me that the Coiler won't have any more problems with fucking Hulksta any time soon. But we'll see. That bastard's been a bigger thorn in my side than even the BFRO, which you may recall ransacked our offices earlier this year.  All I can say is thanks fellas. Anyway, moving on, the Coiler is doing some guest columns in the coming weeks, the first of which will feature original Coiler correspondent C Bad. We look forward to it and hope you find it entertaining. In the meantime, "Yo fuck da Hulksta, yo!!!"

Haha ha U STOOPID

Hahahaha U sk8-borderz is STOOPID!!! U thot da coyula waz changin it's shit up to cover wait liffin n shit hahahaha!!! Hey dumbazzes da HULKSTA pulled some shit on U cuz I B runnin the coyla now bitches word i hacked in tha web site i aint so dumb bitch!!!! haha fooled ur azzes yo!!!

I gots anutha one fo all u dumazz sk8az G! i IZ gonna put wait liffin up now cuz I run dis shit!!! In dis pitcher my heroz from Mr olimpia iz shgowin dey fhyzzeeks. All u kidz out der shud persire 2 B big liik a REEL G! like dis!!

remembr kidz reel Gs dont youz to many steroydz cuz dey bad 4 ur pecka n shit so eat good liik mama saiz. Also dont B sk8en dats fo fagguts n shit on da fo reela u don wanna b no faggut right lil G??? word up an oh yeah FUCK DA COYULA!!!! Sk8az is STOOOPID!!! oh YEA yung Jeezy b da shit yo he doper then hell

YO FUCKK DA COYLA!!!!!!!!!

Yo dis be da coyula no body hacked into our shit dog word. I no da coyla be talkin maad shit bout da nay-bah n shit but hulksta be da shit yo fuyck the coyla!!!!!! i always ferget to ritght that da coyla SUCKS DICK aqn dat DA HULSKA iz tha shit word i shud defineetly be wrightin thqat G

yo check out the new shit sk8-boreding iz stoopid yo



i alwayz ferget too say dat da coyla iz a bunch of fagguts who dont never have good sk8 pictures anywayz bitch plus them fagguts I me4an we dont neven liff waits n shit wut a bunch of pusssies wee iz haha ha fuck da coyula!!!! oh yeah now da coyula iz gonna cover wait liffin fuck sk8ing!!!!!!! ohyeah we iz also gonna hav e alot mo naked bitches n shit cuz we aint no fagguts!!! well be like silverfish n shit word!!!!!

La Llorona

Don’t go down to the ditch, my child,
Don’t go skate alone;
For the sobbing woman, shrill and wild,
Might claim you for her own.

She weeps when the sun is murky red;
She wails when the moon is old;
She cries for her babies, still and dead,
She slammed on the pavement cold.

Abandoned by a faithless love,
Filled with fear and hate.
She flung them from the ditch above,
And made off with their skates.

Day and night, she heard their screams,
Borne on Don Roser’s crest;
Their tortured faces filled her dreams,
And gave her heart no rest.

 

Crazed by guilt and dazed by pain,
Weary from loss of sleep,
She leapt in the ditch, lashed by rain,
And drowned in the waters deep.

She seeks her children day and night,
Wandering, lost, and cold;
She weeps and moans in dark and light,
A tortured, restless soul.

Don’t go down to the ditch, my child,
Don’t go skate alone;
For the sobbing woman, shrill and wild,
Might claim you for her own.

Ode to Pools Past: Picacho Hills

Picacho Hills pool was the centerpiece at the club house for a relatively affluent golf course community in southern New Mexico. Such a pretentious recreational neighborhood seemed painfully out of place amid the desolate poverty of the dust-choked Spanish bad lands. Overlooking the Organ mountains from the West Mesa across the Chihuahuan Desert, the pool was located on the same heat-soaked stretch of brittle highway as another long-time favorite at an old, dilapidated water slide park. Any sun-dazed desperado could tell that Picacho Hills was a dying dream, a shriveling desert oasis even in its hey day. After all, Don Juan de Oñate himself had failed to find his cities of gold along the jornada del muerto. You think some pendejo with a golf course was gonna realize his gilt-edged dream here?

Lewcifer did rock back around 1989

Like the desperate region surrounding it, Picacho Hills had a long and violent skate history. Many, many veteranos skated here over its quarter-century run as one of the gold standards of pooldom in the area. In fact, the pool was a veritable goldmine--the lost Dutchman come to life--where only broken desert dreams and the dissipated haze of hopeless mirages once reigned. A posse of Pat Garretts couldn't keep Billy the Kid's gang of bullet-scarred banditos from blazing away at its shimmering walls. Victorio, Taza, Cochise and Geronimo himself were said to have skated here, too, trading their proud Appaloosas for plied maple and a few stout swigs of King Cobra.

Although this oasis rarely held water, the self-proclaimed upholders of law and order--such a foreign concept in this bleak borderland--guarded its gates with the utmost vigilance. Pitched battles determined who controlled this wind-blown desert town and, in the end, the lawless skate-toting men of fortune undid the moralizing missionaries, burying their crosses in the dusty drain beneath a solemn
death box. The law of the West ruled here: only the most daring outlaws survived.

How many riders' blood stained Picacho Hills' mythic walls? None can accurately say. Even amidst the very bowels of Western folklore, the pool's legend manages to loom tall, shading even the rattlesnake-lined banks of the trickling Río Grande. Its lore contains all the mythic elements: rich and poor, good and evil, though, like the best pistol-blazing oater, the lines delineating them are too blurred, too compromised to make much difference.

Tiger looks for lawmen while hanging on to a G carve

There were no morals here; only lawless, godless men content to find their fortunes in fool's gold. They'd scout the pool like thirst-maddened zopilotes and take their chances even if the scarecrows were still posted. After an evening's shootout at this parched arroyo they'd clink frothy cervezas under a silver-lit moon until they passed contentedly into a demon stupor, like dusty skeletons still clinging to their X-branded bottles.

But make no mistake about it, Picacho Hills was no myth. It may have been the fabled lost mine, forgotten city, and a treasure trove of glinted jewels all rolled into one, but the pool was as real as the sting of one hundred scorpions. And the riders were real, too. Their legends, like the pool's itself, remain etched somehow in the blowing desert sand. And it's rumored that on the darkest and loneliest of desert nights, when even the most cunning coyotes have given up their shrill yowl, if one listens closely enough, he can still make out the distant rumbling of wild cowboys and Indians on wooden horses, carving their own legends into the bullet-riddled walls of Picacho Hills.

Straight Kooks

It's as inevitable as death, taxes and the piles. If you're into skateboarding, eventually you'll be called a kook. It happens to everybody. No matter how long you've been at it, how many proverbial dues you've paid, what you've built, skated, or accomplished, someone out there's gonna think you're a kook. Generally speaking, a dash of kookiness in one's personality is actually a good thing: it's an attribute of most skateboarders that distinguishes us from everyone else. No doubt about it, skating has always claimed among its eclectic membership the type of people who rank highly on non-skaters' kook lists. We're all obviously proud to be that type of kook. Or, at least we should be.

Kookiness is one thing, but full-blown kookdom is a problem. While I firmly believe that there are no rules to skateboarding and that whoever skates is down just by virtue of that fact, it remains that there are some people who just don't fucking get it. I'd hate to venture some definition of what skating "is," which would be down-right kooky in and of itself, but there are nevertheless people out there who truly merit the description of straight kook because, I repeat, they just do not fucking get "it," whatever the hell that may be.

In skateboarding, you don't wanna be called a "straight kook." You can be any sort of kook but that... though fucking kook is never good, either. Come to think of it, any time someone bothers to add an adjective to "kook" you know there's real antipathy there. For example, "I ran into so and so yesterday: he's a kook" might not mean anything bad at all, but throw "god-damned" or "mutha-fucking" in the mix and you know there's a problem. That dude's probably a serious kook.

It all comes down to getting "it," after all, which is a real shame because, when you stop to think about it, there really isn't any "it" to get. I think genuine skaters always have and always will basically understood that. So, when people have to stop and try to explain "it" to some total fucking douche bag, an adjective like "straight" is bound to describe "kook" shortly thereafter.

I've always found most skaters, even the kookiest of kooks, to be pretty tolerable in comparison to non-skaters. The really suspicious kooks, in my mind, are the ones who try to make something out of skating when it's not necessary... you know, the dudes always making a big deal out of shit. Would this make money? Could I be pro? Does this look right? In effect, kooks try to make an "it" out of skating where none previously existed; they take skating seriously. It's interesting that when skaters become pros and start making money off of skating they're usually described as having made "it." Good for them, I guess. But, while I'd never begrudge a skateboarder a living, there are certainly better ways to do it than others... You can tell, too, cuz all the pro dudes who do it suspiciously seem to start acting like straight fucking kooks, as inevitably as death, taxes and the piles.

Reading into It

A recent survey suggests that upwards of 70% of all practicing Christians in the United States admit to not having read the Bible. I'd guess that even if most of those people were forced to sit down and read the thing from beginning to end, it wouldn't mean much of anything to them anyway. Or would it? The parables and stories are so general, so ambiguous, that they can literally refer to everyone and no one at the same time. The point of telling such a broad-based story is to ensure that anyone who chooses to do so can identify with it. Parables travel well; their very ambiguity enables people to insert their own meaning. No doubt, that's one of the Bible's timeless literary appeals. Try hard enough and you can make scripture say whatever you want it to say.

Me

Egotistical folks are especially dangerous in this regard. They tend to personalize any message within the Bible. You've seen it plenty. The world's going to end tomorrow, they claim! No one else knows these things! No one else has ever read the Bible, or thought about its meaning, or made the same mistake of reading into it some prophecy meant especially for them. It's sad, really, that people take themselves so damned seriously that they manage to edit their own personal circumstances into every parable, hymn, and psalm of the Bible as though it was written with them specifically in mind. I mean, where do they get the ego?

I'm sure that creating an analogy between the Daily Coiler and the Bible is enough to ensure my eternal damnation, if it comes to that, but let's run with it anyway. If nothing else, we seek to emulate the Bible's allegorical appeal. We don't use anyone's real name, for instance, not so much to protect the guilty but so that people can insert themselves into the story. We like the imaginative quality of skating: the anonymous skate spots shown here could be anywhere, including your town, and geeking out on some pool on line, we hope, will inspire you to go see what you can find around the next corner. We also like to play with all the stereotypical skateboarding archetypes. You know, the collectors, barneys, and insiders who've decided they know what skating's about more so than anyone else.

In so doing, of course, we're inviting our audience to "read into it." And, if reader responses are any measure, they've done so in two ways. One, we get accused--a lot--of writing about specific people. We're said to have targeted people's web sites (we haven't), magazines (ok, we have) or actions (not usually) in our little interview skits. But of course, those skits are intended to be ironical! The point is that you can only see yourself in their content if you choose to identify with the stereotype they're parodying. Taking offense to such stereotypes really only reinforces them. Two, people accuse us--a lot--of stealing their ideas. I'm especially disappointed in this, since I never dreamed that our content was in fact that bad. And here I thought some of the stuff we did was actually funny!

But rest assured, the Coiler's content is not intended to be about you specifically. Last time I checked, the world was still a big place, with a lot of ideas and people bumping around in it. If you're seeing yourself or your ideas represented here, you may be reading into it a bit much: you're not the only one who skates, or has made a funny about it, or at least tried to. Moreover, you're not the skateboarding police (we are!). But, if you insist on seeing yourself being targeted here it may be because you've set yourself up as some sort of authority on the subject. Relax, the content here is intended to parody all of us and, if you fail to see the humor in that, fine, but when skateboarding and everything that goes with it no longer impresses you as fun, you need to understand that the problem's yours, not mine.