One of these dudes is famous for choking dudes out, the other one is famous for choking chicks with an Arizona Iced Tea can.

My little homie Brian and a small crew of bros had the chance to hang out this past weekend with BJ Penn and the guy that owns RVCA clothing, and B-Dubbs just couldn’t resist a photo op of him on the receiving end of one small kine neck crank courtesy of the champ.

As in the baddest gorilla alive.

This is for my man Cuzzo from Fitted Hawaii, who is a full-blown Miami Vice aficionado, and also just happens to be the Orlando Calderon of the Hawaiian hat game.

This is how I do it in Osaka, baby.

Backside for you one time and then you can get these takoyaki balls!

Just got back from Japan, the greatest country on the planet, bar none.

This was my ninth trip there and by far this was the illest journey of them all.

Just a full fledged skate mission from beginning to end, and non-stop good times.

Extensive coverage coming soon over at hirollingmedia.com, and also don’t forget to check out the all new downwithapb.com, now fully revamped and juiced up just in time for spring training.

March Madness, baby!
It’s a beautiful thing.

Issue #49 of The Skateboard Mag is out in shops and newstands everywhere.

This issue features a Hawaii article with some insanely nice photos by my man Atiba Jefferson and horrificially concoted text by me, myself, and I.

Look for APB team riders Jarold Webb, Kaikea Kimura, Danny Hamaguchi, and Aaron Lee getting busy in this issue. The shit came out really nice, and I’m super stoked to have been able to contribute to the best skateboarding publication on the planet once again. Thanks, Kevin and Atiba! Aloha.

Did you see the fucking dunk contest this past weekend?

WHOA.

Dwight Howard is the fucking dude!

Are you serious? That shit wasn’t even close.

This kid is a fucking freak of nature, end of story.

OH, speaking of Magic, I’ve never went to the Magic show in Las Vegas, in fact I must be the only person left that lives in Hawaii that hasn’t been to Las Vegas. ANYWAY, I found this piece below about the Magic show on one of my recent favorite websites, Satchel Of Gravel, shit is fucking good!

 http://www.satchelofgravel.com/

To us, the best part of Magic (The real Gathering) are the conversations that people start based on what kicks you’re wearing.

Here are the five most frequent lines that Air Farce, Punch CP and myself encountered at the show, at the parties and while in line waiting for cabs. We’ve also taken the liberty to provide the translations of what these people really meant.

1 - “I’m just out here on my grind, you know? Just hustling.”

Translation: I’m looking for a job. Do you know of anyone hiring? I have no real discernible skills, with the exception of being good at both carrying and smoking weed.

2 - “My line is streetwear inspired, but for the mass market.”

Translation: I’m out here looking at what the popular streetwear lines are doing, then I am going back to my factories in Korea and create similar products to sell at price point retail. The irony is that my knock off will make 10x more then the original. So while we’re mixing Crown Royal and Coors Light to celebrate, you’ll be sitting on your LE skateboard trying to figure out how to pay your electricity bill.

3 - “What brand do you think has done it the best this season?”

Translation: It costs too much for Internet in my hotel room so I haven’t been able to log on to any cool guy sites to see who’s been getting the most e-props. Can you please give me some suggestions on who I should be dick-riding for?

4 - “I loved Don’t Believe the Hypebeast and I really love Satchel of Gravel.”

Translation: I hate Satchel of Gravel. You make fun of the culture that I’ve taken refuge in after my days as a candy raver. Please go away [again] so my brand can go back to profiting off of stolen graphics and re appropriated rap lyrics and not getting called out for it.

5 - “What are you guys getting into tonight?”

Translation: I have no friends and have not been invited to any parties. If at all possible, can I tag along with you guys? If not, it’s cool. I’ll just go find me a hooker at the Wynn bar.

Viva Magic.

I recently ended my membership at 24 Hr. Fitness. No more meatheads in the mirror or And1 mixtape rejects practicing 45 foot jumpers on that awesome mini basketball court that’s never quite crowded enough with douche bigalows of all shapes and sizes. Damn. Where am I going to watch people excercise their yappers on cell phones now?

Outside of Terry Kennedy’s shockingly ugly Ice Cream Ronald McDonald orthopedic clown shoe joints, these are quite possibly the worst looking shoes in the history of skateboarding that I have ever laid my eyes upon, yet people (retards, actually) are paying upwards of 3,000 dollars for them on eBay these days. I bet that if you buy these shoes you get a free bowl of soup. OH, but they look good on YOU. Do you have any idea how much stuff you can buy and how much fun you could have with three thousand dollars? Copping these and immediately locking them in a temperature controlled cave and never allowing to let the light of day dare to shine upon them doesn’t sound very fun at all. If I had a pair of these right now I would throw them on and walk from my apartment to 7-11 to get a Coke slurpee.

Those are really, really good and I enjoy one at least twice a week. But on the way there I would make sure I stepped in every muddy fucking puddle and also tromp through all of the deepest, wettest spots possible, which would be quite easy since it has been pouring rain non-stop all weekend. After I got home I would jump inside the whip and drive to the skatepark in Chinatown, which happens to be in the dirtiest, filthiest part of the city. Upon arrival I would step out of my car and walk a few laps around the perimeter of the skatepark, making sure to step through every piss pool and upon every diseased piece of filth and excrement that I could find before finally entering the hallowed shred arena. Upon laying my board to concrete, I would warm up first by doing about three hundred flatground kickflips in the dirtiest, trashiest corner of the park so that even when I bailed (which would probably be often) I would most assuredly be running out and stepping all over pho’ noodle containers, mounds of discarded blunt tobacco, puddles of spit, and rivers of spilled malt liquor. Then I would ollie over the bank to bank about five hundred times, making sure to alternate between regular, nollie and switch so that the rips and tears would be even on both shoes. I would repeat this entire process every day for a week, and then I would take pictures of my shoes and put them up on eBay, making sure to include photos of the box that the shoes came in (it’s gold with black lettering now, no more black with purple) and an index card with SKATE NAZI 143 printed on it so people would know that my shoe shit (literally) was genuine.    

Why the long face? This post is dedicated to the one and only Geronimo Secreteriat, the greatest triple crown winner in equestrian history. If you didn’t already know, my mane man Gerrardemy is a comedy stallion and of horse he and I have been fans of each other’s work since the days of the Frisco Brown Rug Famila, long before he was internationally famous for hosting skateboard travel pony shows and not yet world-reknowned for spitting out backhanded compliments and quotable one-liners faster than Robin Williams on a couple dozen triple shot yayo latte’s. Has your dog ever fetched you a beer from the fridge? Your kitty kat ever answer the phone? Ever take your fish to the drive-thru for a cheeseburger? Of horse not. Patches blows all of your kook pets away, you barneys!