Blue Monday: the shequel

Local she-redder Caroline's new stick.
Insane resinwork from the talented hands of Ms. Leslie Anderson: artist, animal rescuer, and occasional wearer of respiration mask.
Five Finboxed War Pony. Cedar stringer. Rocker. Pulled, foiled, gloss-and-polished.
My three-year-old daughter's purple princess shoes. Leslie's tapered laps. Caroline's stoked pickup. Lots of good lady energy swirling around this stick.

Swirly Tuesdays

As committed, sober HHG fans will note, the Tuesday before St. Patrick's Day is always Swirly Tuesday, where I showcase a stirring representative of Leslie's resinwork. In addition, I fling wide open the doors of HHGs SPAM filter, and invite all to take a peek. Enjoy.
Today's featured swirl is Spencer's 7'2" bat-tail egg.
And our first featured SPAM comes from someone whose linguistic authority appears somewhat deficient, though clearly their Romantic spirit is fully intact. Here's the first line:
Best ladies looking reciprocation in the utility of men USA. True-hearted sex.
This notion is followed by some true gems, but perhaps it can best be summed up by the following line:
I tenderness to acouter in peculiar clothes and come undertake online as a cam maiden when I'm not being a granny.
Onto the swirl!
Clear deck, cedar stringer, five boxes for maximum shred capacity.
My next favorite SPAM comes from someone with a greater command of the language, and wins award for Highest Word Count. It's also surf-specific, sent to us by someone in the employ of Point Break Bar on West 45th Street in the Big Apple. It starts:
I am a surfer and found a "real surfer bar" in Point Break NYC.
Strange, yet compelling. Later in the paragraph the author claims,
I'm kinda jealous ;OPIt's {sic} filled with surfers, people who like surfers, people who like the beach and people who don't want to live close to town.
Losing me.
And when I spill a full tray of shots onto myself, the bartender so kindly remakes them for me?
It is signed Davis Miller.
A cursory search of the Googles reveals that the Point Break Bar has chosen to forego a website in preference to an uber-classy Twitter account rife with Lady Ga-Ga references, free beer specials, and, most damning, exclamation points.
If you have a moment, you might choose to send a message to @PointBreakNYC asking them why they're douches.
Back to the swirl!
Finally, I'll close the HHG SPAM filter with this lean missive sent by an anonymous SPAMer just this morning:
Hello. And Bye.
I'm a sucker for brief, muscular prose. And, right now, dry reislings.

Marching Orders

The official HHG hand model getting the job done with a 7'3 Campbell Brosesque five fin egg.
If surfboard design were a wine-tasting party, the Bonzer would be the guy who smuggles in a sixer of cold Tecates in cans.
It's a judicious choice for those who like the ball-bearing pivoty feel of a center fin combined with the efficiency of four small rail fins.
Less drag, positive drive out of turns, stick to the wall like flypaper.
Don't let the fuller planshape fool you, this round tailed egg sports a finely-tuned foil and rocker for the steep and the deep up here NOTB. Think of long paddles, bull kelp heads the size of disco balls, and dark shapes on the horizon marching, marching, marching. The dark shapes zap an instant message directly to your frontal lobe: flee.
But you don't flee the dark shapes.
You sit. You breathe. You wait for the dark shapes to march closer.
Then you turn, then you paddle, then you connect to the dark shapes. With the dark shapes. In the dark shapes.
Then you know, and you want more. More dark shapes. Dark shapes marching from Oregon, marching from Washington, marching from Alaska. They march and you wait. You breathe.
You are.