APB-sides part 2.

OK, last we left you I had just posted the long-lost profile of Brian Wyland and I stated that it was my least favorite of all of the seven unreleased team profiles that I had written. I was wrong. There are two more of them that I would rank ahead of Brian's in terms of how shitty I think they are. This latest one is Jarold Webb's unreleased profile. At the time it was written, we were involved in some heated dice rolling sessions going down at the old APB shop location on College Walk across from the skatepark. I mean there were some real crazy games of threes, craps, and every other kind of gambling that you can think of. To me, it looked like Jarold had the most serious problem, I mean the guy just couldn't walk away when he lost and he couldn't stop talking shit when he won. That's kind of how we all were, actually, but I thought that dude had it a bit worse than the rest of us and I thought it would be funny to incorporate this in into his team profile. Ha ha. It wasn't funny. Jarold has everything so easy, I mean the dude doesn't ever really have to try things on a skateboard, he just does them. Why should he get the awesome team profile too? I don't know if I consciouosly wrote it this bad to fuck with him or if I actually thought that this was good at the time. It had to be that I was fucking with him because this thing fucking sucks.




By the way, this action photo of Jarold was taken by Atiba Jefferson and it looks MUCH better in the new issue of The Skateboard Mag, (issue #49)in shops and newsstands now.

Hawaiian shit up in there! I wrote the intro and the captions, but Atiba killed it with the photos. YOU NEED this issue. Buy it. Buy two!

Okay.
Back to this retarded profile shit.
Here:

Jarold Webb:

He walked through the door to the office and saw three people in the waiting room. He scanned their faces one at a time to make sure that there was no one who recognized him. Middle-aged guy with the golf cap and the gut, negative. The geeky young bookworm that was furiously tapping on the PSP, no way. He quickly looked the last person over, an attractive and slender older woman who looked to be near his mom’s age and seriously smoking. Nope. He didn’t know any of these individuals and there was no way that they knew who he was. He had been extremely cautious on the way over as well. He didn’t need anybody knowing about this, this was the kind of shit that the less people knew about, the better. He walked up to the reception area and conjured up his most casual sounding speaking voice. “Jarold Webb. I have an appointment to meet with a counselor.” “Ah, Jarold. We’ve been expecting you. I just have a questionnaire for you to fill out first.” the lady behind the desk responded. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “Just answer these twenty questions and return the paper to me when you’re done.” she instructed. She sounded like one of the den mothers that he used to hate back when he was a Boy Scout. That was a long time ago. Back in his younger days, when he was still pure and uncorrupted. He walked over to where the other three were waiting and found himself a chair. He sat down and began to look the paper over. As he perused the questions he was to answer, the nerdy kid next to him stopped playing with the PSP and gave Jarold’s leg a slight tap with his right hand. “Hey…don’t worry about it…you and me, we’re gonna get through this…” he said in a low voice that bordered on a whisper. Jarold looked up from the paper and gave the kid a weird look. “Do I know you?” he asked. “No, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but if you’re here you must need help too.” the kid replied. “What makes you think I need help?” Jarold shot back. “Why else would you be sitting there with that questionnaire in your hand? You’re an addict, right?” the kid continued. “If you answer yes to seven or more of those questions, then you’re an addict.” he added. Jarold said “Hey, I ain’t no frickin’ addict, okay? I’m just curious to see what they’re all about down here.” “Okay, buddy…” the kid began. “Go ahead and read those questions. See how many you answer yes to. My guess is…you’re an addict.” “Shut up, dude. Get back to your frickin’ Harry Potter game or whatever nerd shit that is and leave me alone!” Jarold was starting to get annoyed with this kid. “Whoa. Serious denial…usually one of the first stages of addiction. You’re totally an addict, man.” The kid rambled on. “Shut the frick up, you dork! Get away from me, weirdo, and let me fill out the paper, jeez!” Jarold fired back at him. He was super mad now. Who was this little dweeb to call him an addict? He didn’t know him. Jarold had always been careful and was sure that his family and most of his straight and narrow friends had no idea about his problem, how could some egghead stranger he’d never met before peg him as an addict? He looked back down at the paper. There were twenty questions, and he carefully went over each one:

Did you ever lose time from work or school due to gambling?
Has gambling ever made your home life unhappy?
Did gambling affect your reputation?
Have you ever felt remorse after gambling?
Did you ever gamble to get money with which to pay debts or otherwise solve financial difficulties?
Did gambling cause a decrease in your ambition or efficiency?
After losing did you feel you must return as soon as possible and win back your losses? After a win did you have a strong urge to return and win more?
Did you often gamble until your last dollar was gone?
Did you ever borrow to finance your gambling?
Have you ever sold anything to finance gambling?
Were you reluctant to use "gambling money" for normal expenditures?
Did gambling make you careless of the welfare of yourself or your family?
Did you ever gamble longer than you had planned?
Have you ever gambled to escape worry or trouble?
Have you ever committed, or considered committing, an illegal act to finance gambling? Did gambling cause you to have difficulty in sleeping?
Do arguments, disappointments or frustrations create within you an urge to gamble?
Did you ever have an urge to celebrate any good fortune by a few hours of gambling? Have you ever considered self destruction or suicide as a result of your gambling?

Jarold took a deep breath and looked over at the kid again. Twenty questions and twenty answers yes. Shit. That nerdy little twat was right.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Struggle DVD Release Party!

Sunday night February 17th we decided to get a room at a karaoke joint and watch the new APB video THE STRUGGLE. The video just dropped a couple of days before, and this was a chance for a bunch of us old friends as well as some new ones to get together and watch the DVD and rock the microphone with some karaoke shit. There was a good mix of people and a good mix of party supplies. Basically, we fucking killed it! Were you there? If not, where the fuck were you? This was reminicent of the premiere of the first APB video Midnight Mariders, which was premiered in a karaoke room that held 50 people. About 75 people showed up that night and it was quite the event. This night was similar and the vibe was on some deja vu type shit for some of us. Chad handed out mad copies of The Struggle and everyone was beyond stoked. Check out a smorgasboard of photographic evidence right now:


The Colonel set it off with some rapping that was out of contrizzol!


Tim Jackson, down for some action.


This picture has a lot going for it. Silent John drinking, Timmy shredding, and Brian Wyland contemplating his next hit.


John is the meat in a genius sandwich.


Free Red Balls + this shit = fuckin' Jager bombs.


Jager bomb, jager bomb, jager bomb, jager bomb, jager bomb, jager bomb, jager bomb. You get it.


My man was feeling it.


Riding soooooo dirty.


Aaron Lee assembles himself a bomb.


Then throws a tantrum on television.


Even John was down to drop a bomb.


Johnny mixed the shit with his finger.


You haven't lived until you've seen John deliver Silent skate video commentary with a Jager bomb in his hand.


Tim Jackson commentary was pretty fucking good though.


Paparazzo perch.


Sean Payne is finally back in Hawaii after a lengthy 8 month Cali hiatus, and already hard at work mixing cocktails. Welcome home, Payneis!


Aaron Lee and Chris Kays, struggling.


Jarold and his little buddy Kaikea were struggling too.


Poetree cam in effect.


Eri, Courtney, Nelly, and Kenny. Four hotties right there!


Rob taught Kenny this one choke move and then took a picture of Kaikea receiving it.


Nelly also likes The Beatles, she killed it too.


Double fisted.


Bohemian Rhapsody is a must on the session.


Jarold tried to get John to belt one out, but SJ wasn't having it. Those are four fucking rippers in this picture, though.


Instead, Matt Chaffin was calling for the mic, so J. Webb let him have it.


Dude started killing it!


Little Danny just couldn't keep his composure while his boy destroyed the mic. It doesn't look like it but he's fucking cracking up hard.


Chris and Johnny however, were straight up delighted.


Pretty much everyone was feeling it.


Shredding.


Rippers.


Sniped.


Mr. and Mrs Hartsel alongside the fashionista police.


Me and some dudes.


Dribbling.


Have a snack.


Dope camera. Looks familiar.


Jarold and Kenny warming up.


Getting hotter.


Melting that shit.


Kenny was like "You can't fuck with this!".


I danced while Johnny flipped a serious bird.


Seriously, sometimes I get animated.


Dudes were lit.


Thanks for an excellent video, Chad.
Goodnight!

APB-sides.

The loooooong awaited APB shop video "The Struggle" is FINALLY dropping this weekend on DVD, or , at least it's supposed to. That's the word from the people over there anyway.
EDIT: It's out! It came in today, Friday the 15th. Go fucking buy it!








In honor of this momentus occasion, I'm unveiling some old unreleased shit that I've been sitting on forever. Yeah, this stuff is all previously unseen and has been on ice in the archives collecting dust for about two years. It features the entire APB team (except for Kaikea Kimura, he wasn't officially part of it yet) and it's stuff that has never been shared with anyone before. Secret hidden footage? Hardly. I wish that's what it was. People would actually care about that. No, sadly this is some shit that I wrote for DOWNITHAPB.COM when it was time to do team updates in early 2006. Did you know that I write the majority of that bullshit over there? The news, team profiles, video descriptions, pretty much everything except the new product stuff. Chad writes that. Can you tell the difference? A lot of people can't, and everyone says that we have similar writing styles. PSYCHE! He wishes. Also, did you know that DOWNWITHAPB.COM is my baby? Well, it was more spawned from Chad's figurative seedling, but at the very least I got to name the child. What's the point? The point is this shit is now finally ready for the public to enjoy. Or fucking hate. Either is perfectly acceptable! The first team profile is in my opinion, and this is really hard (that's what she said) for me to say, the biggest piece of shit I came up with out of the seven (you might disagree when you read the rest). I really do like this one the least, but it is all about one of my favorite dudes no homo no homo no homo ,my little brody Brian Wyland.






Brian Wyland:

In 2004, after winning his fourth straight AVN award for Best Male Performer, Brian found himself on top of the porn world. Again. Sure, it was fun. The extravagant hotel suites , private jets, cocaine buffets and farm animals were his personal favorites. Life had been good to him since he quit school. Too good. He drove a customized platinum stretch Bentley shaggin’ wagon that sat on thirty-two inch chrome spinners. When he wasn’t busy touring the world and boning for a living, Brian resided in the plushest big baller oceanfront North Shore surf mansion from Himalayas to V-land. 2005 saw the release of the wildly popular Arizona Cann replica cock and balls pro model dildo, now the number one selling sex toy in the world by far, and Brian had an eager, willing and faithful harem of the planet’s finest multi-ethnic betties that numbered in the thousands.
Sure, he had been with hundreds upon hundreds of women all across the globe as a result of traveling to numerous countries with his uncle, a world-renowned artist, but that was simply practice. And his practice had paid off. Handsomely. Pussy, big houses and pimped out rides, although a huge part of his life, were not the only things that occupied his time. Brian loved music, and he had his very own professional quality recording studio in his basement . In it, he had dozens of guitars of every shape and brand, a floor to ceiling wall of Marshall stacks, a full complement of brass and wind instruments in their very own orchestra pit, a huge diamond encrusted and bedazzled Steinway piano that once belonged to Liberace, and his favorite of all, a one hundred piece drum set formerly owned by Neal Peart complete with three gongs and a dozen different cowbells. There was no material object that he could not possess, and no human being that he could not buy. He had even recently purchased Erik Ellington for fifty million dollars in cash and kept him in a guest house out back and had “The Mule” perform big spins for him every day down the simulated double set on the intricate street plaza that was built on his massive estate. However, as gratifying and sensational as these assets were, Brian quickly grew tired of the trappings that his fame afforded him, and secretly yearned for something else. Something different. Something urban and street. Something that would make the homies say ho and the girlies want to scream. Brian decided he would quit the adult film industry and pursue his dream, starting his own modern day and updated version of his beloved Wu-Tang Clan. Much like the original, they’d form like Voltron, only this time Brian would be the head, the sharpest motherfucker in the whole shit.

TO BE CONTINUED…