Wednesdays are horrible

I don't know what it is about Wednesdays that kills me. I just seem to wake up every Wednesday morning and I want to kill someone. This could also have a lot to do with my rampant thirst for blood. Whatever the case may be I am usually not in the best of moods. Nothing seems to cheer me up. Just last week I thought that maybe a relaxing walk through the back alleys of chinatown to find cock fighting tournaments would make the day a little more bearable. I was sadly mistaken. Just once, I would like to be able to have something fun happen on a Wednesday. Like a hostile takeover by a group of Eastern bloc terrorists at a school for supermodels in the french alps. Only one man would be able to pull off their rescue without leaving one of those commie bastards alive. It would be a lot like Die Hard. Except, there would be a lot more knife fights and a lot less one liners. Yet, it isn't meant to be, because it is Wednesday. The single most life draining day of the week.

Had a nice little Saturday

When I woke up on Saturday I was not feeling good. I am not going to lie. It was one of those mornings when you take loud noises very personal and your mouth feels like an ashtray. I mustered the strength to climb out of my hammock and I headed into the living room. I grabbed one of those large Alhambra bottles from my neighbors garage, because fuck him. I made myself two packets of bacon, a dozen hardboiled eggs, and a pitcher of bloody marys. I sat down to find something worthy of my Saturday morning starter. Did I ever! Inexplicably, both the USA and TNT networks had decided to create heaven on earth for me by running duel Steven Segal movie marathons. This means an entire days worth of action on two different channels. Segal’s body of work is so large that they could have both of these marathons on the same day without repeating one movie…. AMAZING. What this day helped me realize is two things. That Segal is a master of Zen, and that he is incredible at knife fights and breaking limbs. What I noticed about all of the movies I watched during the day is that Steven pays little attention to emotion in his acting. It takes a great performer to remain the same calm, wise, and impassionate character. When he walks into that pool hall to fight fifteen guys does he even bat an eyelid? No, he calmly takes care of all those jerkoffs. Blinking is for the WEAK! The thing you notice about his fight sequences is that he operates at an incredible limb breaking, neck stabbing rate. I am sure that we could get some nerd at MIT to run the figures to determine his neck stab to limb break ratio. Without going into much of a study of my own, I can safely assume that this is an incredibly large figure. Although, I am a huge fan of Mr. Segal I must offer some words of criticism as well. For the love of God Steven, please never run in a movie again. Multiple times during the orgasm that is a Segal marathon the poor choice was made to show him running after a suspect, running away from a bomb, or just running in general. Just stop it. I don’t care what you have to do Stevey. If I have to have another cop revenge movie ruined by you flailing your arms like a drunk peacock while you make that diarrhea face, I will no longer support your films. Basically, if you could make that simple request a reality I will anoint you as the greatest movie star of all time.

Overall Marathon Grade = A-

Points were deducted for Mr. Segal running and using his own band on soundtracks.

Thoughts for the weekend

Well I for one am not sure. I seem to always get this way before the weekend rolls around. It’s not that I don’t have things to do, because I do. The problem is to make the choice and live with it. For instance, last weekend I decided that going down a ski jump on a Segway with a parachute was going to be fun. Turns out that the Segway just doesn’t have enough speed to get down the jump and provide the rider with any type of launch trajectory. I felt bad because I could have gone to an all day bungee jumping competition. I won the contest a few years back and felt like I had stayed away long enough to let some other people win. I thought why not give those wieners another year and try this Segway thing. Boy was I wrong. That’s why this weekend I am going to do something that I know will be an adventure.

I am going to get shit-faced drunk.

As you are reading this, I am having my first drink of the weekend. I like to start with an Irish coffee to get me started. The mix of whiskey and caffeine sends a message to the entire body that today is going to be a test of heroes. I will probably have two of those before I get into my early morning calisthenics (give myself and HJ in the shower / play a perfect game of darts). Next up, I think it will be time to leave the house and head out to greener pastures.

I like to head to a bar where you can spit on the floor and people don’t mind a little foul language at 11 in the morning. I will start with a shot of whiskey and a pint of their strongest ale. If they don’t serve beer I will have two shots of whiskey. After playing pool or getting into a bar fight I think I will head to the local liquor store and pick up some 40oz’s, kool aid, and night train. After I mix up the blood juice I think I will walk to a local park. I like to mix it up with the locals by commentating on their choice of dogs or asking them why they aren’t at work at this time of the day. People always seem to answer that question with the same question, to which I reply “BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH BLAA BLAHHHHHHHHHH!” Once I have finished my “park” drinks I think it is time to head to the local sports bar.

I don’t care what game is playing. I just want two fingers of whiskey and a six pack of Pabste. Usually, when I watch the games at the bar I find the team that most people are rooting for and root for the other team. This leads to more bar fights or perhaps an intelligent conversation regarding the merits of both teams systems, most of the time it is bar fights. By this time I will have worked up quite an appetite for dinner. Notice how I didn’t eat lunch. If you don’t eat lunch you are going to be a lot drunker by the time dinner rolls around.

I will probably go to a fancy steak house and have a bottle of white before dinner. Before dessert I will have finished my post steak bottle of red, and after dessert I will have a glass of port, or something fancy like that. After all that drinking I think it is safe to say it is time to go to the strip clubs. I like to be extremely drunk and broke by the time I get into the strip club. That way I sober up a bit while these single moms work for my attention. After a few songs it is finally time to head home for the night. If I am lucky I will be taken home by one of the strippers or a limo driver. Its more likely that I will fall asleep in an alley and walk home the next morning. That is just part of the adventure of drinking on the weekend. If I make it out alive I will tell you all about it on Monday.

I think its time for a change

A timeless classic. By now I think it is safe to say that most people have seen some variation of the above photograph. The image of a kitten barely holding on to a string or rope with the encouraging words "Hang in There!" at the bottom. I get it. It's to help those of us who have a tough day at work from time to time. Maybe you are having a down day and need to be cheered up by some small animals plight. The thing that the picture wants you to think is that this cat is gonna be fine, and so are you. All you have to do is "Hang in There!" The cat is going to be fine even if it lets go of that rope. Why you ask? Because cats have nine lives silly. But that is besides the point. What bothers me is that there isn't a poster out there that takes other people into consideration, like myself. I mean, the phrase "Hang in There!" is fine in and of itself. My problem is that the image does not accurately reflect everyones level of stress for when you really need to "Hang in There!" Have you ever been in a 48 hour game of Russian Roulette in the basement of a bar in Bangkok? So high on methanphetamines that you see in hypercolor and have lost all control of your bowels? That is a time when the phrase "Hang in There!" might be a little more appropriate. I sure could have used a more timely poster when I was hunting bigfoot in the high sierras using only a swiss army knife and my bare hands. Therefore, I have decided to make my own version of the poster. I hope that it can provide inspiration for those who have tougher moments when they need to....

Top that geniuses.

Majestical

It's not everyday that you come upon art this beautiful. I was lucky enough to find this work of art on the world wide interweb this morning. I was searching for things to read while I take my first dump of the day, and I was lucky enough to notice this startling peice. As I disposed of the 5 pound t-bone steak I ate for dinner the night before I had ample time to examine the work. The first thing that strikes you is the complex purple hue of the skyline. It is as if the color beckons you to feel the cold of the night, yet at the same time providing you with the warmth of daylight on the horizon. I think that the next thing that I took into account was the fact that the artist chose to leave the moon in a crescent form. This shows me that the artist is contemplative. A person who is not sure whether or not they want the full power of the moonlite on their subject. It also could be that this painting was taking place during an eclipse. That makes sense because unicorns usually only come out of their mountain caves during eclipses or when they must sacrafice humans that have seen them. Anyways, the real focus of the peice is the unicorn itself. Notice the attention to detail on the tail, no wisp of hair was left unnoticed. The precise moment captured in time is the perfect apex of the majestic creature rearing back its head. And what can be said about the artists attention to making sure the homing beacon on the horn was at the perfect glow. Unicorns have those beacons in their horns to locate other unicorns, leprechauns, fairies, and midgets. I must say that I am thoroughly impressed and moved by the power of this painting. If I could offer any criticism I would have given the unicorn a bigger dong, and had fireworks in the sky. That's just me nitpicking though.

What happened to us?

What has become of us? How have we lost sight of what it means to be a real man. A man like myself. Not afraid to mix it up and wrestle anacondas in order to have more sculpted abs. We have a problem in our popular culture. That problem is that it is okay to be a sensitive pussbag like our friend Zach here. A new type of star has emerged in Hollywood and it is a far departure from the days of old.

I remember when I was just getting into the film industry as a personal trainer/stunt coordinator/fight specialist/cateror/hunk. I had been on the set of Sands of Iwo Jima for two weeks with none other than the Duke himself, John Wayne. We hadn't had much conversation over the few weeks I had worked there. When the film was wrapping, the company threw a party at one of local taverns, and I had a chance to meet John. Actually, what happened was that I noticed JW had insulted a few people in the bar and started a fist fight. As the Duke kindly mopped the floor with three of these pieces of cow shit (his words) I noticed someone trying to take a cheap shot with a pool que on the Duke. So I stepped in and hit him with a Burt special. After the hearse came to pick those gentleman up, I had a chance to sit down and talk with JW. We became close friends until his death, but the lessons he taught me have lasted far beyond that time.

Which brings me back to my point. People like olde sissypants up there are disgracing the legend that is JW. Do you think that the Duke would have been some kind of sheepish mooper when the girl he likes is around? No fucking way. JW would have walked right up to that broad and planted one right on her kisser. That also would be a binding contract of marriage as well, so that lucky lady would now be the Duke's wife. Would the Duke make a movie about how he is depressed and that the relationship with his father is desolving in an intense character study? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course not. He would have replaced Natalie Portman with Japanese gorilla fighting forces and he would have killed his parents in the first ten minutes. He also would have surrounded himself with a top flight military team to help take care of the rest of those exstacy eating butthounds. Finally, do you think that John would have even wanted to hang out with Mr. Braff? Maybe .....when hell freezes over and my dick jumps off my body and runs into an enchanted forest in my back yard. So no...he wouldn't. Even if they did, what would they do? I am sure that Zach would be asleep by the time JW was receiving his tenth finger of whisky and second raw porterhouse steak.

Basically, what I am saying is that the leading man of today has lost a step. I am sick of this sensitive stuff. It is beginning to overflow into all forms of pop culture and I for one am not having it. And a quick note to Zach; I am gonna find you one of these days , and it isn't going to be for a cup of tea.

It's Monday and I want to party

I hate Mondays. So sometimes I like to think about the next great party I will be having. What am I thinking right now? Well, first things first. We have to buy a yacht. I am talking about a yacht that is the size of one of those shiek's from Dubai. I want the yacht to be so big that there are three helipads on it. I want it to also have an indoor pool just in case the weather isn’t too nice on our way to the Bahamas. It will be filled with only three things; Cold beer, Jack Daniels, and fireworks. The ship will be manned by the Hawaiian tropic bikini team and the on ship chef will be decided by an iron chef type contest. The contest will be to the death, and we will throw the losers overboard. The winner gets to cook whatever they would like, and they get to live.

The theme for this party definitely has to be nautical. I would welcome people to try and find the finest blazers and cocktail dresses for this occasion. One thing though…Nobody gets to wear the captains hat. Only I am allowed to do this, and I think that is pretty fair considering that I put this whole thing together. I would advise that people try to wear darker colors because sea sickness can really stain.

Once on board, I will have a brief introduction to the crew and how the day will work. Everyone will be placed into groups and sent below deck. In the many staterooms below will be a series of different rooms. Each room will have an assortment of drinking games or physical/ mental challenges for the guests to participate in. This may seem a bit standard in that people always play drinking games at parties. Well, that is not the case here. I will be having my big breasted crew monitoring the successes and failures of each person in every room. Why all the monitoring? That’s because the guests score will reflect directly on their assignment for the ship. Think of it as the asshole higherarchy system. You want to be first mate so that you can tell all the assholes in the Galley what to do. Anyways, this leads to more drinking as we head to the culmination of the festivities.

As the yacht gets into the Bahamas we will enjoy a meal prepared by the last living chef. One last meal for everyone to enjoy on the boat, before stepping on land. I will probably spring for some fire dancers or something to keep my guests busy as I wait to spring the last twist of this party on them. As dinner is coming to a close I would like to walk to the middle of the dining room and politely clink my glass to start a toast. I will say some nice things about the day and how I enjoyed the company of everyone on the ship ….blah blah blah. At this point I would have my lovely crew bring out life jackets for everyone. Why the life jackets? Everyone will ask.

“The life jackets are here for the final event of the evening. You see my fellow guests I have grown tired of my mega yacht and the pains of its upkeep. I have planted charges on the bottom of the boat and have set them to expire five minutes from when I hit this button.” (Take out device and press button) “Now I know that there aren’t to many life boats but at least the water is warm. I think we are only about a mile from the shore, and there are plenty of life vests for all. So I thank you for your attendance at this party and I wish you luck on making it to shore. GOOD NIGHT”

Now I am sure that some of my drunken guest will think that I am bluffing. But I think it will be pretty obvious that I am not, when immediately after giving my speech I head to one of the helipads with my most big breasted…errrr…trusted employee. As the chopper takes off I am sure that people will try to make an effort to head for shore. As well they should. I would make sure that the blast was not two intense that the explosions will harm anyone. Just enough for the people who still thought I was joking realized that in fact, I was not. As for myself, I plan to sit on the beach at a large bonfire and have coolers of champagne for people as they make their way from the charred remains of my once glorious yacht. I am sure there will be some hard feelings, but isn’t facing challenges what life is made of.

1938 - 2007

Rest in Peace.

That is it!

If you have not heard about it already American Gladiators will be returning to television during the summer of 2008. I for one am extremely pissed off. You may think that this was a show that was meant for a man of my talents. A swashbuckling sex god from outer space would seem to love a show like this. Perhaps even want to make sweet love to it if the opportunity presented itself. Yet, I have been slighted by the people who produce this show not once, but twice. The story is a heartbreaking tale of a dream snatched from my very hands.

It all started in the late 80's. I had just finished winning my third consecutive Iron Man competition in Hawaii. I challenged myself the third year by wearing leg and arm weights the entire time. I still found the strength to win, but that is beside the point. The point is, that as I was having my celebratory Mai Tai, I noticed that the television was broadcasting a sport I had seen before. Many years before I had been trapped in Canada by a group of wealthy landowners who made their prisoners fight in matches that are similar to what I was now watching on TV. The only exception was that these games were not till death, and the "gladiators" all had tans and long hair. In the Canadian prisons you couldn't grow hair because of the lice, and its hard to get a tan when you are allowed one hour a week out in the snow. Once again, I am getting off the subject. From the little I caught of the show I knew that this could be a viable profession for myself. So, I dusted off my resume and I sent it in to their offices.

Well it didn't take long for me to get word from the show. Turns out that it is the same Canadian bastards that are running this show. I guess they realized that they could make a lot more if the "gladiators" weren't DYING. Anyhoo, they get back to me and explain that due to my past record up in Canada I was not deemed a good fit for this show. I asked them if I could be a contestant instead and once again I was denied. They explained that my brutality and thirst for blood were just a little to much for the networks to handle. I thanked them for the consideration and asked that they keep me in mind for future hirings. A few years later the show was cancelled, ending my chance once and for all. Or so I thought.

Now I hear that they have a new version and have I heard anything from these assholes? Nope! They don't even call to ask me to do a screen test. I think that it is based on one of three things;

• My forementioned brutality and lust for blood.
• My incredible sex appeal and chisled pecs.
• And most likely, the fact that I would not change my name from Burt into something really stupid, like blazer.

So now I have come to a realization. FUCK YOU AMERICAN GLADIATORS!!! Fuck you in your stupid faces. Let me just say that without my help this show is gonna go the way of the Dodo bird. Burn in hell you goddamned Canucks. You couldn't even let me host?

Burt get frustrated

From time to time I like to challenge myself. I don't think that I would have been the first man to hanglide in space if that wasn't the case. A rite of passage that I like to participate in daily is to use mass transit rather than one of my many expensive and fancy vehicles. I like to take in the sites and sounds. On the bus I think that you really learn to keep your head on a swivel, great for the reflexes. In the course of the bus ride there are many things that one may deal with. I have been shocked by many things that happen on the bus. There is the schitzofrenic gentleman that is always in a canadian tuxedo. He kindly reminds me of where things are in the city...at least I think he is talking to me. When we go through china town it is not surprising to see an old person shoving match to get in position for the bus. And how could I forget the lovely homeless lady who shat herself right before she exited the bus, leaving an aroma to ponder as it headed downtown. I have learned to deal with these things. Yes, I have even learn to deal with Old Lady Shitpants. However, there is one thing that I cannot take.

People on their goddamed cell phones!

More and more, I have come to realize that these assholes could give a shit where they are on their cell phones. Now I wouldn't mind if these stories were half way interesting, like the time I saved five polar bears from global warming. The problem is that they never are. I have listened to a grown man have a debate on his cell phone about the most choice rides at disneyland, a young girl break-up, make-up, and break-up with her boyfriend all on one ride, and I have listened to some lady try to find her stolen car from the methhead that she "trusted" with it. Guess what? I don't give a fuck why you are on the phone. I think that we can all try to find another time to make those calls. So please, if you are gonna talk about lame stuff keep it to yourself, but if you are going to talk it better be some interesting shit. Like the time that you held your breath under water for a whole day just to prove a point to those stupid fucking dolphins. Wait...that was me.

God Dammit!

It takes a lot to change me from my normal Zen-Like state into a raging monster, but thankfully Dancing with the (Washed up nobodies) Stars has rekindled that flame. Get used to it my fellow adventurers because this is the shit that TV has become. How many fucking rumbas am I going to have to see before things get violent? And why the fuck are British people the authority on who can do all these fruity things like dancing and singing the best? Don't get me wrong. I was salsa dance champion three years running when I was back in the service. Problem was that these contests were in a prison camp, and if you missed a step they killed you. If we could make this show just like POW camp, I would watch every week. I guarantee you that Marie Osmond would have gotten it ear to ear for falling on her chunky ass. There would be no judges. Just an electric floor monitor that would judge each crucial step. All I am trying to say is think about it. With this strike in place we are going to have to get much more creative with our reality programming. I am not asking for networks to go Running Man all over us right away, but at least make sure there are consequences for these no talent ass clowns signing on to do these shows. Therefore, I am making a commitment to the networks that I will gladly cross the picket line in order to provide people with what I want. Think about it. I am open to ideas.

Real know Real

As the great poet Floydd Meriwhether Junior said "Real know Real." He was talking about his relationship with his close friend Curtis Jackson. I believe what he was trying to say is that both he and Fiddy are the best at what they do. Perhaps, making them the realest? In that vain, I would like to say that I feel the same way towards Steven Jackson. I feel that we know eachother, even though we have never met. Friends, yet we haven't even enjoyed a scotch together. It is because Mr. Jackson and myself share a common bond of greatness. When he is bringing down rebounds, I take down grizzly bears. He can shoot the three with ease, while I can surf 100 foot waves on Taco Bell trays. Quite simply, we are both the best at what we do. Although, I must say that the death glare Steven uses on refs and opposing players alike was taken from a self portrait that I carved into the side of a mountain. But I digress. Congratulations Steven on being so real, Real know Real.

I cook my turkey in SPACE...

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and you know what that means.....alcohol fueled comas. That, and for many, a turkey.... or if you really have some stones, some of you assholes are going to buy a Turducken and let the rest of us wallow in self pity. My focus is on the preparation of that delicious bird, not whether or not there are more birds stuffed in it. Many of you will fall into the same pathetic groups that we see year in year out, while I have found the new and only way to do it. Do you like to cook the Turkey in the oven and let it bake for a few hours? Please don't bore me with your hopelessness. Why don't you just get an easy bake oven and make dessert for us in that afterwards? Do you think that deep frying is the way to go? Wrong! Although this option takes a bit more skill and affinity for grease burns, you are mistaken. Are you a vegitarian? STOP reading this right now. There is only one true way to cook a turkey....

IN SPACE!!!

Every year I do two things during the summer. I get a list of all the people that are coming over for dinner on thanksgiving. This is in order to allocate the appropriate amount of meat for each guest. If Chuck Norris is coming, I add another turkey. Once I have the weight down I begin step two, building the turkey shuttle. I have a blueprint for the shuttle that I can adjust depending on how many turkeys are to be stacked in it. The hardest part is making the fuel for the shuttle. Without giving away too many trade secrets I can say the fuel is a mixture of bathtub gin, yaegermeister, and peach schnapps. Coincidentally, that is the same thing I drink before I head out for more drinks. Anyways, the shuttle gets launched from my backyard on the fourth of July. I find that people are far to intoxicated or distracted by fireworks to notice the shuttle leave our atmosphere, or the brush fires it creates. As my homemade shuttle rips through space towards the Sun I focus on other matters through the months. Mostly push-ups and counting my enormous amounts of money. The shuttle goes all the way to the Sun, and just before it makes impact I turn it around using the RC remote attached to it. I find that turning the shuttle around at the Sun cooks the turkey best. As the turkey heads back to earth it cools to a manageable heat and forms a deliciously golden skin. Space skin. The touchdown date is on the day before Thanksgiving to allow for prep time. Which reminds me that I have to go, because I have not filled up the kiddie pool for landing, and I see a burning object entering our atmosphere.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Thats right.....I'm back

HO HO HO Biatch

"Not a person was stirring. NOt even that bitch ass motherfucker chauncey." Mrs. Clause


I guess this time of the year is hard for people because they might not have a place to go. What many people don't know is that every year Mr. and Mrs. Clause have a assfuckin good time of a party in the North Pole, it is invite only of course. In order to get to the party one must trek through the ice fields of Heckitsfuckinfreazin. Then you must fight off the carnivorous peguins. Yes, they are carnivorous. No, they don't put up much of a fight. All you have to do is knock them over. One thing you always have to remember is that they are animals. Animals get scared by flashing lights and big biceps. Fortunately, when I flex my biceps they flash a brilliant neon light. Unfortunately, I have gotten kicked out of many arm wrestling tournaments for illegal tactics. I was one step away from fighting in that movie "Over The Top" for that big MAC truck. Until Stalone started getting all jealous. HE was all ",like I am the biggest pussy in the world, I wish I was as strong as you, blah blah blah." I am totally over that though. Wait...What was I talking about. Oh yeah, Christmass. Once you get to the house Mrs. Clause has her special egg nog 40oz ready to go. Santa usually gets back around the time I have finished my 10th egg nog 40oz. If my math is correct I belive that equals shitfaced. After the telling of stories and reindeer dinner (funny side note: The reindeer they kill each year is named Rudolph) we open a few bottles of everclear and proceed to break all the presents that Santa forgot to deliver. After that we try to watch "A Christmass Story." Usually, I fall asleep in the bathroom. The next morning I begin my long swim home. I find it refreshing. I know that not everybody has Christmass like me. And with that in mind I would like to say, go fuck yourself Stalone. Love Burt

So it has finally come to this... WAR!

Ooooooh... some times you make me so mad I just want to get sick all over myself. In no way could anyone in my family look this way. There is no way I am related to those sissy nancies Sienfried and Roy Toy. Do me a favor and build an army. Since I no longer can tell people about all my extreme and extraordinary stunts and triumphs I have decided to declare war upon you Craig T. Satisfaction. Did you see how I did not call you doctor? I did that on purpose. I have started to build my legion of worshippers.

I hope that you have at least one friend, nerd. This time we play for keeps. I ask all of you to swear allegiance, or die by my He-man Sword.

What up Doc

It's been a few days and still no response. Hey nerd, try to get some balls and respond. Oh thats right, your problem is that you do not have any balls. I also heard you can't use your right leg. I am sitting down just waiting for you to get up on your good leg and write for two seconds.

Dr. Satisfaction is really starting to piss me off

Hey I think I am going to break your stupid head open. How dare you question my dreams. I bet if you had any dreams of you own this wouldn't be happening. Maybe you can do something more with you life than just being a lousy doctor.

This guy sucks so bad. Yet, i would like you to examine some of Craig's friends

Oh and I also thought I would put up a few pictures from Craig's family photo album.

So what he's animated

That cat has tried to duplicate my love for lasagna and nack for sleeping hours at a time. I invented those things due to my extreme habits. The lasagna gives you strength that can make you do two times what a normal man can. The sleeping enables me to stay up for days. It allows me to come up with intricate plots like cloning t-rex's on Mars and building my space hanglider. If that little cat thinks he can beat me to Mars he is stupid. I may just make a visit to my pal John Arbuckle. Better wise up cat. Wise up quick.

I Surfed JAWS

That's right. It is an amazing wave. I must say I was a bit skeptical as to how I wanted to approach it. I thought that tons of people ride it the same way, so why should I. I know that all these weiners have to get towed in, and that they use special boards with all these straps on them. I just thought that it would be gnarly if I used a tray from Taco Bell. I did not get towed in. I swam beneath the beast, and when I saw a wave with my terrific underwater vision a swam right into it. I was super deep in the barrel when I almost had to put both feet on the tray. I eventually did a flip in the middle of the barrel and rode out smoothly. I lost the tray when I catapulted myself from the wave to the nearby cliffs. Tasty waves, good buzz.