ather 'round chillin' and let me bend your ears. I'll tell you tales of moves that moved
mountains and tricks that launched a thousand chicks. What's so gol darn new about
places that would have you mongrels salivating like Pavlov's dogs. I remember this curb in
front of the Downtown Agency for Enforcement of Skate Harassment, where the coppers used
to
this month's "new school?" What, besides detention, do you kids know about school anyway?
Most of these so-called modern moves date back to 1953, when we were wild-eyed snot
nosed vandals, just like you. We had miniature planks with tiny wheels and itty bitty trucks
and no concave... kinda like the
boards you kids ride today. The
only difference was that ours didn't
have any noses, tails or grip tape
and we didn't need any shoes,
socks, T-shirts or knit caps. But that
didn't plug our pores, no siree.
Come heck or hausenfeffer, nothing
would stop us from sessioning as
we saw fit. We didn't care about
laws of man or physics. We did
impossibles that baffled top
scientists for years. They said
there's no physical way we could
do them, but we did 'em anyway,
park their horses. This puppy didn't need no fancy paint, it was made out of metal, and so
were our wheels. It was so long it went around the world-twice Tommy the Fink used to ride
slappies on that puppy off into the sunset, and we wouldn't see him till the next day when he
came ridin' in with the sunrise
even if it meant getting busted by
the Johnnies."
"At one point we found a handrail that was so long it lead down to the depths of Hades. I'll
tell you what, we had some hellacious sessions there. That is, until this Myron named Byron slid
too far on it one day and was never heard from again. After that, they speed bumped it and
that was the last anybody skated that particular rail
That's a whopper if I ever heard one." said Billy Bob Jimminy Smith, the kid who never
brushed his teeth.
"You think so. sonny? You must be nine cents short of a dime if you've never heard of Tommy
me Fink. He, Me, Fast Freddie and Billy the Face practically inverted what you kids today call
streetstyle. Het we just called skating Take for example this trick you call the heel flip late
shove. What's so late about them? You kids are
motherly wife. "You're so full of it, I'm surprised your
eyes ain't turning brown," she said
tipped alright. Hell, you could even say you're
beels, the way you rip-off all our old tricks. But
late? You kids must be in another time zone.
"Ahhh, grandpappy, we can't go
anywhere without getting hassled Shist, you might as well call them heel fip early
by neighbors, security guards,
cops, old ladies, crossing guards
and poodles. Everybody hates us
and they won't let us skate any-
where," whined eight-year-old
Jumpin' Jehosephant Jr.
The weathered man looked kindly
at the boy and shook him by the
collar, "Listen here, my little
shoves the way you do them Ours were so
late they spilled over into the next session. My
friend Ofis Bonus did one that he didn't finish
until the next week.
"Really Uncle Dan?" said a blonde-haired,
big-eyed little skate gir
That's right darin, you're getting it straight
from the horse's patoot. Tweren't nothing so
bad we wouldn't try it or nothing so tall we
wouldn't bomb it What we would call a curb,
This noticeably filed Daniel C. Hootenanny. His
face grew as red as yesteryear's Kryptonics
"Listen here Betting, you stay out of this. I'm having
a discussion with the heirs to my throne. I'm telling
them about the good old days, when we didn't just
do disasters, we did natural disasters. See, my lime
rug rats, it's all about turning disadvantages into
advantages if we came to a place that had a
vicious doberman pincher with ripping jaws and
frothy tongue, we'd hypnotize Lassie and set her
free, then corrugate the coping
"Besides, I cannot tell a lie. Let lightning strike me
ringworm, I knows it can be tough. You would call a two-story building What we down if I ever mumbled a syllable of malarkey, so
That's just how it is, trying to eek out
a little quality skate time in this
authoritarian apocalypse we live
in. The key is to live your own line,
but not be seen. Never stay in a hot
would call a fire hydrant, you would call a fire
department. What we would call a puddle,
you would call a Great Lake
From the door to the kitchen came the
harumph-rumph of the wheezing geezers
place too long and always be ready to mosey on. And
shit hardy, did we skate some good
spots. We rode
help me Frodita. That reminds me, did I ever tell y'all
about the time I got fried by a bolt of from the sky
on Slick Rick's metal vert ramp?
"Well, hells bells..
TA
Chicago pole cat Eric Murphy (above right) traverses the infinite handrail of doom. Photo by Eric Matthies
38 THRASHER MAGAZINE
a collection of far-out
street yarns & assorted
abominations of fact
by brian brannon
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E S