Psych 101: Post-gangsterism and you!

Hood-rat shit and snowboarding go way back!

Nasty opinion on small snowboard subcultures within subcultures within a subculture have been written about 16,000 times throughout the last 15 years. It doesn’t matter if its never been written about women before. It’s the same shit. Back then comments in these articles pertained mostly to MFMs or JPs or FODTs with a heavy emphasis on the FODTs.

Hood-rat shit and snowboarding go way back.

The Too Hard video, and debate surrounding, is merely an example of a post-gangsterism wave in snowboarding, skateboarding, and pop culture as a whole. It’s where random white kids wearing normal clothes do silly things to obscure rap music as a joke. The joke is indeed on people who don’t get it. It’s funny, both lol’able and swaggy.

In 2016 snowboarding cares not for opinion on any one of its 1900 videos that came out this month. There is something for everyone released almost daily. One thing, perhaps the only thing that will always remain cool is not giving a fuck about what other people like to do or watch.

Speaking of which, the only measurable thing we have is view-count. That’s relevancy. With social media and the internet snowboarding has democratized, meaning you don’t need all of the fancy cameras and sponsorship dollars to get views or notoriety. The Too Hard girls, for instance, have their own Vice series.

If that aint’ visibility I don’t know what is.

McMillon: “Here’s a neat fuckin’ story!”

Do you want to be beat but happy? Start a snowboard biz! (part 3 of 3)

The third and final part of one wild ride! First our hero won, then our hero lost but how does this saga end? Keep reading!

By this time, Lance can barely stand up and is somehow still in his shred gear.  So Parillo takes him back to the hotel. Which is a good thing. We arrive at the next pub and I decide it’s time for us to get food in our empty stomachs.

We need to sober the fuck up before shit unravels.

I stand in line for a pizza for 30 minutes, so excited to stoke my friends out with some delicious, hot, crucial food. As I’m walking downstairs to the pub, I see my buddy Joel having it out with the bouncers. Next thing ya know they chase him around the corner into a dark alley. I throw the box of pizza on the ground as I run to follow this disaster. Hot pizza mangled on the ground, covered in gravel, snow, and lost dreams.

I find Joel on the ground pinned against a dumpster with these massive fuck heads taking turns kicking him in the ribs and face. Basically trying to kill him. I jump up and head lock this one fucking beast. My feet two feet off the ground as I’m machine gun punching this dude in the face and hooking my fingers into his eyes and nose. I couldn’t feel my hands.

It was so fucking cold out and I had just ripped my knuckles on this mother fuckers face. Someone else was handling the other bouncer. It breaks up and the bouncers go back into the bar to get more recruits. As I’m walking back to the bar, 4 huge motherfuckers and 1 short little bitch bouncer all come walking towards me in the alley. I surrender as they trip me on to my back and proceed to beat me until I see white light and black out.

It was one particular punch to my temple, head braced against the cold, icey, gravelly alley that turned off the lights.

I woke up to a blurry scene of a massive brawl going on in the alley. David is double chicken winged against a railing with one bouncer gripping him from behind, while two other bouncers cracks his ribs and reward him with two black eyes. David doesn’t fight anymore. He was trained in the Israeli army and I believe him to be lethal. But he just took it. I see this huge fucking bouncer running down the alley as Jesse nonchalantly sticks his foot out and trips this 200 lb + dude straight into a skidding scorpion.

I finally get up off the ground and start walking towards the action. I am over dosing on hate and adrenaline. As I’m walking, I realize I am bleeding.

A lot.

My jacket is covered in blood and it’s running into my eyes. I assume my face looks fucking crazy. As this random dude we are with, decides to pick up a steel pole attached to a car wheel via cement and starts swinging it at a bouncer, I know this shit must end now. I pulled out one of my classic moves we used to practice in downtown Jackson during summer tourist season. We would fake seizures falling on the ground freaking out and spitting everywhere making crazy retard noises.

Just ruining the tourists’ day, who ruined our town.

So I busted that shit out. Except this time I was spitting blood everywhere and cranking it up to 11. I should have gotten a fucking Oscar. It was so believable, one of the Czech girls in our crew started bawling. As I was on the ground, I gave her a low key wink to let her know it was just an act. Everyone disbursed and the dust settled.

It hit me, that while I was knocked out, the bouncers stole my camera. Which contained many private photos of my girlfriend at the time. So I apologize if any of them ended up on some Czech porn site.

Anyway, some pussy-ass cop showed up and didn’t do shit, so we went back to the hotel to plan our revenge. In our drug and Absinthe-induced fog, we devised a plan to burn down the pub.


But hours passed by and Mikey finally woke up and knocked some sense into us. Then he hand-stitched my face together with a travel sized sewing kit. Or he just put a bandaid on it, I can’t remember.

We headed back to Prague with our tails between our legs in full shame and misery. We allowed the fun to get out of control and we got humbled by the universe. I had enough and it was time to lock up the brakes and get back home to safer territories. I hop on a train and arrive at the Munich Train station at 4am. It’s a full on blizzard and the station is miles from the airport.

No cabs in sight.

I drag my 200 lbs of luggage through the snow storm for over a mile until I track down a cab. I am fucking drenched to the bone. As I’m trying to take inventory to make sure I didn’t forget anything on the train, I realize I had traded all my smaller bills for 500 euro bills and the cab driver didn’t have that kind of change. No problem, I’ll just hit an ATM at the airport. When we get there, I leave all my belongings with the driver as I run into grab correct bills. I’m running all over the airport looking for an ATM. People are giving me directions, sending me up elevators, down halls ways.


I find an ATM and go back outside. The cab driver is gone. He has all my shit. Laptop, passport, euro phone, tradeshow booth, all my clothes, even my jacket and house and car keys.

I’m beyond fucked.

I run around the airport for over an hour until I find some cops. I explain what happened and they asked me if I’m in the correct terminal. WTF? In my frenzy I had drifted 3 terminals over. I get back to the correct terminal and find my guy.

He’s tripping out. But has all my shit. He fucking waited way over an hour for me. I tipped him 500 euros and thanked him for not bailing. I put on my shitty suit I bought at a Czech Tesco for $40. It had shoulder pads and was way too small. But I had to wear one because I was flying standby and wanted to sit business class.

But I look retarded.

Plus I had huge Blue Blockers on to cover up my mangled face. By this time the black eyes set in and the gashes swelled. Plus Parillo’s stitch job started to unwind. I looked fucked. I know this because people we staring at me all through the airport. Especially at pre-customs. They searched my board bag and found four huge bottles of legit Absinthe. Luckily I peeled the labels off and claimed it was an old family Slivovice recipe and I would be disowned by my family if it didn’t arrive safe to my dying grandma back in the states.

They bought the story and let me go.

They even let me keep the bottles. I then considered a career in acting. I get on the plane. First class. I did not belong. The guy sitting next to me wouldn’t quit starring at me. He was tripping out on me. Shitty suit, destroyed face, first class seat. He was doing the math and it was not adding up. He finally turned to me and said, “Hey man, I have to ask, what is your fucking story?”

“I’m a light weight championship boxer.”

“Bull fucking shit” he said.

“Swear to god.”

“Well you got your fucking ass handed to you.”

“Nope I actually won.”

“Fuck you, Bullshit…”

Then I pulled out my wallet which had about 7000EUR in it. He shut the fuck up and I slept all the way home.


Revealed: Songs that make you ride better!

A British newspaper compiles your season's playlist! Is it good? Come see!

The British know how to do many things well. Like how to leave Europe! And…… how to make beans! But do they know how to compile a nice soundtrack for a day of getting it?


The Daily Telegraph, a London newspaper, just released The Best Songs for Skiing and Snowboarding, writing:

Skiing and snowboarding provides the perfect opportunity to appreciate the calm, cool and quiet of nature and be at one with the mountains. But it’s also bloomin’ invigorating and one of the best times to harness the power of song and belt out a tune at the top of your lungs while carving the bejesus out of a piste.

So what songs made the cut? Let’s look!

Prince: Kiss
Keeping the ultimate pop star alive in our memories (and eardrums) is a duty we are happy to take to the slopes. What could be a better homage than warbling out this 1986 corker of a track, immortalised by Julia Roberts singing it in the bathtub in Pretty Woman? Hey, if it’s good enough to impress Richard Gear, it’s good enough for us.

The Who: Baba O’Riely
A synth intro that’s a perfect soundtrack for glistening snow, then when it kicks in it’s all about goosebump-inducing, fist-pumping, piste-burning energy.

Various: Let it Snow
Hopefully one to be sung joyfully among falling flakes rather than as a desperate plea.

High School Musical: Breaking Free
“We’re soaring, flying…” Yes, we are. And this guilty pleasure is a joy to sing at the top of your lungs on a wide, open piste.

Glee cast: Don’t Stop Believin’
However much of a music snob you are, you can’t pretend that this unbearably catchy rendition doesn’t get your board a’tappin’. It has the added bonus of being a duet – just let those harmonies soar as you and a buddy swoop down the piste in tandem.

Luther Vandross: Never Too Much
You just don’t wanna stop – but you should, that gravel ain’t good for boards. Whether shaking your hips to this will help your technique is unclear, but that’s not an issue right now.




Should the British stick to leaving Europe and making beans or will you update your playlist in line with these suggestions?

Read the rest (including Marvin Gaye and Sheer Taft) here!

McMillon: “Here’s a neat fuckin’ story!”

Do you want to be poor and disliked? Start a snowboard biz! (part 2 of 3)

Part one of this tall tale found our hero rich and loved after learning then beating the game of blackjack. Catch up on part one HERE before following him on his adventure…

After 9 days of Vegas debauchery, I left Ray the last day to break down the booth and I hopped on a first class seat to ISPO in Munich with around $8000 still left over, blowing out my wallet and my back.

I meet my other business partner, Lance and our photographer Jesse Brown in Munich. We set up the Bluebird and the Illuminati Snowboards booth. This trade show is uneventful mostly because there is zero gambling going on. Anyway after that boring ass shit is over, I decide I’m gonna go visit my homeys in Prague. So I invite Lance and Jesse to hop on a train and see what kind of trouble we can get into. We grab our obscene amount of luggage and barely make the last train out.

We arrive at the Prague train station greeted by an entourage. Marek, Mikey, David, Joel and some ladies. We take Lance and Jesse on full unrated tour of Prague. Sending it right into the morning hours. By this point, we are fucking partied out. But we are young and our livers have yet to develop Liver AIDS. We hang out in the city and cruise for a few days. Then we head up to a local resort outside of Prague called Spindle.

This is where our luck runs out.

We shred for a bit but the snow is kinda dog shit so Joel and David kidnap Lance and take him to the pub to torture him with shots of Absinthe and gallons of the worlds best beer. The rest of us get lost in the woods and have to hike back to the resort.
We roll into the pub to find Lance on top of the table, dancing around and doing Borat impressions to an unimpressed full house of bitter Czechs. We join them for 5 minutes before we get kicked out.

We head back to our hotel to ditch our shred gear and snap some gackers of pure high octane E. Then we head out for the night. By the time we sit down at the first pub, shit already starts going downhill. After we murder a few bottles of legit Absinthe, my smart ass friend Marek starts lighting joints and sticking them in my mouth. I assume it’s cool. It’s Czech. But we aren’t in the city anymore and I realize shit ain’t cool when a massive meat head fuck bouncer comes over to choke me out with one of his gorilla hands and removes the joint out of my mouth with his other and throws it in a near by planter. Mareks proceeds to retrieve the joint and light it back up. Meanwhile some of my other friends are hitting on these two girls which we later come to find out are personal property of the bouncers.

Obviously, we get aggressively thrown out into the cold snowy night as we see a bouncer on a radio relaying the message to the rest of the pubs in the village.

We are marked.

Top 5 worst pro snowboarders! spend 6 hours in a car with on the way to Mammoth!

We have all been there. Offered an extended car ride to somebody only to immediately regret that decision at the first stop light. Seeing as how Southern California is the place where 85% the shred media and companies reside, I thought this would be a perfect length ride to make judgement calls. A ride to Mammoth from San Diego/Orange County is an ass numbing 6 hours no matter which way you slice it.

Top 5 who don’t get to come:

1.Lucas Magoon -Don’t get me wrong, the Gooner is a gem. I love this kid and everything he stands for and slides under. However when sitting in a car for an extended period of time you have to consider not only conversation, but also personal hygiene. I don’t know what Lucas smells like up close, but based on my observations it would be a mix between some sticky icky, a wet ashtray, and one of my grandfathers shoes…and probably throw up.

2. Jamie Anderson– Don’t fucking talk to me about crystals and your spirt animals. The second you got in the car, the smell of essential oils essentially made you a hitchhiker.

3. Red Gerrard– It not just Red, its pretty much anyone that is under 18. You are all just emojis, hormones, and annoying music. You could however, ride in the trunk…rolled up in a throw rug.

4. Todd Richards– Fuck that dude. Could you be more irrelevant ? What are you like 75 now?

5. Chris Grenier– You can take the Masshole out of Massachusetts…Every time I see this kid he is either talking about fellating Tom Brady or getting railroaded by convicted murderer Aaron Hernandez. The only thing good to ever come out of Massachusetts is that video about the guy in Boston Harbor catching a baby whale.

We all have to pay for gas to get where we need to go, but if any of the people on this list need a ride, driver be warned.