This part’s editing made me catch epilepsy, but the tricks Danny Gonzales puts down here are fucking illmatic.
The Reason was edited by Fully Flared mastermind Ty Evans for those who don’t know. This part’s slightly less masterful, but Danny Gonzales’ skating saves it. In Ty’s defense, it was 2000 and editing in skate videos was pretty weird across the board. It was a crazy, wild time there at the beginning of the new millennium… it’s such a blur now, but you would have loved it.
At the very least, I love that kickflip melon down Wallenberg. And that manual section ain’t so bad on the eyes either.
Check it out, this is one of those times I post up low-quality screenshots of a movie that I took with my camera and try to pass it off as real content. We like to keep things pretty high-tech around here at dedleg. Try to keep up, will you.
The Mummy in 4 seconds:
This is what the pause function was invented for — not so you can get up and grab a bag of chips or go take a leak without missing anything. But so you can pause when somebody who was paid millions makes a million-dollar face for half a second (please direct your attention to Brendan Fraser’s succulent lips above). So you can catch those two frames in Who Framed Roger Rabbit when Jessica Rabbit flashes her bagina. So you can… um… I don’t know, take a couple minutes to try to think of something other than Jessica Rabbit’s baginkies?
It’s disheartening to think that The Mummy is among the classics from our childhood we’ll be obligated to pass on to the next generation. And the really sad part is, they’ll actually seem like classics compared to whatever insanity they’re selling for 30 dollars a ticket by 2020. Shrek in Never Never Go Away Land, another remake of a superhero franchise that was only 3 years old to begin with, Saw 18 3D, or whatever. God, if it comes to that… oh yes, there will be blood.
Because I have just a little bit of sense, I haven’t watched the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies in over a decade — likewise, I’ve purposefully avoided anything involving my beloved masked salmonella warriors pretty much since the release of Turtles in Time. That is my perfect memory of them. I don’t want to hear any words coming out of a turtle’s mouth for the rest of my life, as I always want to remember these words, dripping with 8-bit sweetness, as their last: “My toe! My toe!”
One fateful day as a clumsy 5-year-old, I stepped on my Foot Soldier action figure, cracking his leg clean off. I wept for hours. So no, I will not crush my memory of those turtles. Not for any of their next generation importers and doppelgangers. Raphael is cool but rude, Michelangelo is a party dude. And that is how they will stay in my mind, forever.
Nonetheless, it’s hard not to get just a little bit intrigued by this upcoming independent fan film — produced and directed by Polaris Banks — following the origins of Casey Jones, the most crazed, badassest vigilante wearing sweatpants on the block. He had the hottest chick, the coolest friends, and he beat the fuck out of ne’er-do-wells with bats and hockey sticks. Obviously he’s the best role model a kid could ever have.
In fact, I’ve permanently stained my body with his visage — a potent reminder that… well, mostly that I’m a huge fucking nerd, actually… but more importantly, a nerd that will protect himself with second-hand sports equipment if need be.
Oh, and please excuse my Frankenstein shaved wrist — I just had that band of plus signs done a couple days ago. I’ve been on a bit of a negative streak lately, and apparently Cthulhu, Casey Jones, and a slice of pizza weren’t enough to remind me that life is awesome.
What happens when they all finally connect at the center?
I’ve never made it without biting. Ask Mr. Owl.
The world may never know.
Here’s a pretty sick, short video from the dudes over at Skate Sauce. I don’t know if it’s Skate Sauce exactly, or some other kind of “sauce” behind the chopped and screwed treatment here, but either way I be leanin’ wit’ it.
This one goes out to all my Houston homies — but stay away from that sizzurp! It’s usually not a good sign when the founder of a subculture centered around a recreational drug dies of a drug overdose.
Looks like my friend Foster Beach is finally beginning to thaw.
Those may appear to be normal waves, but it’s actually all an incredibly thin layer of ice floating on top of the water — melting remnants of a time many hours prior, when it was still cold enough to freeze the rippling waves on their way to the shore.
The ice was barely perceptible at first — I didn’t even realize until I got much closer to the water. But the seagulls delicately perched on it should have been a give away. Seems like as good a place to eat a diet subsisting mainly of McDonald’s fries as any.
One of my favorite parts of photography is its ability to capture a moment forever (or at least until you accidentally spill beer on the memory card anyway) — so I ended up with something of a fetish for shooting pictures of the beach this winter. Taking pictures of the icy lake, desolate and motionless, is the closest I’ll ever come to traveling through time… unless that fucker on eBay ever gets back to me… Regardless, the beach was frozen, trapped in the past, and then my photos froze the beach, frozen in time, in time. It’s metaphysical as hell, and if that doesn’t get you giddy and excited, well… I guess… you’re less of a nerd than I am. Congratulations, jock.
Alls I can say is, “lol sooo funny.”
Never before in my life have I been happier to lose at Bingo. Granted, I don’t really ever play Bingo, and honestly, I only lost due to technicalities anyway. Trade mesh trucker hats for snapbacks, the Holga for a digital SLR, or PBR for any beer that isn’t horrible and it would have been a wrap. So I’m still like 95% skate hipster, but you better believe I’m going to hold on to that 5% like it’s the last shred of my humanity since, after all, it is.
The good sirs at Wiskate.com just posted up a montage of winter skating, and my oh my, it’s almost as good of a wintry treat as ginger snaps in front of a warm hearth. For the record, I’ve never done that… but I just thought about it, and it sounds really nice.
Anyway, watch it on their site, since they’re all web 1.0 and shit and don’t let you embed their videos.
Those skateboarders out there that have to endure long months of miserable weather, year after year, know that it really comes down to making the most of what you have. For one thing, all of your set ups are going to turn to total shit, and you’re going to have to just accept that. Then, I mean, who doesn’t like a chunk of rock salt embedded in a fresh wound? It’s invigorating to the senses. I could go on, but I feel like that might veer a little whiny.
Look, at least the skate park is usually empty — and if you’re lucky, somebody’s already shoveled a path to the quarter pipe.
Remember earlier this week, when I said I was going to post up some photos that weren’t from the B-roll? Well, guess what — I lied. So yeah, I broke your trust. You better get used to it, too. As it turns out, our A-roll is your B-roll. And our B-roll? Fuck, let’s not even talk about it.
Hey, this shit is fo’ free, and you get what you pay for.
The reality of the situation is that I just had a backlog of random photos kicking around and would have forgotten about them if I didn’t just post them up already. No rhyme, no reason… just pure, unadulterated mediocrity.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, I have no fucking clue what the deal with that car is. I mean, I know we’ve elected some real duds in the past and I’m all for progressiveness, but Jim Gaffigan? Come on… I think we can set our sights a little higher than that. Nonetheless, I’m dying to know… what the hell is a Bacon Manatee, and why does it sound so goddamned delicious?
You don’t have a true appreciation for fear until you’ve seen this video. Welcome to India. Welcome to The Diamond Maruti Car Circus. Welcome to the most dangerous place on Earth.
Wonder what the death toll is on this thing. Just imagining a crash in this torture chamber is nauseating. Gotta love the audience, clutching the bars, waving and dangling their hands over the side, with tires squealing inches away, hungry for delicate little fingers.
This sphere from hell, holding three motorcycles (likely not street legal) and three piece-of-fuck Nissan hatchbacks, is made of bamboo — it’s like an evil panda’s morning bowl of death. Seriously, everything about this act screams danger, in a way that makes American Monster Truck rallies look like a tea party with the fucking Cabbage Patch Kids.