Paddling Since: 94
Join Date: Oct 2003
Chunderboy Roles Vince Neil at Vegas Hotspot
Hey brahs, what's up? Thought I'd fill you chacharooskie alfredos in on a little incident that went down about a week ago. When last we spoke I informed you douche bags that the Chunder-posse had made off like bandits at that lame ass Widespread bullshait, when all was said and done Elmer, Jeter, and myself walked with about four thousand dollars in stone cold USDA cashola. That's not bad for a days work but then Elmer got us thinking...Why stop there? A true player is always out there tryin' to increase his flow, we all know that Chunderboy is a true player; a trip to Vegas to parley the hippie take was inevitable. The three of us loaded into Jeter's mom's Subaru Baja, (gas card in the glove), and headed out to Sin City to try our hand at lady luck. Along the way we would get the chance to paddle a true gem of the West. The Virgin river had been on my to do list for years, for those of you too friggin' stupid to have the beta on the "Big V" (as the locals call her), I'll fill you in. Imagine the Atom Bomb ferry at Bald Rock for about five miles, then throw in the gradient of the South Silver, and then, if your lucky enough to survive imagine two silicone enhanced biatches grinding on your kirk at the Cheetah, making sure your wood is good and true. Can you nerds imagine that? Didn't think you could you sorry ass front range bastards.... this is the realm of the Chunder-posse, a world where true players thrive, and posers are tossed aside like a used condom on Hollywood Boulevard! I'm sure you dorks are wondering why a crew of such skilled kayakers would allow a floundering, third-rate brah like Elmer to even hang? The truth is that ole' Elmer, while not being a solid Class Three boater, does get it done for our crew in other, all be it, nontraditional ways. For one thing the dude has a gas card- a true asset to any unemployed ski town laid back brah crew, he also possesses a talent so unbelievable that most casinos in this country won't even let him sit down at the table. The boy is a card shark- plain and simple; he's blessed with a photographic memory and an innate sense of how to beat even the fiercest competitors. How did Elmer acquire these skills you ask? Why is Johnny Chin too much of a biatch to sit down across the table from an overweight kayaking wannabe? Why did Donald Trump, back in '87 ban Elmer from all of his properties in the Atlantic City area? The answer to the last question is an easy one- Elmer, after breaking the bank at one of the Donald's casinos, took Marla Maples upstairs and did her ever which way you could imagine. To add to the Donald's embarrassment he convinced the gold diggin' tramp to film their torrid and uninhibited love making (Ben Wha Balls.. the whole nine yards so to speak), and then my boy posted it on the Hun's...Not a bad little stunt...don't you think? To find out why Elmer is feared by every casino manager in the city of Vegas one must delve deeper into his childhood. Adopted by a black family after spending the first six years of his life bouncing from one orphanage to the next to characterize Elmer's childhood as tuff would be an understatement. His foster parents struggled to make ends meet and often little Elmer was left to hustle and rob to get the Sega games and porno mags he so desperately desired. The family lived on the mean streets of Houston, and as luck would have it a next door was a man would teach the youth all there was to know about hustlin' and gettin' by in the hood. That neighbor was none other than the pint-sized gangsta and Ghetto Boys front man Bushwick Bill. That crazy midget had Elmer runnin' craps games from Waco clear up to the Tex-Arkana boarder. Legend has it the Dave Karesh lost all fourteen of his wives to Elmer in a card game back in '85. After finding their hygiene not to his standards, a victorious Elmer decided he would let Karesh slide on the bet. Anyhow, I'm getting off the subject, and it's time I brought you back to the main story, the bottom line is that Elmer is one hell of a gambler and a true street hustler and that is why the Chunderboy allows him to come along and try his luck on Class Six rivers like the Virgin. Our run on the "Big V" went well, Elmer swam through a sieve and lost his boat, but luckily Jeter was able to rescue his brand new AT carbon fiber paddle before it got munched up in a rapid known as the Dirty Sanchez. None of us knew at that moment the important role the paddle would play in the wee hours of that hot Nevada night, and let me tell you now that there is one washed up rocker who wishes the Sanchez swallowed up ole' Elmer' trusty blade. After a quick trip to the costume store Elmer was ready to turn our Widespread loot, now only 3,987 dollars, (the Middle Park Meat Company in Kremling doesn't take gas cards, and for those of you who are too ignorant to know it ole' Harland, the MPMC's owner, serves up the best jerky this side of the Mississippi), while the rest of you losers are out there munchin on Power Bars and lickin your chops over some queer ass Cliff Bars, our laid back crew is wolfin' down the finest jerky on the market. No vegetarians in this crew, Steamboat is a cow town and all you pretty little vegan weenies can kiss my taint! Elmer walked out of the costume shop looking like a cross between Ron Jeremy and Kurt Russell-a strange combo, but Jeter agrees that is as close as we can get to describing him without getting our boy in trouble with the Nevada Gaming Commission. It took about three hours, but Elmer succeeded in quintupling our winnings. We were on our way out of the Aladdin, (the poshist joint on the strip, VIPs only, Chad Muscka calls room 2132 home) when who do we see but over the hill rock bad boy Vinny Neil. Neil and I have been on bad terms ever since Jeter, Elmer and myself made that slutty wife us his air tight at a Motel 6 in Reno back in '89. The guy is so pathetic he even had the nerve to show up in Steamboat and leave the stage after playin' only one song, a symbolic gesture to the Chunder-posse, but one that broke the hearts of many a mullet clad Craig youth. What resulted from this weak ass move was mayhem in Ski Time Square. Half of Moffat County was runnin amuck in my back yard, picture "Do The Right Thing" and substitute all the cracked out brothers for a bunch of white trash, math-heads from Milner and points west. Had my At paddle been on me that night I would have beat the livin' piss out of Vince, it's no wonder Tommy Lee won't have anything to do with that low grade piece of washed up glam-rock garbage. I promised myself that next time our paths crossed Neil would pay dearly for his pussafied actions. The three of us waited outside with our trusty ATs held firmly in our fists. After unsuccessfully trying to score with every cocktail waitress in the casino, and losing all his dough to a stingy nickel slot machine, a dejected Neil stumbled out into the hot Las Vegas night. What happened next was an ass kicking of the first order. Lets just say Neil called me uncle and admitted that he was a sorry little biatch, and Jeter got himself a big lock of died blond hair as a souvenir. A brand new AT paddle was busted in the mix, but all and all it was worth it. Kicking back with three coke whores that night I couldn't help but smile, the Chunderboy had done it again-my player status was once again beyond reproach. Later Vinny you biatch! Chunder-posse for life...oh yeh, you front rangers still suck, but your girlies are always welcome!
Chunderboy Keepin’ It Real
Hey Mitch- you can go fu@# yourself, and while your at it how about gettin' a grip? It's not my fault you are a little turd from the front range...don't hate the player dawg, hate the game! Some food for thought for that sorry ass excuse of a brain you have...Oh yeh I almost forgot, tell your mommy that shait last night with the whip was sick, poor Jeter can't even sit down, his behind looks like something out of an Alex Haley novel, that women is one hot piece of ass, and so uninhibited...I'm gettin excited just thinking about all wild ass stuff we did to her-Maybe you caught wind of our little gang bang action, maybe that's why your so upset? You a player hater brah, a sorry excuse for a human being-keep you lame ass comments to yourself or the Chunder-posse will make a road trip down to Highlands Ranch and beat the shait out of you with our brand new AT paddles!