Poor Little Willy

The Rusted Wives Club

by Rusty

About every 3 months or so, I undergo a Cardiac Stress Test. It is not by any means a pleasurable medical experience and normally leads me to examine many of my life's questionable decisions. But none the less, this medical inquiry offers my loved ones a measured sense of reassurance that my old, rusted butt is going to keep paddling around this watery planet… just a little bit longer.

The seriousness of this medical procedure really should not be understated. To ensure that my heart - and head - are in the right place before I undergo this test, my wife encourages me to find my “Happy Place” by hanging out at the beach and surfing with the boys. She understands that a good morning in the surf helps relax me, calms me down, puts me into that zen type place, “that only a surfer knows.”

It took me three wives to find the right lady, but #3 totally gets me.

With my toes freshly sanded and hair still salty, I am ready to have all the wires and electrodes attached to my wrinkled body… I have to say, it sucks getting old. With each year the probing and prodding of my anatomy gets deeper and deeper, sometimes reaching soul piercing depths.

So this is how the test normally starts; again, this happens about once every three months... I come home from a sunny surf session and find all three of My wives, in My living room, sipping several bottles of My wine… 2 Former Wives + 1 Current Wife = Spousal Overload... Instant Heart Attack or what my doctor has diagnosed as a Cardiac Stress Test!

If I was actually hooked up to an EKG machine, at that shocking moment, it would fucking blow up!

These “Tres Señoras de Rusty” love to do this to me; they love to see the horror on my face, the fear in my eyes, the sweat build up on my upper lip. They love to redline Rusty’s old ticker!

Once the initial shock wears off, after I gulp down a glass of wine, the inevitable questions of my actual health come up. Because folks, here’s the bottom, without me, this “Rusted Wives Club” would have no financing!

This medical farce is actually a quarterly business meeting, called to order by the three owners’ of “Rusted Beauties.” Each quarter’s agenda consists of only one bullet point and that is simply my health; or rather their complex, non-medical assessment of my well-being and how that could affect their lavish purses. For the three of them, it is a fun afternoon of risk management done over a few bottles of wine. For me, it’s the fuel that will ensure that I outlive them all!

Aloha.

Doctor My Eyes - Jackson Browne Doctor, my eyes Tell me what is wrong Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

Old Guys Rule... Through All The Pain & Medication

by Rusty

The crusty crew of surfers I normally paddle out with have had a lot to deal with lately. Many of us salt & peppered degenerates have really taken a physical beating this year. Our collective seasons of surfing have led up to... one slider replacing both knees, another to swap his calcified hip for space-age titanium and just the other day, a newly minted grandfather, to “Cheater-Five” his way to the emergency room with a dislocated hip. All of these high doses of medication and pain has caused me to seriously question one of surfing’s most marketable slogans, “Old Guys Rule!”

Do we really rule? This old guy has witnessed a significant amount of pain and must fully admit that his own personal threshold for such things is, no bueno.

After surveying a few older guys than myself these past weeks, I have discovered one common thread amongst the healthier old guys; that is, no serious, oxidized, slider has ever squeezed into one of those doomed, cotton-blend, t-shirts.

According to one ageless soul surfer - that I, as an aging grasshopper sit at the feet of - there is only one way to deal with this hex... Fire! “My grand kids love to buy me these kookie shirts and I love those little boogers,” he said with joy and pride beaming from his eyes. “I would never purposely break their little hearts, but for my own personal safety and those in the line-up around me, I torch those communist made pieces of cotton on the grill. As a sacrifice to the surf gods!” And for that sage piece of pain avoidance, I say “Amen!”

Lastly, this is for all my surf brothers who are still in traction or slightly induced comas... The hippy, hippy shakes of 1965′s “Beach Girls and the Monster” - video remix by The Copper Tones.

https://twitter.com/RustedAloha

Campaigning for Aloha

by Rusty

Face it folks… the USA is on the brink!

On the brink of what, I don’t know… but we are definitely teetering on some sort of suicidal edge.

Whether Clinton wins or Trump tweets his way into the Oval Office… We’re screw!

You may think this rusty, old dude is exaggerating, but I am not. This is my warning, to the entire surf world, “Wake up and smell the poopie water you’re paddling in!” The flow of brown crap running down stream, out of this storm of politics, is of epic proportions... And this old dude sees little hope of us ever being healthy again.

Whomever wins, neither can unite our line-ups. In fact, both candidates are complete kooks; flawed as bad as Surfline’s forecasting abilities.

The Donald reminds me of crazy lady I use to surf with at the Trestles; a lady who completely owns her nickname… Danger Women. She is an accomplished surfer, but completely reckless! Everytime she took off on an wave, you never knew what she would do or where she would go. There were countless times I found myself facing down the 9 foot plus board of Danger Woman; feeling like there was target painted right between my eyes. Sometimes when I am alone, walking down the trail to Trestles, my mind flashes back to the haunting line-ups I shared with Mrs. Danger. I still hear her grunting take offs, see her flailing arms, whipping blond hair and rippling bikini clad muscles shredding over dozens of dazed & confused paddlers… Our country cannot survive a Trump styled “Danger Woman” presidency.

While Hillary on the other hand tries to showcase a calmer, more presidential demeanor… A facade that none of us are buying. Her tangle web of lies and cons resemble the life of surfing’s most talented shysters… Miki "Da Cat" Dora. Da Cat elegantly partied his way across the globe, writing bad checks, stealing wallets, jewels, purses and passports; never admitting to any wrongdoing before skipping out to the next cinematic surf spot. HRC must of met Miki somewhere along his trail of destruction. Perhaps, she was scorned by him in the 70’s, and because of that lovers quarrel vowed to scorch the remaining earth Miki never attended to. Whomever stole Hillary’s heart needs to return it and save us from a liberal tax-n-spend destruction.

So go forth and vote my fellow Americans and please only vote once in this decentralized, yet rigged election system. Afterwards, when this campaigning marathon ends, remember the importance of Ohana. Come the morning of Wednesday, November 9th, we will all need to begin mending this nation’s wounds by extending the tolerant and loving hand of Aloha to this Ohana of Americans.

WSL Goes Hollywood With Jonah Hill

by Da Bob

“Honey, honey, call me on the telephone I know you’re movin’ out to Hollywood

With your can of tasty foam…“

Not only a Rolling Stones song from ‘72, but the best way to describe what is coming out of 2020’s World Surf League offices.

#starf*cker Yup, and the star the WSL has chosen to lose it’s virginity to is … Oscar-nominated writer, actor, director, and surfer (???) Jonah Hill!

Read More - Da Bob - YEW

The Patriotic Women Of The Gridiron... Helping To Make America Great Again!

by Rusty

Rusty’s Note: Most of us have grown tired this week of POTUS’s NFL rants and the subsequent millionaire player’s responses. Stand For The Anthem... Take A Knee… Tune In… Tune Out… There are so many other pressing issues that deserve our nation’s attention. But just bare with me here and I promise, at the end, you’ll see a 35 second video of scarcely dressed ladies that will definitely make you feel more… Patriotic.

Whether you are an American Sports fan or Constitutional 1st Amendment fan, of which I am both, your fandom was recently blitzed by our Commander & Chief. Last week, while at a political rally in the deep south of Alabama, our President declared that all NFL players who take a knee during the singing of our national anthem are SOB’s and should be fired, “You’re Fired!” The following morning, via Twitter, he disinvited Steph Curry’s Golden State Warriors to White House for their February... ‘Wink, Wink’... long desired NBA Championship Celebration.

POTUS’s full court press didn’t stop there… He took it way beyond overtime by engaging in an entire weekend’s worth of patriotic / boycottic NFL tweetstorms. Ignoring an agenda of hurricane duties and possible golf outings.

Nonetheless, his ‘flag waving point’ was firmly planted (and retweeted by loyal Russian bots around the globe).

A ‘manipulated point’ heard loud and clear by officials in all mainstream American sports.

A ‘false point’ that influenced, owner’s like the NFL’s Jerry Jones to split the protesting difference by having his Cowboys take a historic five second knee-drop before the anthem on Monday Night Football to the country’s second most important pigskin league, the Legends Football League (former known as the Lingerie Football League) to announce that it’s lovely-looking-players will “stand in salute of our flag.”

A patriotic touchdown scored round the world!

In the end, the Commissioner of Make America Great Again and his 62,984,825 mandate-less votes, deserve all the credit for turning an almost overlooked protest - of a shameful mark on our nation’s moral character - into a reason for “Women Of The Gridiron” to stand up, face the flag and turn their asses ‘just so’ towards the camera for our Star Spangled Banner!

Tanned & Toned… to Chubby Chaser!

In my tanned and toned Twenties, I was lucky to marry to a young, sexy surf goddess… We shared sandy days and salty nights.

Later, in my mature… middle-age years… I met and wed a romantic lady who loved to stroke my balding dome. Now in my sunset and packing a few more ~ chunks in my trunks ~ I am blessed to have wife #3… and even more blessed that she’s a titillating… “Chubby Chaser”!

Only Pottz Can Save Pro… Surfing!

Last week the WSL officially announced the death of this year’s 2020 tour and a retooled 2021 list of events... But lets get real, only Martin Potter can save Pro Surfing! Here is a serious question for all you Pro Surfer lovers out there… Since the onset of COVID-19 and the shutdown of the World Surf League’s 2020 Pro Tour… Have you really missed Pro Surfing? Did you miss the sunny opening leg on Australia’s Gold Coast or her cold slabs at Bells or Margaret River? Maybe the itch you were looking to scratch was some live Indo? Or were you looking to gawk at the sandy thongs of Brazil’s Oi Rio Pro!?! I know I miss J-Bay… I miss everything about that cold, sharky, right hand point break! Teahupo’o? Slater’s ranch in Lemoore? No! The European Leg? Da Pipe Masters? Be honest… No You Don’t! Didn’t! Haven’t! Read More - Da Bob - Medium

Shark Week Becomes Squalene Chum

We are only a few days away from one of the most loathsome weeks for surfers. A week of nightly TV that most of us salty, nasal drippers do everything to avoid. It happens every summer, that one week where the fun vibe in the lineup gets a bit frosty and sketchy; where freaky thoughts about oversized fish with multiple rows of sharp teeth swim through our collective domes.

It’s Shark Week on Discovery Channel. Oh, how I love this freakin’ week… Read More - Da Bob - YEW

Happy Birthday To... Me!

Tomorrow is my Birthday and my loving, wonderful, grown-up kids ordered me a few things online… #BirthdayPresents…

A New Cali State Park Day Pass Old School @katinusa​ Boardshorts Nat Young’s “Church of the Open Sky” and #Weed Suppositories?!?!? https://twitter.com/RustedAloha/status/1285729682051272704?s=20