Brodie Carr Throws Himself Under a Bus as a Metaphorical Representation of Quittin’ the ASP  (and the story behind other dangerous exclusives from your boiled-by-summer pals at Stab)

Yes, readers, it’s true that some issues we put out there kinda stink. Did I just say “kinda stink?” I means, stink-o to the home of our heavenly father. Magazines that don’t deserve the ink spat upon the page. Don’t deserve distribution and sure don’t deserve to soak up your precious money.

Issues 37 and 44, I refer to, and there was a period four years ago when we were enthrall to this kooky oversized format that was so expensive we couldnít afford to have many pages and those pages we did have we covered in trite, pointless, confusing scooze.

But, all this I ain’t afraid to admit. Did I say Stab was perfect? Do I have an inflated sense of the magís worth? I keep bad magazines on all of my desks to serve as a reminder of our frailty.

Sometimes, howevs, it rains happy coincidence and good ideas. Sometimes, our contributors find inspiration, mix it with a rare bolt of industry, and the result are stories and photos that really do make your day.

I can find five examples in this magazine.

Charlie Smith tells the life story of the man currently sponsoring Bob Martinez with his FTW label. A dreamboat who killed his best friend (totally an accident, like, yike!), made a gazillion dollars with Von Dutch and who was, like, the gnarliest Navy SEAL ever. If you’re a sceptic, like me, y’might read and, think, this is fantasmo Americano drivel. I said so to Chas and he went back out there, researched it head to toe, and came back with: “Hard to believe, I know, but, like, totally true!”

Elliot Struck stole a day-and-a-half with stale cripple Ryan Callinan, the kid whose Frankenstein air ensured a chubby contract with sponsor and at least a few years of worship in the US mags. The insight of this profile! Who even knew he was an evangelical Mormon with a kink for kitty!

Bruce Irons and new best pal Sam McIntosh took a box of blindfolds to Teahupoo to see if it was truly possible for a man with exceptional proprioception to tuberide blindfolded. Answer? Yep. Just.

Sage Erickson? Looks better nude than Bruce Irons. Just a fact. Richard Freeman shot these photos and I don’t hear no complaints.

Here we see captain Brodie Carr falling on his sword, going down with his ship, throwing himself in front of a bus etc, as reward for scooping up millions of dollars in extra prizemoney, shoveling the duds off the tour via the mid-tour cutoff (deleted since his resignation) and turning a judging criteria from old to gold. His one great crime? A spreadsheet that wasn’t updated after a mid-year rule change. Photo: Richard Freeman

Finally, Brodie Carr, the ASP CEO who threw himself under a bus in a Jesus-like gesture to repent for KSís world title mix-up, told Stab he was doiní only one interview about him leaving the tour.

With who?

With us!

In a fit of good feeling, we flew biz to  Bali, for the day, drank Cuban Masters at a beachfront bar called Potato Head where Italiano gals in string bikinis look too fab around the pool and we just talked, talked, talked about dirty tour going-ons with the former CEO.

How many pro’s y’think wrote, texted or called Mr Carr after his announcement? One! And, it was Ace Buchan! Kind to dying animals!

More, though not much more, inside.

Be VERY JEALOUS other magazines!