Wave House

I went down to the Wave House last weekend to meet up with some friends, slam some beers, watch kooks eat shit, and jocks rip it up.

The Bruticus Maximus is a unique machine. It is everything every surfer has ever dreamed of...the perfect wave. Though, there are a few catches.

It is definitely one of those "You're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't" situations. If you are a kook from Minnesota, out in sunny San Diego, looking to get pitted, people will laugh at you because you are face planting and going over the falls into 2 inch deep water.

On the other hand, if you rip on the thing...wait, why the fuck to you rip on a fake wave? You bought a season pass and shred the flowrider? Big fucking deal. The real ocean is a mere stone's throw away.

It is not very entertaining to watch ultimate jock dude, muscling through back flips and deep tubes in chlorine water with tourists in Tevas cheering you on. Gotta practice those Gorkin flips. C'mon now. Lame.

I saw Captain Morgan at the wave house with his two wenches, handing out samplers of his new 100 proof Rum (the photo at the top is the sampler. That is how much we each got. Seriously.). Corporate logos are emblazoned upon every inch of available space.


You can hear this girl scream bloody murder right before she gets axed.



Super stretch Hyperfreaks nor huge muscles were helping this guy today.