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We promise this won't (really) hurt.

Wanna win a new surfboard? We have a custom Chilli ‘Black Vulture’ to gift (plus all the trim you’d expect from a premium dealer). To be in the running, just answer a few questions for us. It won’t take long.

True Confessions Of A Voracious Stab Commenter

Why surf when you can pretend?

Why praise someone's above-average, maybe-even-impressive ripping, when you can huck rancid spray on them from behind a veil of digital anonymity? Why read the articles when you can shit on the author just below their byline?

The perks of an active Stab comments section life are plentiful; it surely beats the hell out of donning a still-damp wetsuit and battling it out in the shit fight that is surfing in Sydney.

I’ve been frequenting this site since my formative days as an avid dick-dragger—during the glory days of 300-plus upvotes, during Caveira’s first incarnation, when ‘200’ comments usually meant a flame war between two prolific avatar (probably the same person). At first, I enjoyed reading Stab, or went on the site in the hope of a new Dane clip, or if I was really lucky, a soft-porn shoot of Sage.

Then, like a 12-year old horn dog finding his first internet porn, I realized there was more to this simple(ton's) site than meets the eyes. A world of unrivaled cynicism, personal sledges, sometimes the fleeting funny comment: a place called Disqus.

So with nothing but a 13” Mac, three-hour lectures, and a heinously sore throat from a few lung busters, I whipped up an account: Noa’s last dart. I thought I’d see if I could tear to shreds the surfers I most respected. Or better yet, kill time with an all-day argument with Cavvy. I quickly became addicted; just like the rest of you bottom dwelling scum, I found myself skipping entrées and heading straight for the Disqus dessert.

Believe it or not, some days I actually go for a surf, but born with disproportionate limbs and an insatiable desire to nosedive I call it quits after my 5th straight-hander.

Then the real working day kicks off. No I’m not talking about a job--I’m a dole bludging uni student--I’m talking about Stab comments.

 

Now as far as I see it, there’s a multitude of approaches that the boys (certainly not men) adopt towards this full-time job. Let me run you through my best analysis of the different personality types which cohabitate this space.

The ‘do-gooders.' You know the type, those who genuinely appear to take earnest, vested interest in the surf world. Lunatics who somehow gain fulfillment, or meaning in positively encouraging those in the industry. Seems unbelievable, right?

Currently, this type of commenting is strictly reserved for Joiny.

Yes, sure, there are others floating around, but those of us familiar with the sneaky little fucker are all pretty certain it’s just one madman, one loon hellbent on trying to make Stab a “better place,” whilst the rest of us continue to drag its southern fringes through the mud. These types may appear to be normally functioning individuals; but there must be something fundamentally wrong with someone so thoroughly positive on the internet. What monster doesn't verbally abuse someone that you wouldn’t even dare make eye contact with in real life.

Then you have your patient wits. These types lurk in the shadows for days at a time without a whisper, their absence leading some to believe they’ve gone somewhere in life. Done something. Yet this is of course never the case; instead, they’ve lain in wait for that prime op to dazzle us dimwits with the kind of quasi-intellectual commentary in which we all revel.

Generating more upvotes than the rest of us have brain cells, these are your David F’s, your Michael Newman’s... actually, a significant portion of y’all fall under this category. Probably the class clown at school, shouting out their latest snark to entertain the masses, much to the anger of the teacher. Instead of getting a gold star like you did at school, the Stab's star pupils work for and are rewarded with the coveted ‘Comment of the Week’ by, our K-9 overlord, iHusky (when he isn't off sniffing assholes, or whatever).

Let’s move on to our next type: the downright demented. The trashy types, the ones who type out whatever their deranged synapses fires into their consciousness. But also perhaps the most necessary members of the Disqus system, constantly teetering on the edge of a one-week ban from Cyber Dog himself or, honestly, flirting with federal persecution if any of their violent-sexual-deviant claims were ever followed up.

 

long

I don’t understand why women bother wasting their time with PC gimmicks and second-rate smut like 50 Shades of Grey; they could really heighten their sexual awareness by browsing the quickly deleted comments section below a Women’s WCT article. These internet car wrecks are the type that keep you craning your neck, looking when you don't want to, but Just. Can't. Help. It.

Some of these comments truly highlight the mundanity of our lives, in comparison to, say, just one of Wigg’s stories. It goes without saying who I’m talking about here, but fuck it, this goes out to you, Wiggolly’s Paddling Style (and Everyones-favourite-ghost). I’d recommend that you both seek help, but I don’t know if this place would stay above ground without the dirty drugs you and your lot deliver to the comment section on a daily basis.  

Last and certainly fucking least in terms of importance, we have the bandwagon contingent. In many respects, these types are similar to your witty bunch—except without the wit. They also lurk in the shadows, except instead of coming out when they’ve struck comedic gold, they show up uninvited whenever their favorite surfer wins a heat (read: Gabby, Filipe or ADS).

They’ll claim that they prophesized the W back in 2007, or whenever on earth they last commented, and maybe it goes without saying but I’m looking at you James B, Legend and my favourite foe, Tio Sam (RIP).

Combine all of these specimens and you have the Stab Disqus ecosystem; a clusterfuck of garbage ideas, derogatory slurs, and the occasionally insightful comment. We don’t yet understand how to reconcile Quantum mechanics and Einsteinian physics, but I think we’ll sort that out before we come to fully understand what drives a person to keep coming back to these nether regions. My best guess is that, like a junky needs the dropper, a commenter needs his anonymous platform.

We should all be thankful to Stab for providing us with the drug free of charge, often even providing the fuel necessary to ignite the flames. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’re looking forward to the next article that’s as spicy as Wigg’s Mum’s sex shop.

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