Mr. Mooney is a household name in Australia, though the US media breakthrough occurred only last June during TurtleGate — c.f., TurtleGate Day one (1), two (2), and three (3): the Pulitzer caliber investigative coverage conducted by Lewis Samuels, FTVS’ neighbor and founder of the now defunct postsurf.com.

Video allegations of exotic Turtle molestation proliferated rapidly, attracting accolades from FTVS staff and readers, and criticism from most non-FTVS staff and readers, whose lack of theology failed to grok the inherent beauty in the mixture of seafood and sex. Indeed, FTVS has advocated for the enjoyment of sea creatures with the mouth and with the cock on frequent occasions.

I followed the crew for ten (10) days while they filmed in the Sumatran wilderness. This endeavor resulted in Andrew Mooney’s new and groundbreaking profile video, which is currently attached to the cover of this month’s Waves magazine. The film exhibits his precise skills in the moving water, as well as several other talents resembling those of yogi Anthony Walsh, and amphibian Laurie Towner; but most importantly, the movie features a four (4) second face shot of yours truly, FTVS editor Jack Colt, in the credits. Yes, dear reader, this is success.

B&W photography by Jack Colt, all rights reserved.

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Fear causes hesitation, and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true. (Bodhi, 1991)

The Women World Championship Tour (WCT) of Surfing is to the men WCT what the Paralympics are to the the Olympic Games: a cacophonous assortment of individuals watched by no one, and solely organized to avoid riots from retarded lobby groups.

Women surfers proved on numerous occasion to be a strange breed of human that is often difficult to understand. The astute FTVS surfer recalls the immensely entertaining “surf off” between Layne Beachley and Andy Irons a few years ago. The aforementioned fiasco revealed a hint of delusion of grandeur pervasive in female professional surfing.

A recent picture of Western Australian Claire Bevilacqua conveys a somehow confusing message: Girl or Sexy transsexual? Jack Colt remembers sharing waves on occasion with Mrs. Bevilacqua at the lackluster Brighton Beach in Perth Northern Suburbs before the World Tour and before her steroid enhanced diet. Her mutation is disconcerting.

Back to the topic. While most of you on the good Californian shore are dusting your step-up boards for the Thanksgiving weekend, and our islander brothers already enjoyed an early Waimea, the North Shore Venuses are calling it a quit: it is too big. FTVS understands too big, too small, too thick, too dry, and too soon are common phrases from the vaginized sex, but ponder whether they are appropriate in surfing.

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Daddies, Bears, Cubs, Wolves, and Balds: G-Land caters for all tastes and fetishes.

Dear readers,

Once again I embark on a journey to a far-away place where the water’s blue and the boys are cheap. I hope that upon my return, having  satiated my salient homosexuality, making gay jokes won’t cause me guilt. G-land, on the far eastern tip of Java somewhere in the Indonesian archipelago, is one of the last bastions for closet men to seek refuge and unbridled pleasure in total secrecy.

Being the technical officer at FTVS, it is unclear at this stage whether Albatross and Penn, two persons having tremendous difficulties adapting to the Internet technology, will be able to keep FTVS online during my absence.

Until later,

Jack Colt

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