this big lot. What kind of building was
it? It was the poolhouse, dipshit. Dude,
this is too good-ooh, little water down
there over the drain-but the shit's all per-
fectly clean and smooth. Kinda shallow
but sick trannies all over and workable
corners. Deathbox is over here by the shal-
low. Fuckin' burly coping, what's that, like
two and a half inches out or some shit?
"Oh" and "Oh, shit" was all I could
say while I was down inside there
for the first time, touching the sur-
face and looking up the tranny at
where my grind marks were gonna
be. Cups, towels, better route in for me
and the boys. I walked out behind the
poolhouse and saw that the airstrip
to the next house was right there, all
nice and secluded by bushes and
shrubs and shit. Up towards the front
of the lot there was a nice little break
86 THRASHER
Clockwise from top
sequence: Gary Smith
spins a backside 180°
like the blades of a
stealth helicopter over a
sizeable stair and sidewalk
gap. International superspý
Young Choi compromises the
security of the free world by
coasting a lipslide across the tactical
layout of a secret military base in
Baltimore. After a class X-3 security check,
Mathias Ringstrom determined that this half-
pipe would suffice as the testing grounds for
his late shove-it disaster ballistics. Judd Hertzler
floats a lien air over one of the curious landforms that
I was recently discovered in Arcata, CA.
in the greenery to get into this lot. No fence jumping
necessary. I stepped through all this dried out grass
and shit that was between me and the opening. I
looked down and all my shit was just covered
with little stickers; literally hundreds of them
hooked onto my shoes, socks, legs and shorts. I
walked down the driveway picking thorns and
burrs and shit out of the hairs on my legs and
looking to see if the next door neighbors could
see. Nope, perfect. Cars? Nope. I jogged back
across the street ass-smasher style to the pri-
vate little rich bitch path and did a little pseudo
speed walker back to the car. "Oh, hi, how ya
doin'?" Some little wealthy maggot boy to whom
the private driveway/street my car was so trespas-
sishly parked upon belonged was eyeballin' me and
my rig. "Hi," he mouthed back in maggot-talk and
then started looking around for fodder in the mulch
under the trees. I got in the car and drove past him.
He started jogging up the driveway. In my rearview
mirror I watched him stop and watch me as I sat
at the intersection to the main road. Once he
realized that I was watching him he went back to
rooting around in the dirt.
for whatever it is that
KEY WEST ENTRANCE FUN
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