why chicks don’t dig you – the deck
There are one or two of you out there who need to get your shit together.
– The one of you who never cleans the accumulated wax from the deck of his favourite board, he who leaves to grow those great and leprous lumps of globular filth that have suspended in them the curled and ancient pubic hairs of many sexes, together with the rotted crescents of a lifetime of discarded toe-nails – big toe toe-nails ripped off in the panic of obtaining a little extra leverage getting over a rogue beastie, then there is the ground in crust of blackened and loosened knee-scabs leavened with all the gravel and grasses of every parking lot from Palm Beach to Pink Rock.
Layers of wax, wax the colour of phlegm, odiferous, noxious. Heavy, slippery.
< ~ ~ ~
This is Kate – you’ve just invited her on a trip to the Queensland points, just the two of you. Three weeks to Double Island and three weeks back.
She has the double sleeping bag.
She has the time, she will also buy the gas, she will look after the food and she will share the driving she likes you that much.
But she has just had a look at your board, as described above.
So it’s not going to happen old boy, not now, not ever. She relates the condition of your deck to the state of your underdaks.