Another Warm Hello to International Friends

Oh yeah, I wanted to give a shout out to all of our international homies. We appreciate you looking at the blog, and I wonder if you can even read English?... Well, those of you in the UK can. If you can understand what I'm writing, then welcome to our blog, and have a good Christmas! If you don't celebrate Christmas, then have a good day/week!

League of Extraordinary Pimps

Seeing as this is Christmas break, I may or may not write every day on the blog. I make no promises either way. If I don't write on a day, and you're feeling an itch to read something new, look up one of our old posts that you either haven't read yet, or you haven't read in a while. Like Matt's ice cream man story, that's always been a favorite of mine. Anyway, you have plenty of material to choose from over the year, so don't worry.

Today I put up some random pictures that have no connection with each other. Actually, now that I think of it, Dave is in all of them. Yes, Dave is that glue I was so frantically searching for earlier when thinking of what to write. Thanks, Dave. Thank you for being my glue in an otherwise non-cohesive world. You are my glue... So Dave continues his mystery run of phantom tricks on the old school board. Here he shows you that your board is never too old, and never is your body for that matter, to show the new generation what's up on their own flat bar. Stick it to them, Dave! That top picture is what happens when you listen to Bolts of Thunder long enough. You become amazing. Remember that, kids, you'll become amazing...

The amazing Matt Pace

So we had big plans of making it down to St. George this weekend to skate. But because Matt got accepted into that other school, our plans had to change, and we didn't end up making it down this weekend. Sorry St George homies, we'll make it soon, we hope. However, in memory of all that's good and gnarly that comes from St George, I put up some pictures of our last little trip down there. That's right boys and girls, that is a picture of Matt Pace doing a nollie backside flip to back tail to back into the halfpipe, in technical terms. But in layman's terms, we call this... Well, no, there is no other term for it, just the long, technical term. Anyway, as it snows up here in Provo, and as it does whatever else the weather is doing where you come from, take a good look at Matt's craziness in his half pipe and the warm weather from St George...

Little Matt needs to fly

This is one of the most exciting posts I have to write. Matt just found out that he got accepted to occupational therapy school! In Omaha, Nebraska. That's means in the coming year some time, Matt's going to be flying the coup and heading out to Nebraska. Although Provo will greatly lament his parting, we're really proud of him to be moving on.

Speaking of pride in one's family, I've been thinking of a story that gives me goose bumps of pride every time I think of it, and I'd like to get it onto the blog. As you could probably guess, after having read enough stories of mine on the blog, it has something to do with bodily fluids leaving ones body and landing on some else's. It has to do with unnecessary violence. It has to do with 13 year old girls high kicking 8th graders in the chest. It has to do with all of these things. More specifically, it has to do with the time that my little sister beat up "Fubu" the only white gangster of Dixie Middle School accepted by the Hispanic gangsters as a legitimate gang-banger. Nobody knew his real name. I don't think he had a real name. He was Fubu to us because he came to school every day decked out in several different layers of fubu clothing, starting with the tight wife-beater on bottom and working its way out to the loose flowing fubu outer jersey with a couple tighter jerseys on underneath. No joke, at least 3 layers of jerseys on this kid. In St. George. In 100 degree weather. He was the real thing. I guess wearing all these clothes and surviving multiple heat strokes was what got him acceptance by the Mexican gang-bangers.

So I had the wonderful opportunity of sharing the same bus route with Fubu on the way home, which meant I was usually graced by his freestyle rapping and rants about oppression and police brutality. I didn't care, I just pretended to skate with my fingers on the edge of the bus seat, seeing what new tricks I could learn. I guess not much has changed in 12 years. Anyway, nobody really liked Fubu because he was always threatening to knock you out or shank you without any provocation on your part. He was just that way. Really raw like that. You get what I'm saying. You know the kid I'm talking about. You had the same one in your elementary school. You were happy to see these kids because you know that prison life had a future. Without them, our prisons would be an empty, lonely place in a generation or two. What would be America without some good old fashioned prison life? Anyway, this was Fubu. So I never had anything wrong with him. I don't think I had ever even talked to him, and he hadn't said anything to me. So one day I got on the bus, and as I got on, the first face I saw was Fubu's, staring right at me with this awkward grin on his face and holding perfectly still. Then I saw my 13 year old sister (I was 15) standing a couple feet behind him on the bus pointing at me, crying, and saying, "Him! That's my brother, and he's going to beat you up!" Everyone else on the bus was waiting for what they hoped would be a real fight. They looked pretty excited. I was confused as to why Gin wanted me to beat up Fubu, so I asked what was going on. Gin told me through her tears that Fubu was calling her mean names and making fun of her. If there's one thing you should know about the Hart family, it's that you don't mess with the Hart family unless you're ready to mess with the Hart family, meaning that if you pick on one, you get the whole thing. I've been court ordered by my older brothers to beat up people that were kind of my friends just to preserve the family honor. I've been in fights where both of my brothers jumped in and beat up the person for me. And now that I think of it, this story is the story of Ginger fighting a fight for me. Her own fight.

So Gin told me that the kid was swearing at her and picking on her which filled my body with an urge to use a Van Dam maneuver from "Blood Sport" that I had been practicing, but I felt that ripping a person's tongue out what a rather harsh punishment for swearing. I instead looked at Fubu, asked him if he said anything to my sister to which he hesitantly replied, "Yeah... .... What are you going to do?" As the universe had previously foreseen this event, it had strategically placed a handful of Cheetos in my mouth about 2 minutes earlier that I had not yet swallowed, creating a creamy orange paste ball that was prime for spewing. I spit this huge wad of chewed up Cheetos into his face and sat down without saying anything. Everyone laughed as they wanted to see Fubu suffer just as much as I do at that point, and Fubu sat down in shock that a white boy would dare mess with a Dixie Middle School certified gangster. He cleaned off his face as best as he could, but he had this chunk of cheeto on his eyebrow that he never got. It served as a scarlet letter for those who dare adulterate or profane the Hart code. Realizing that he would lose all street cred if he didn't act quick, he just started shaking his head and repeating over and over, "you shouldn't have done that... you shouldn't don that... man, you gonna pay, you shouldn't have done that..." I kept a close eye on him the entire ride to my bus stop in case he tried to sneak attack me from the side or something. We rode the 10 minutes or so to our stop, then me and Gin got up to get off the bus. Then Fubu decided to join us in getting off the bus as well. This is the moment where your heart rate picks up, your adrenalin kicks in, and you ask yourself if it was worth spitting in his face. Maybe you should have just talked to him. Nevermind that foolishness, this is Middle School. Jungle rules apply here, not civility. There's no reasoning with a seasoned middle school gangster anyhow.

Fubu followed us off the bus and walked about 10 feet behind us as we walked home. I was waiting for him to say or do something to me, but he just kept the same pace as us and kept repeating to himself in a kind of whisper, "you shouldn't have done that..." As he walked behind us, he started stripping off layers of Fubu jerseys, leaving a trail of bread crumbs as it were on the sidewalk behind us. The trail of tears. Jersey tears. The trail of Fubu jersey tears. I'm off topic... He stripped down until he had on just his wife beater and loose fubu shirt, apparently the preferred fighting wardrobe of street warriors. After following us for a block or so, I had enough of listening to him breath out threats against us to himself, so I finally just turned around and told him that if he wanted to fight me, then fight me. If not, quit walking behind me. This was the first time that anyone had every stood their ground against him which threw him off his normal routine. He didn't have anything good to say back, and I don't think he had any real intention of fighting anyone that remotely fought back. So he repeated himself but in a louder, more serious tone this time, "Man... You shouldn't have done that. Now you gonna pay..." It was right then, right at that moment where you decide if negotiations have been futile and hard, raw power is going to be necessary, when all reason has fled the scene and you are left with nothing more than your evolution-given instinct of rock and club, when you debase yourself to the lowly status of super-human ninja fighter defender of good and virtue, when you know that it has come to blows and you might as well get yours in first... yes it was at this very moment when I was just about to charge the kid and start throwing punches, I heard this gut-wrenching battle cry coming from behind me and growing louder very fastly, "DIE!!!!!!" A mass of fury like I've never seen before raced past me in the form of my 13 year old sister, Ginger, whom I had never seen even attempt to inflict physical harm on any living creature. She charged at Fubu full speed and delivered a rib-crushing high kick straight to Fubu's gut. It was an awkward enough kick that I could tell she had not been practicing in the yard like me and my brothers had (you know, ninja training in the yard, jumping over swinging legs, dumping your head in buckets, that kind of stuff), but it was powerful and direct enough that I knew there was nothing but pure, unadulterated rage coming from that kick.

To say the least, the kick surprised, knocked the wind out of, and temporarily rendered our friend Fubu useless. He fell forward when Gin landed her one and only death kick to the stomach, and he gasped for air. Without skipping a beat, as Fubu leaned forward, Gin lay hold upon his loose Fubu shirt, pulled it over his head hockey style, and with her other hand started hitting him on the top of the head. I can tell you that I've never seen such a naturally executed hockey death blow as what Gin pulled off that day. After a couple solid lands to the head, Fubu pulled his way out of Gin's hockey grip and ran back. All he could say was, "Get her off me!!" At this time, seeing that he could have tried to retaliate and hit Gin, I ran between them and told Fubu to go home. Teary-eyed, red faced, and obviously humiliated, Fubu had no other option but to turn around and pack up his gear that he had left strewn on the sidewalk. We started walking away, then Fubu started calling me a wuss for having my sister fight for me. Then Gin reminded him that he was a bigger wuss for getting beat up by a girl, to which he had no clever rebutle. The next day, he had one of his friends ride the bus with him in case me or my sister tried beating him up again, I guess. That's what he gets for starting this whole thing in the first place. Where was I going with this story?... Family pride. Yes, family pride. In the same way I was proud of Gin for defending herself and beating up Fubu, I am proud of Matt for getting into grad school!

plans to take over Bolts of Thunder

Coming in for landing

Still coming in...

Still coming in.....

They admire my wax job

Chris Rees, the one and only

The crew. Just cha'in

And I've made touch down! Jeffrey pulls out the Hi-8

to film some bangers on the ledge

Jeffrey comes in soft for a switch wallride

on a straight up wall. Just amazing

These are the other pictures my wife took that I told you I would put up. See, told you I'm not a lier... My spell check doesn't recognize the word "lier". Is my computer so naive to think that society has yet to see someone who will not tell the truth? crazy computer, it has so much to learn... Anyway, my wife took all of these pictures, and I'm very proud of her. She's documenting this whole thing way better than any of us ever did. She should be running the outfit... Now that I think about it, that's what she's trying to do! First she marries me to get in on Bolts of Thunder without having to actually ride a skateboard, then she makes herself famous on the blog through her pictures, then she gets voted in as the next president of Bolts of Thunder, ousting me and Matt at the same time... Not if we have anything to say about it. We'll rig the elections if we have to. Or we just won't hold them this year. There, now do you like what you've done, Rachel? You've turned Bolts of Thunder into a dictatorship, over night. 

So it's finals week which means my brain is only half on, and that half that is on is only running off of fumes. I've forgotten very basic things in the past week such as my pin  number to my debit card, my address, and how to conjugate "essere" in the present tense for voi. Sad stuff, I know. But it's all over soon, then you'll have my undivided attention. I promise, babe, just a few more days, then I'm a changed man. I'll never hurt you again. Not once life is easier.

Can't tell me nuffin!

I'll be the first to admit it, Coleman's got some moves. Here he demonstrates them to me from a point blank distance, showing me what an up, over, and across tail hanger looks like. This is what it looks like people. So my wife, being Bolts of Thunder's official historian, comes out with us and takes photos of us skating. She took a bunch of good ones this last weekend, and here's one of them. I'll put up the other ones when I feel like it. Yeah, you heard me, when I feel like it. Were you sayin sumfin? Haha, you can't tell me nuffin!

I'm kind of sad writing this post. Since the whole of Utah county is under construction, BYU didn't want to skip a beat, and they're giving their campus a new face lift this year. They already took out that perfect 9 stair rail, knobbed a bunch of others, and, now, they've finished by taking out this epic double set rail, and all the other rails in the stair case. They just ripped them out. They're building a fancy new science building or something and just ripped out everything on this hill. And thus is the final score with Bolts of Thunder and this rail. Dave is the only person I know that ever tried to grind the rail. Maybe someone else has tried, but to my knowledge, Dave is the only one. So this spot will forever go down in Bolts of Thunder folk lore as crazy, and Dave will go down in legend for being the only one that tried it.

Man, this reminds me of this time we were looking at the rail. Dave was rolling up to it to see if he wanted to try it. He didn't put his board on the rail, he didn't do anything except ride up to the rail. Some BYU student walking by got super offended that we'd be desecrating the sacred handrails of BYU campus, so he took it upon himself to do the civil thing to do and called us out on it, "I pay money to go to school here! You're ruining the campus I pay for!" Me, Nick, and Dave, who were all present, were at the time all BYU students as well. I don't my pocket book hurt when I ride up to a handrail on campus. Or even when I grind a rail on campus. It doesn't hurt. So we told the kid that we were students too. "Then why are you destroying the school?!" "We're not destroying the school, man. What have we destroyed?" To demonstrate that we weren't destroying anything, Dave rode his board on the sidewalk up to the rail and said, "See, the sidewalk's still there!" Seeing that this was going nowhere good, and it could likely end with the kid getting beat up on the steps of BYU, I told the kid to just get out of there. When he saw Matt standing in his bouncer arms folded stern face temple clenched stance, and when Matt told him to shut up and beat it, the kid cooperated. Nick finished him off with calling him a fag. A final, crushing blow to our fellow student who prizes himself on being heterosexual. Anyway, I wish I could track down that kid somewhere on campus, if he's not off to med school already, and show him the pile of rubble that was once his sacred set of stairs. I would explain to him that we rode our skateboards too much on the sidewalks, and this is what happened. Then I would ask him if he was happy about his tuition being wasted on skaters ripping up the very foundations of buildings, plants, and stair cases. I think he would probably be upset, and he might even shed a single tear. No more though, because he'd be too busy studying at med school and focusing on his own millions before he'd really care too much about the paint being scratched off of a hand rail or an entire city block of school getting uprooted.

Anyway, Dave, our hat goes off to you, and our deepest respect goes out to you. Shine on, you crazy diamond...

Making me want to skate

I'm not sure if I've already put up these pictures or not. But they're coming up today, regardless. I like them a lot. They remind of of warmer times in Europe when skate spots were oozing out if the urine-filled corners of Paris, and Dan, Dave, Garrett, and Shereen were out skating with us. It was pretty epic. So that's really all I have to say today. It's cold out here in Provo, and my joints don't work too well in the cold. Finals are starting up, and I'm supposed to be cracking down with school instead of wanting to skate really bad, so I should probably get off the blog right now, it's just making me want to skate...

Man, I didn't realize I had a really good Kramer crop going. I should have kept it up. Not to mention that manly beard on my face. Way thicker than Dan's excuse for a beard... If life were only so kind. Anyway, I better go now.

Less mystery, more creepy

Well now we know who that dark character was in the background on yesterday's post. Matt. How long have you known about this, Matt? Were you involved? Is it just your thing to stand there as people skate? So many questions, no answers. Just silence...

So I had a dream a couple days ago that I filmed Sam backside 50-50 a handrail. He did it really good too. I mean, it looked like he was actually trying, he didn't have robot steeze. But he looked good doing it. So I think it should be our goal to step up Sam onto some handrails and get some for his next part. If I saw it my dream, that means it can happen. That's been my motto most of my life. That's why I still think I can fly off of Angel's Landing in Zion, kick Saddam Hussein in the nuts, and swim with the dolphins. I've done all of those things in my sleep. Actually, the time I kicked Saddam Hussein, I really kicked while I was sleeping and I pulled my groin. That reminds me of another time I did a backside flip in my sleep and ninja kicked matt's bed pretty good. He thought I was mad at him because he was talking to his wife on the phone, but I had no idea. I was just skating...

Fantasy skateboarding league

Today's post is another piece of the puzzle to help the question: "Where is Dave McDonald, and what is he doing?" Following standard procedures, Dave had this photo dropped off on my doorstep this morning, taunting me and bringing up more questions that answering any. So how did Dave get a hold of Matt's board? Why is he skating our flatbar? And who is that mystery rider in the background, so carefully hiding his face from the camera? Yes, this picture raises more questions than it answers, and I'd like to know what's going on. If you have any information on Dave, please come forward. Your name will remain anonymous, and you will receive a higher score rating in this season's fantasy skateboarding league. I've got Nick and Dan in the first heat, that's my guess. But I'll tell you a little secret, I think Matt's going to take the whole thing. Anyway, place your bets wisely.

This reminds me, I never announced the winners of last seasons fantasy skateboarding league. You know the rules, so I won't bother explaining them over again. But coming out in the final heat, Sam and Wizard were neck to neck, in the non-homosexual meaning of the phrase. However, Wizard fumbled his club, and Sam pulled ahead, mercilessly beating Wizard to a pulp and claiming lordship over the Bolts of Thunder enterprise. It's a good thing these little contests we hold are only fantasy or Sam would have taken over North America three times over. Anyway, this season is just getting underway, so place your bets wisely.

We walk the lonely road

Oh man, Zak got me out of a huge bind from my last post. I didn't know if anyone would respond, so I put a lot on the line offering to give away something that I doesn't belong to me and that I didn't have permission to give away. I figured if things got really bad, I'd make up a trick, say that Zak did it, and that way nobody would get anything. But luckily, Zak himself was the first to respond, and he got it right. Brian, had you been first and gotten your first choice, the backside 180, I would have owed you a handsome reward, one that I do not even have. Rachel and Drew, you two are correct, but you came too late, sorry...

So I found out that my wife is a way better photographer than I could ever pretend to be, so I nominated her this weekend as Bolts of Thunder's official historian. Her role is to follow us around with her handy cellular i-phone camera and document what in the world is going on with this institution. On Saturday, Wizard, Jeffrey, and I headed out to explore a ditch and see what good skating we could find, and Rachel followed behind, popping off shots like it ain't no thing. Actually, she only took this one picture for all I know, but it turned out super good. So I thought I'd put it up and announce her as our official historian. If there's anyone that doesn't like this nomination, make your voices heard. Then we'll know who the enemy is... Anyway, as you can see from this picture, it was cold, wet, and lonely. Thus was our ditch skating on Saturday.

Ultimate contest

Today's post is the ultimate competition. Your job is to correctly guess what Zak's board and feet did in between take-off and landing. For you lucky person out there that guess correctly, you get an autographed skateboard by Bolts of Thunder's very own Zak Smith (Zak, we didn't talk about this earlier, do you have an extra board you could sign and give away? If you guess right, you can just keep it for yourself. I really hope this is ok with you...). Zak's all for it, he has his signed board waiting at home on the mantle, and he's eager to give it to whoever guesses correctly. Good luck!

Enemies at the gate: Teenagers wearing diapers.

When last I left you, my butt cheeks and stomach were clenched tight as I had just opened the sewage system of Pandora's Box in my pants (read yesterday's post if you're lost). It was bad. And I was in a car full of my entire family on a 45 mile drive to the nearest bathroom, so there was little I could do to hide it. What ensued was a half an hour of constantly rolling up and down the windows on my dad's part. Every time he rolled up the window, the stench quickly filled the car, and we all accused each other of farting again, and my dad would roll down the windows again. I think the last 10 minutes or so, they got the hint that this smell wasn't going away any time soon, and they just left the windows down. I kind of rolled over on to my side and sat down on my hip rather than my butt so I didn't smash my fecal matter into the very fibers of the car seat. I mean, come on, I'm a decent human being, have some respect for the mini van! I sweated profusely and said prayers that my insides wouldn't explode all over the place and tried my best to slip into my happy place. It required serious mental concentration to endure that car ride, concentration that only comes from years of prior experience and preparation. Keep in mind that the enemy had already breached the city walls. It wasn't like I just had to go real bad and was holding it, but there was already an unwelcome guest at the party, and the rest of his friends were fiercely banging on the door, trying to break their way in. You've seen the battle at Helm's Deep on the Lord of the Rings, you know what I'm talking about. Imagine the riders of Rohan trying to hold back the Urukai after many of them had already breached the great wall. This is tough stuff we're talking about here.

When we made it to Glendale, we pulled into the only gas station/ restaurant around, and I prayed they would have toilet paper in the bathroom. My prayers were answered as there was an entire package of toilet paper waiting for me in the bathroom. The clean up of this mess was like nothing you've ever seen before. Imagine if hurricane Katrina had dumped sewage water all over the place. That's what it looked like. It required an entire roll or toilet paper and probably 4 flushes or so just to clean myself up. My boxers were obviously soiled beyond the point of trying to repair them, so we said our good byes, and I left them in the garbage. But that presented me with a dilemma. Even though I had gone to the bathroom, my stomach was far from settled. It was still an angry storm in there, and there was no telling when the next assault might be. In the event of a second attack on the car ride home, all that would be protecting the car seat from me was a thin layer of khaki pants. Knowing that the battle was far from over and we still had a good 45 minutes to home, I did the Eagle Scout thing to do and fabricated a diaper out of an entire roll of toilet paper. Yes people, a 15 year old wearing a homemade diaper so he won't get diarrhea on the car seat. Have you ever conceived of a more humiliating scenario? Thus was my lot, the load I had to carry. I wrapped the toilet paper around my leg in every conceivable fashion, sealing off every possible exit. After about 20 minutes in the bathroom, I slowly made my way out to the car, proceeding with caution in every step as to not disrupt my tightly wrapped diaper.

I'll conclude by saying that the car ride home was uneventful, and a nice shower awaited me at home. In the 12 years since the event, I have not eaten so much in one sitting, and I have never again sharted so fiercely. The road was long and hard that I had to walk that day, but the lessons I have learned have stuck with me till now, shaping who I am and paving the way for my future. That's it, end of story.

As you reflect upon this story, think of Matt's smiling face and remember where you came from.

The happiest of families

We're so proud of Matt. We've tried our best to raise him in the ways of uprightness and virtue, and he's turned out quite alright. He's on his way to an interview for grad school today, and we're wishing him the best of luck. This family portrait shows the unity and love we have in our family, and we look at it everyday when we start yelling and throwing stuff at each other to remind ourselves of the kind of family we want people to think we are when they walk in our home and see our pictures on the shelves, and that calms us down somewhat. Until the next outburst of uncontrollable rage that is, usually on Rachel's part.

I bring up uncontrollable rage because there's something I've been wanting to get off my chest for a long time now. A story, if you will. An incident when I was 15. In the car. My entire family was there. It was truly embarrassing. I don't tell this story to confess or repent, but just to get it off my chest. You know when you carry something, a weight on your shoulders for 12 years +, you just need to get it off sometimes. That's what this is all about, I need to get this great weight off my shoulders and finally move on. Because I know this is not who I truly am at heart, it's only who my bowels tried to make me look and feel like on that long car ride home from the Las Vegas Olive Garden on Flamingo and 9th so many years ago. And thus it begins... You know when you're 15 you can eat and eat, and then eat some more just for good measure. And if you really feel like pushing it, you'll eat at least one more time, just to spite the world. Well I felt that the never-ending pasta bowl at Olive Garden was mocking me by making me pay $10 and saying I could eat all I want. Serious? I can get my money back in 2 plates, max. Every plate after that that I eat, I'm sticking it directly to the man and taking money straight out of Olive Garden's pockets. Sign me up! The exact details are slightly fuzzy, but I know I ate at least 3 solid plates of spaghetti because my mom was in complete shock when I finished it, and I was probably on my 4th plate. Throw in a couple bowls of faggioli soup with a good serving of bread sticks and you've got the perfect storm brewing in my stomach. An angry storm. One that sticks a dagger straight into your gut and paralyzes your very movement, gives you the sweats, and makes you rethink your goals in life. Another plate of food and I could have joined that fat guy on "Seven" that ate until his stomach exploded. It was this kind of pain I was experiencing walking out of that Olive Garden. But I got my money's worth, that's for sure. I made our entire pay check worth it, and the tip. And even though my stomach couldn't physically handle any more, I ate a couple of those chocolate mints they give you on the way out. I had to.

With six people in our mini van, 5 of us male and 4 us of teenagers, and having just eaten at Olive Garden, you've got a fart to minute ratio of about 2:1, so I didn't see any harm in letting out my stomach pain in gas form every couple minutes or so on our hour and a half drive home. I positioned my stomach, legs, and back in the straightest position I could to allow the smoothest, easiest passage I physically could, and when I felt it was ready for departure, I simply relaxed my tightened stomach. You know the feeling, when you get more than you bargain for... As I relaxed my stomach, the dregs of hell quickly shot out of my body and into my undies. A lot, too. This wasn't a little squirt of stomach juice, this was full on diarrhea, and a lot of it too; as soon as it started coming out, I had a hard time stopping it, so a healthy amount made its way into my pants. As soon as it happened, I said to my dad, "Can we pull over, I have to go to the bathroom!" Just as I said it, I watched the last exit in Vegas pass by with a sign shortly after it that said, "Glendale 45 Miles." "Can you hold it until Glendale?" was the only thing my dad could say. If they only knew the abomination that was in my pants. If they only realized the stench that was about to fill the car. If they only knew what it was like to be a true sharter... Well, they actually probably all know full well what it's like to be a true sharter. We're Harts, who am I kidding?

Ok, I didn't think it was going to take this long to get this off my chest, and I have to get going. But there's more, oh so much more to this story, so I'll finish it tomorrow. Be sure and come back! But for now, let's all wish Matt good luck on his travels!!!

Inspiration

About where Randy's board is when he pops his tricks

You didn't believe me the first time I told you that Randy has springs in his legs and that his flip tricks are just amazing. Here's a second set of pictures just to prove my point. And you know that in the good book it says something about in the eyes of two or more pictures, all truth shall be established. Or in both eyes of the beholder, beauty is found. Or something like that. Point made. Randy's got some amazing classical trained ninja floats on his shoes that allow him to pop a good 3 feet in the air when he does his tricks.

I would like to give a special shout out to the one who commented on yesterday's post. You know who you are. No, you inspire us. Your aged youth, wisdom, and strapping beard have long been a symbol of what Bolts of Thunder stand for. You have gone into the world, unyieldingly demonstrating what it means to be a true Thunder Bolt. You inspire us...

Most innovative stuff since Prince and the Revolution

See that look of concentration? You can't teach that to people, you're either born with it or you ain't. I is. An interesting fact of those pants I'm sporting: they're supposed to be black. But they're slowly turning purple. I've been listening to Purple Rain too much lately, and I just want to be happy and laughing in the purple rain. That's all. I guess these photos show you the direction Bolts of Thunder is slowly headed in: pure technique, skill, originality, and innovation. We're impressing all y'all up and down the Wasatch front and then some, and we ain't stoppin at your door. Yeah, we're sitting on your chairs, shoes on your couch, don't care who you are. That kind of stuff. So get ready for it because its going to hit you like a ton of bricks when it finally hits....

This brings me to the second point of this post. I don't even know what "it" is. It's nothing. Always has been, always will be. Try to wrap your brain around that one!

With the next couple days being Thanksgiving break and all, I don't know how much I'll be able to get onto the blog and write what I write. So I'll leave you all with the smiling face of Sam Milianta over the week to remind you that Bolts of Thunder is dedicated to the friendship and well-being of all mankind, and we're sticking to it. Have a good Thanksgiving!

Baby-eating men

Collette, Nick's baby, doesn't look too happy about the idea of me threatening to eat her. Nick looks a little puzzled too that I would talk to a baby in such a way. Especially to his own baby and right in front of him. Either way, the baby lives, and I have yet to follow through on any of my feeble threats. Nobody takes me serious anymore... So how about a rock to fakie in a scary cement half pipe? Gonna take that serious? Probably not, because you could do it too. Man, I saw this girl Laura hit her head so hard in this half pipe trying to do a nosestall in this thing. Her head sounded like a basketball falling on the ground, it was pretty disgusting. She's fine though. I think. Maybe she was never fine? Guess we'll never know.

good beard bad beard

I put in that first picture just to show you a very good comparison. It's what one man that can't grow a beard looks like when he tries, and what another man that can grow a beard looks like when he tries, plain and simple. But doctor says I've got more testosterone in my blood as of late, so the beard should be coming in thicker and darker. The second picture is purely for your entertainment. The thought of you coming to this blog looking for skateboarding and only finding nasty beards broke my heart. I couldn't do it. I have to give Sam credit for this picture, he took it. That's a fun boardslide, when you finally get past the shaky nerves and the constant looking over your shoulder for cops coming after you. Now I've got a test I have to go study for, wish me luck...

The Dark Sith Avengers

The title of this post tells you everything you need to know about it. And Dave's about to get gnarly on a quick drop to a fast stop. But he rolled out, don't ask me how.

Memory Parking Lot

In today's Dave sighting, we're giving a shout out in remembrance to Nick at the same time. Thanks, Nick, for your comment yesterday. I'm glad that you're still in the game and doing well. So when Dave was on his mystery trip to Provo, he stopped off at one of our old warm up spots which happened to be Nick's back yard. Some of our most epic flip tricks ever landed (double-barreled casper rotated stall, pop wheelee to shinner, snap crackle to pop shillings, and the likes. You know what I'm talking about. ) Wielding double pop shuvits, Matt and Dave gave us a glimpse into the past, about a year and a half ago... That's it. I'll end by saying that Dave and Nick are greatly missed. I'll throw Dan in their while I'm at it, we really miss you too.