Mutating Skate Viruses Destroying Fragile Ecosystems Case Study: Lausanne, SwitzerlandA thesis by The Disgruntled Fonziee
I am The Disgruntled Fonzie, and these are my last words. During this life cycle I’ve learned the best way to see a country is on a skateboard, the best way to lure Swiss girls into your hotel room is to promise them free pairs of shoes, and the best way to crack your ribs is to drink absinthe and bomb hills. But my current thesis is explaining to you exactly what occurred in the town of Lausanne, Switzerland when it was infected with the dreaded skateboard virus.
In most cases, when you introduce foreign elements into a fragile ecosystem a harsh environmental transition occurs. This harsh transition can be anything from frog mosh pits that copulate with unwilling wombats or herds of skateboarders that wreak havoc on an unprepared populace. I witnessed the latter, all while eating overpriced cheese sandwiches and drinking bubbly water.
Now, when I say that I’m the Disgruntled Fonzie you might ask yourself, “who the f¿k is the Disgruntled Fonzie?” You’ve never heard of me because I am the cyborg of four and three-fourths identities when sober, six and seven-eighths when executing bionic tilt mode. By the way, absinthe is illegal in the United States, and I’ll soon explain how I earned my disgruntled prefix.
At first glance, skateboarders appear to be a somewhat nocturnal species. They sleep until about twelve in the afternoon, and upon waking up they usually take a nap. I wanted to document their nightly activities, but I was told I would receive a beatdown if names made it into print. To overcome this obstacle, I punctured everyone’s epidermis with my tranquilizer gun, snapped metal tracking tags to their ears, and then spied on their nightly migration with my infrared goggles.
SUBJECT M32 Got faded, jacked the nearest scooter, put it neutral, and coasted all the way down the hills and wound up in a jail cell.
SUBJECT S12 Scared the local population by raiding the bread deliveries, charging beers to the scooter jacker’s room, and who knows what else.
SUBJECT B22 Lurked on all the local honeys who just can’t resist the Hotlanta fade and almost had to fight Conan The Bartender.
SUBJECT R45 Decided to battle a rogue squadron of about twenty Swiss thugs. Luckily his friends threw him in a passing car for a quick escape.
SUBJECT T12 Every night he would roll up to the party with a new batch of at least three local trolls he claimed were girls.
SUBJECT C34 Always remembered to put on his Sideshow Bob wig.
SUBJECT A73 Had a very expensive penthouse suite but preferred to spend nights passed out in bushes by the lake.
SUBJECT H67 Somehow got head-butted by a midget.
This type of behavior went down every night like clockwork. After three nights of mischief and mayhem I put on my two and three-fifths identity as a photographer and began documenting the contest with my F5 soul snatcher. The first thing that caught my attention was the exquisite design of the course and the pretty baby-blue color. This was actually a nice change from the standard poo-poo brown plywood Lego blocks. The skateboarders were very pleased, and their spirits were elevated into various trick rituals.
I began blazing light beams and uploaded a new vocabulary protocol that made me say, “Damn! The Americans are getting they’re asses straight jacked, yo.” Canadian ninja Rick McCrank began buttering the gap to ledge with repeated 180s to switch crooks. McRicky was also bustin’ out frontside 270 ollies to lipslide that would make any THPS player be a playa hata.
Then there were the Brazilians¿those kids are like a traveling skate cartel. Rodrigo TX blasted switch 180 kickflips down the stairs and Carlos De Andrade taxed the tranny with some mega–pop 360 flicks. But the name you need to remember is Fabrizio Santos! This kid gets tech, skates fast, and has some crazy-ass dread/braided hair steez. It’s like watching a mini version of the Predator skate around wreckin’ poor defenseless obstacles. His frontside 270 kickflips over the hip were bangin’, I mean tight, I mean straight dope.
As I continued stuffing souls in the F5 container and blinding people with my gamma rays, a strange sound crawled into my ear hole. It completely shorted out my vocabulary program and reminded me of my CIA days when we recorded the sounds of dolphins on crack. Those sounds are now used as psychological-warfare decibels and are played during contained-hostage negotiations. Anyhow, the screaming dolphin-on-crack sound was actually Dustin Dollin. The Aussie spawn had a long rip in the arse area of his pants that gave him superpowers as he bluntslid and kickflip boardslid the rail. Some rumors spread about a possible battle between Dustin and the Brazilians over a scratched car, but no fisticuffs occurred, and everything was gravy. Gravy? Note to self¿get vocab protocol reconfigured.
When I started to doubt the American’s skate skills, Eric Koston showed up to demonstrate how the U.S.A. wrecks shop. Every time he rolled up to gap to ledge, he did 180 flip to switch manuals like they were nothing. He made my American-manufactured data processor very proud, but Chris Senn made my organic reflexes jump the f¿k out of the way as he rocketed by with Mach five feebles. When the results came back, everyone was still skating the course having fun, and I committed the results to my 100 gigabyte hardbrain.
Street 1. Rick McCrank2. Carlos De Andrade3. Fabrizio Santos4. Eric Koston5. Chris Senn
Vert1. Pierre Luc Gagnon2. Sandria Dia3. Max Dufour4. Max Schaff5. Buster Halterman
Conclusion: I left the town of Lausanne having witnessed the skateboarding virus mutate another microcosm into a temporary sea of chaos and comedy. I felt this would be a great topic of study for my next thesis at TWS University. Upon my return, I instantly transformed my stolen souls into slide form and turned them into Professor Grizza. As the thesis deadline approached, I discovered that all my stolen souls in slide format had somehow been misplaced. Perhaps they were stolen by rival cyborg syndicates, we may never know. At any rate, my synthetic emotions program shorted out and created my “Disgruntled” prefix.
Unfortunately, this short circuit has also adversely affected my productivity, and I’ve been assigned to be recycled. The next time you hear from me it probably won’t be in a dialogue format. It’s more likely that I will be the blender blade that chops up your smoothie or a button that activates your PlayStation. The Fonzie will continue to shine, just not as bright. I am The Disgruntled Fonzie, and these are my last words.