Looks like everything but the last post is lost from the board. I don't know if they are saved somewhere but it would be great to pull some of these back for at least a little while. The responses were as great as the posts themselves. I pulled this off of gobacktothefrontrange.com - Max's website.
Rantings of a Lunatic
As of 5/27 the Steamboat Play hole is for locals only-front range paddlers come up here at your own risk! No howlies-you guys are barnyard bra
Chunderboy Dials The Dowd
Hey brahs, Just thought I'd like to let you in on the radest shait ever, just yesterday some bros and myself dialed Dowd Chute at what I was told is a super gnarly level. The locals couldn't believe it- they where all to chicken shait to put on- they just stood there gapping like a bunch of choads while we got her done. My one buddy Elmer swam the top falls, but other then that you could say we greased it- next stop Lower Mish! It just shows that the Chunderboy is stepin' it up this season- kickin' but and takin' names! There was a strainer at mile two, but luckily, we were able to eddy out above it to avoid what would have been a pretty bad scene. Keep it safe and keep it local! Long live the Chunderboy, and death to all those player haters out there- and oh yeh to all you chumps that said Dowd was too high- ya'll are worthless and weak! See ya, wouldn't want to be ya, biatch!!!-CB
Listen to me and listen good you Canadian sack of shit! How dare you insinuate that I, the Chunderboy, would ever live on the Front Range amongst the hordes of asswipes and douche bags I so animatedly detest! What's the matter brah, still upset over Patrick Roy leaving your lame ass country for the greener pastures of Colorado? You even know who your talking to biatch? I heard it was your ass on the end of Corry's kirk in his big motion picture debut. Heard you took that money shot like a real pro- So don't you even think of talking your low-grade crap around these parts! Your Canadian trash brah, with your silly lil' French accent- your Brian Adams and Loverboy CDs! I bet you wear your sunglasses at night- bet you think Corey Hart is the man- this is the type of lame ass shit that passes for culture up north, and your stupid ass is too dumb to know the difference. Here's some food for thought for ya', something you can mull over while your sittin' back watching Degrassi High and fingering your overworked bung hole- We, and when I say we I mean America- the home of the free, land of the brave- one day will march up across the boarder and pull the rug out from under you. We will drill in your mountains, pillage your homes, #### your women and there ain't a god damn thing you sorry ass bastards will be able to do about it! So enjoy it while you got it loser, and if I may be so bold as to quote my late friend Charlie Beavers- "You all are just a bunch of temporary bitches" -Don't forget it brah, word to ya' mother!
Chunderboy: On Frontrangers
What's up biatches? You sorry ass bastards make me ashamed to call Colorado home- with your crap ass taste in music,(John Denver), and your even crapper taste in entertainment- the Donkeys, AKA AFC swag. Chunderboy challenged you losers and as he expected no one had the guts to answer the call, with the exception of my Glenwood homies, my hats of to you guys! As far as all you front rangers go I've said about all there is to say about what a sorry bunch of 9-5 butt-lickers you guys are! As for Hobie and his GNC enhanced crew- all I can say is Vail still sucks, and Steamboat still rules! I'm sure you steroid lovin', I 70 livin', creek boat paddlin' douche bags have your reasons for stayin' home- after all, if I was a hack, (which we all know I am not), I too would be weary of 1,200 CFS comin' down the knarliest rapids the Colorado has to offer. So while you front rangers and Vail choads are at home watching "Interior Motives" and dreamin' about Christopher Lowell, us real paddlers are out there doing what we do, paddling and gettin' her done. Me and some of my brahs will be at the takeout tomorrow at 11AM, anyone who thinks they are brah enough to join us come along, anyone who is not there will exposed as the lil' sally! Word to ya motha, biatches!
Chunderboy:On Sean Lees Sexuality
So play boating is gay huh? I visited Sean Lee last week at that shitty little condo he calls home. He was talking a big game, drinkin' cheap beer, and puffin' swag herbs- no surprise there. As I as about to leave I made a startling discovery! Sean Lee-the low water steep creeker has a boyfriend- and get this, Sean shamefully introduced his fruity lover as, and I quote, "my roommate"! Needless to say no one was fooled or in the least bit surprised- anyone who knows Sean has seen the tell tail signs of repressed homosexuality- not to mention the fact that Sean was seen drinking a wine cooler at Fiddlers at a Lilith Fair show last spring. I support Sean and what ever lifestyle he chooses- I will not judge Sean Lee just because he is different. I would ask the rest of the Colorado boating community to accept Sean for what he is- a homo who works cleaning the showers at the Broomfield Y, and fears all flows in access of 100 CFS. Tolerance is the answer, we all have the freedom to plot our own course through the turbulent waters of life, Sean we love ya bro, we accept you for who you are- congratulations and may your new relationship blossom!
Chunderboy Puts An End To Viscous Rumors
Hey brahs, what's up? Don't believe these lies- the Chunderboy does not live, and will never live on the Front Range. I don't blame Hobie for wanting me out- I've been killin' it out here for years, showin' up his crew- keeping the Steamboat scene heads and above that weak ass I 70 bullshait- Sorry Hobie but these are the facts. As for my brah Gary E, my only guess is that my old friend is still steaming over some derogatory comments I made a few weeks back concerning Highlands Ranch-or maybe he's angry at how I showed him up at USB last week-Chunderboy styled the LZ- sorry Gar for whatever your gripe might be, but player hating...come on brah, your above that low grade childish bullshait. Will the Chunderboy spend his winter skiing in the Yampa Valley? - Of course not- while Steamboat terrain may present a challenge to some douche bag from Texas the Chunderboy can ski the Shadows blindfolded on LSD. I ski like I boat- it's all about the gnarl! I have long been considered one of Squaw's biggest bad asses and am a big hit with the sluts down at the Spice House in Reno. This year, however, the Chunderboy is thinking of callin' Cham home- My high school chum Vin Diesel has a ski in ski out time-share out there and says Jeter, Darrell, Elmer and I can couch surf all winter. Euro trash will have a new enemy, and all you Front Range turds can rest easy for a few months, but don't get too comfortable, I'll be back for Escalante in April. Just to sum things up- Chunderboy is livin' the life you Front Range bastards dream about, so keep on dreamin' losers! I will never live below 6,000 feet, and I will never join your mainstream 9-5 sorry ass excuse of a life! I will come down there from time to time to run Eldo or shag some college tail-Who knows, I may even pay your wife a visit while your pluggin' away in some cubical down in Big D. See all you dorks at the Gore race and try to keep these kind of petty disputes off this forum-Can't we all just get along? Later biatches!
Chunderboy Sticking it to a True Loser
Ddudds- You ain't worth the time or the effort- you third-rate piece of crap! So you got yourself a second home in the Yampa Valley- big whoop you dumb prick- Better watch your back you silly lil' biatch, and the fact that you are ignorant of the Chunder-posse only goes to show what a true loser you are! Stay at home in the Front Range where your sorry ass belongs-Don't waste my time with your stupid comments, and oh yeh, tell your lil' sister that Jeter and myself appreciated her hospitality-Later nerd, I'd see ya at the Gore race, but something tells me Gore is a little bit above your ability level- Don't hate the player brah, hate the game!
Chunderboy Defending the Dignity of the Disable
Gapers my brah, that is low down. I think you should ask yourself why it is you are such an angry young man. Making fun of the disabled, come on brah, even Chunderboy knows when to draw the line. Let's try to keep things on the up and up and leave the retards out of our battles. That kid has more heart than you or I can even imagine- I would welcome that retarded bad ass on the Chunder-posse with open arms -You, Gaper, are a stone cold loser, a first class turd - Retards rule, you suck - Word to ya mother!
Chunderboy Runs Gore on Drugs - and Brags About It
Nice depiction of the run brah! Low and behold you have met the real Chunder-posse, strap your Front Range ass in a halo for 3 months with a broken C1 and we will see if you run Gore 14 months after the injury. Gore has way more consequence than Tunnel- that's an obvious fact. I will have you know that Chunderboy (prior to his accident) always ran the meat at Gore, and never would the Chunderboy bring a creek boat his backyard run. You guys got her done in there- and it was nice to see your one brah heed my advice and run Gore the right way. Do you homework brahs- Chunderboy is one of two paddlers to run the mighty Gore while trippin' face (Gore Race '01)- I ran the meat that day with rather varied result but I guess that just the way it goes. That day-glow paddle you guys lent Hippie Rob was dope as hell- Keep it real, and next time run Tunnel! Catch ya later brahs, and oh yeh tell your girlies I said what's up! ditch those creek boats and who knows, you brahs may just earn the respect of the Chunder-posse- and gloves in late July- come on brahs, what was up with that?
Chunderboy Tells a Tuber to Piss Off
Hey douche bag - What the #### is your major malfunction? Tubing is for choads and fat asses that hail from Nebraska, the Buzz is not some place for you to get free add space- this is a kayak forum for kayakers only!!! Tubing sucks and so do you, if I ever see a post like this again I will come down to that shanty you call home and beat your fruity little ass all the way to Kanarado-Don't test the Chunderboy loser, and oh yeh tell your sister I said what's up. Later biatch!
Chunderboy Gets Her Done At Gore
Hey brahs, I guess all you player haters out there finally got your prayers answered. Yesterday, our hero, the Chunderboy suffered a broken nose on the undercut at Tunnel. Running Gore at 800 CFS is a hairy ordeal by any standard, but the Chunder-posse at 50 percent capacity no less- as usual was up to the task. Jeter was off at his sister's Bat Mitzvah in LA , and Darrell, after spending a short stint in the Craig jail and then going to rehab after his pesky mom found some blow pops and a stuffed monkey under his bed was back and ready to give Gore his all. Elmer was down in Blackhawk lettin her ride so it would have to be a two man (extremely sketchy by any standards) mission into the gnarliest rapids the Colorado has to offer. There was some silly adventure race in the canyon, and to be honest with you both Darrell and myself found the Hollywood atmosphere a little unsettling. These guys had the nerve to hover over us all day in a helicopter getting film of our rad escapades without our written consent! A move that would later prove a huge mistake when I demanded the footage at the take out. The Chunder-posse just signed an exclusive contract to make a series of paddling flicks for Warren Miller Productions, we don't let anyone film us unless they got the cash to pay us. We are some of the best in the biz, and these jackasses thought they could just swoop down and leach of our Gen X profitability! The first thing Darell and I noticed once we entered the canyon were a slew of Vail boys standing on the banks and gaping in awe as we navigated the Class Five terrain. Hobie in particular looked both scared for us, and no doubt envious of our skill and testosterone fueled bravado. I don't know how those guys even got in there- I'm guessing the obnoxious helicopter dropped them off, or maybe they bribed the conductor to drop them off- What I do know is that those guys were scared shitless of the mighty Gore, and with good reason, because one blown line at 800 CFS and even a paddler as skilled and handsome as the Chunderboy can get his shit handed to him. After dialing Apple Sauce we both Blue Angeled the meat line at Gore- the Vail boys couldn't believe their eyes! One of them (and I won't name names) even had the misfortune of calling out for his mommy when Darrell punched through Ginger- a reflex for the horrified onlooker, but one that both Darrell and myself found rather amusing. The two of us continued down to Tunnel, helicopter and about 15 Vail boys (running frantically down the tracks) in tow. Everyone in the canyon knew that there would be no sneaking at Tunnel- in fact the Chunderboy had a little surprise for the crowd. I've been dialing in a new trick all year, its called the Chunderflip, and lets just say that it is a fusion between a Space Godzilla and a Pan Am- I tried to teach Javid the dank move at Oak Bottom this Spring but needless to say the hapless East Coaster was not up to the challenge. As I paddled up to Tunnel the crowd was chanting "Chunderflip! Chunderflip! Chunderflip!" it was at this crucial moment that I had a costly mistake. A hot babe made eye contact with me as I initiated the 540 degrees bow stall coming into the boof, smiling at her I took my eye off of my line at the crux of the move. I got pushed two feet to the left and threw my flip right into the undercut rock. Dazed and a little embarrassed I rolled up- the crowd was silent, for their hero, the Chunderboy was bleeding from his nose. I paddled away ashamed and deflated. Had those Front Rangers hexed me? Was some park and play dork sitting in his cubical sticking pins into a crudely fashioned voodoo doll of the Chunderboy? There seemed to be supernatural forces at play- even Darrell had to admit that something just wasn't right. The incident would give the Vail crew some amount of redemption for what went down at the Dowd Chute, they could now justify their own wussified actions, for if the Chunderboy had fallen then the line could only be construed as unrunable- Class Six and well out of the realm of the average mortal. The undercut broke my nose clean across the bridge, but it was my ego and rad reputation that were truly sacrificed. And what about the young biatch who was responsible for my last minute flounder? Was she an agent of my foes on the Front Range?- Probably not- she most likely just wanted a chance to be with the Chunderboy, to see what all the excitement was about. In any case the silly tramp had ruined my line, a mistake that would land her on the Chunderboy's blacklist for life- a move that will no doubt haunt the young lady till her dieing day. Darell and I paddled to the take out- we knew that if the helicopter got away with the tape of our historic run then Kirk Miller, (Warren's overweight and spoiled son), would try to re-negotiate our sweetheart of a deal with his old man. The helicopter touched ground as we pulled into the boat ramp at Pump House. Darell and myself leapt from our boats, ATs at our sides and bounded for the plumper cameraman. Not wanting to suffer the same fate as over the hill glam-rock icon Vince Neil, the tape was handed over without incident, but Darell (he had drank a total of six Red Bulls on the day paired with two Pezz Dispensers) lost his cool. He swung with reckless abandon into the gut of the terrified cameraman, who hit the ground with a thud. The sorry SOB was laying there all doubled up, a fresh wet piss stain clearly visible as he sucked his thumb and prayed Darell was done. My boy whacked the pilot upside the head for good measure, leaving his mirrored aviator glasses beyond repair and a head ache to boot. We then loaded up our shait on the Baja and hightailed it Ms Z's to kick back and get some grub. Nice try you Front Rangers but Chunderboy is alive and well- there is an old saying we have up here in Routt County-"That which does not kill a brah, will only make a brah stronger"- How ironic that this incident will only add to the juggernaut that is the Chunderboy! Later biatches- Oh yeh, tell your girlies I said what up!
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 [email protected]
# 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!
Chunderboy Thanks The Hippies
To all the hippie nerds out there who were so kind to fork up five dollars per balloon at Widespread Bullshait last weekend the Chunderboy thanks you. Thanks to your overwhelming generosity, I now have a brand new Kingpin 6.1 to play with, and Jeter and I are thinking about taking a little trip south of the border to celebrate our new cash flow. I'd also like to send a shout out to the Denver Medical Ctr, for without their half assed security, none of this would have been possible. Ironic isn't it, that the very people for whom the Chunderboy harbors the littlest amount of respect, the front rangers, could unwittingly finance a new boat, and a trip to Central America? A true player profits from the ignorance of his enemies, and the Chunderboy, as we all know is a true player. Thanks again everyone. Oh yah, I almost forgot, Elmer and I dialed the right line yesterday on the Death Ferry rapid at Cross. We decided to rename the rapid the Chunderferry. If any of you choads out there think you got what it takes to hang in my crew, then give the Chunderferry a shot....it's pure gnarl one slip up and your ass could be Kavorikianed for good, later biatches!
Chunderboys Cross Mountain Adventure
Hey Brahs! Thought I'd fill you dorks in on a little adventure me and my Steamboat posse had yesterday out at Cross. We set out of the Boat at about 3PM-(standard slacker time for laid back brah crew), anyhow, after a flat tire, and some Craig City Market fried chicken we were off to run the canyon. At 4 grand its obvious that one needs to bring their A game to Cross or suffer an ass kicking of the first order. After dialing Dowd Chute and Lower Mish at high water the Chunderboy was up to the stout challenge, sorry to say, others in the group where not so lucky. After I greased the Osterizer ,(up the gut- like you didn't already know, Chunderboy always runs the meat, sneaks are for Chachies and Front Range park and play wimps), I sat down upon a rock to eat some Kremling jerky, and check out my brah's lines. Elmer's been having a bad season, 15 swims, all class 3 and 4- he got #16 on the sneak line of all things and yard saled his boat and one of my many AT paddles. My boy took off after the boat with our rookie prodigy, Jeter, in tow. One guy broke his paddle and, and Jeter pulled out and went swimming blind toward Death Ferry. I flawlessly paddled the Death Ferry (no scout needed) and rounded the corner to find Jetter puking his guts out and playing with his nut sack, he was humming some 80's Howard Jones and seemed all together to be rather out of it. Had my boy suffered a concussion? As I pondered the brilliance of my own solo line, and the wave I had been forced to bypass above the Ferry, I couldn't but to smile, Chunderboy is getting it done, so what if Jeter was sitting there singin' " Whoa oh oh oh ah oh ha, thing can only get better...", I had dialed my line! After much puking and some peculiar nut fondling, Jeter came to and was ready to walk his sorry ass out of Cross. My boy with the broken paddle was there to lend moral and physical support to the hobbled Jetter on the two-mile walk out. As for myself, I was back on the river, basking in the glory of my radness, look out all you fine Biaches, Chunderboy was wave wheeling and donkey flipping his way to the take out. Ironically, what was waiting for the Chunderboy at the take out was not Vivid Contact Girl Kobe Tai, but some choad Ranger from Maybell with a mullet to beat the band. The guy looked like the bass player for 38 Special, and given his backwoods, Deliverance-esc accent, I wonder how the sorry bastard ever got his patches (no badge on this beer gutted piece of Moffat County trash). The guy had the nerve to act concerned about Jetter, it seems some redneck fisherman had called the police when Jeter's Medieval ( covered in sponsorhip stickers) came floating solo out of the canyon. He ran all our IDs and went on and on about some stupid jet boat, I noticed a tiny bulge starting to form in the crotch of his Wranglers as he discussed the way the jet boat can navigate the first 100 yards of the canyon. Unbeknownst to the Chunderboy Ranger #### had more on his mind than our groups welfare- my youngest brah, Darrell had an outstanding warrant for underage drinking- the Ranger was getting a stiffy thinkin' about having a young boy toy like Darrel all to himself in the Moffat Cty jail. At around 8 PM Jeter came out of the canyon and we all headed back to Steamboat. At about 8:30 PM we were pulled over outside the Brown Nugget Motel in Craig. Ranger #### was there, little bulge and all, he was foaming at the mouth like some demented rabid dog, he cuffed and stuffed Darrell, and after giving me a roadside sobriety check said it was OK for me to drive the truck to the ATM- to get the meager $300 this whole ordeal was about. 4 and half hours later, 1AM, Craigs finest had succeeded in filling out the necessary paperwork, and Darrell, thanks to my monetary affluence, was able to avoid the old broomstick up the crack routine. A dejected and blue-balled park ranger would have to go home to his doublewide and dream of what might have been. Final score- Brahs win, pigs lose. Maybe next time losers, have fun livin out there in Moffat and stoking your peckers- Chunderboy rules, you guys still suck-later biatch!