Showerbeers Bronson

Last year I had a kid in class named Norbert. It was difficult for me to imagine an exhausted, overjoyed couple gazing down at the just-born, tiny naked ball of energy of their new baby boy and whispering Norbert...Norbert...Norbert...into his crackly pink ears.
We called him Bert, but still.

Same thing with new Sandwich Clubber Showerbeers Bonaparte. Whatever possessed the Bonapartes, flush with the excitement and stupor of childbirth, to gaze into their tiny boy's dark eyes and say Showerbeers, is not up to us to decide. Naming is every parent's right, but, unfortunately, they don't have to live a lifetime in the shoes of Norbert. Or Showerbeers. Or anyone named Richard that they insist on calling Dick.

Fortunately, Showerbeers has overcome this particular linguistic handicap, and has made those who know him proud. He finished law school without too much drama, has a healthy fan relationship with 80s cinematic masterpiece Cocktail, and is the proud new owner of a sweet new 8'6, rounded-pinnie Bronson.

Two-plus-one fin setup with a shreddy flexie in the middle, two-tone color lamination by the boys at Almar Glassworks, too-legit-to-quit Bronson radness.
If you note Showerbeers ripping his new sled in the greater Los Angeles area waters, or note this Bronson strapped to the roof of a diesel Bendzo in hot pursuit of a speeding ambulance, throw him a shaka!