I wonder what the hell the kids are thinking today. Minute after two-minute clip of unadulterated internet surf porn. Perfect waves, perfect surfers, cold water, warm water, no water, oceans, seas, rivers…even pools, for fuck’s sake!
I must be old. I remember days of no surf. No swell, too much wind, no car, too many people, no banks, no banks, no bloody banks.
I must be getting old. I remember on a Saturday afternoon when we had no car, no license and no hope but to sit around with one finger up our nose and another on the video player record button, waiting for the sports show – the one that’s hosted by some old football has-been – to run footage of the Pipe Pro from three weeks previous. We could barely contain our excitement of being able to rewind it back over and over again until someone’s little sister or mum taped over it with an episode of Scooby Doo or Days of Our Lives.
Yeah, I missed the wind today. It swung onshore a couple of hours before it was supposed to, but I refuse to find solace in a John John video or another deserted African left with a twist of some isolated Papua New Guinean tropical perfection while boys on half boards ride reef dribbles in the foreground. I just won’t do it. It leaves unrealistic expectations about this bloody pastime. It’s too easy to forget that these all-time sessions don’t come that often when we see them every day, thrust at us like nipples in a booby bar.
I have read that boys today have an unrealistic expectation on the sexual relations they have with girls because of the availability of so much pornography available to them. I have fallen into that trap in the past. Surf porn, that is.
What will happen to the groms? Does it matter?
What about our relationship with the ocean? Does that matter?
I don’t expect her to be unrealistic in her relationship with us. No, she will slap your face and hold you down and say, “I will give you a facial, little man,” as she rubs your face in the sand and douches out your rectum.
How lucky we are to have a such a strong woman!