Timmy’s First Quiksilver Tour

I ride for a company called Quiksilver, along with Reese Forbes, Jason Dill, and probably not you. Because we ride for Quiksilver, one day they called all our lives up to let us know we would be going on a tour royale through a few cities in America, as well as a city not in the America place. I put my project of inventing a new, futuristic cheese on hold for the time being so that I could bless this tour with my presence. A few days prior, I started to prep for this tour by purposely dislocating and breaking my wrist as part of an initiation to get into a gang. Breaking your wrist on purpose is a must if you want to be down with this crew, which goes by the name of the Rubber Robbie Gang. But enough of that¿that’s a whole article in itself. Anyway, I’ve been on enough tours in my time to know that most are a slice of purgatory on Earth, but this one, my friend, was quite the opposite: Timmy likey this one and wouldn’t mind living on one of these tours for the rest of his time on this planet. This is due to the rockstar-type treatment “The I” was receiving. Merci, Quiksilver.

Within the first quadrant on the North American continent that I went to on this tour was a nice, full-of-hot-women city called Montreal. I was the first on the scene and had to wait patiently for the other Quiksilverians to meet at our rendezvous. I entertained my brain with some easy reading on the subject of quantum physics in Latin. In between chapters, I would observe my surroundings for a few moments, during which I gathered the knowledge that Montreal women are better looking than better looking. Once again, Timmy likey. Not too long after I finished my book, everyone showed up: Reese Forbes (fellow professional trick performer), Mark Oblow (the team manager who’s all excited about life), Taylor “Something-anand” (the guy who calls people “Boss,” drinks stuff, and skates like he’s still surfing), Tom Holbrook (an important guy at Quiksilver, who’s also called “Holby” if you’re cool with him¿if you’re not and you call him that, he’ll rip your heart from your chest), lil’ Tommy Holbrook (the important guy’s surfing and skating offspring), Chris Ortiz (a smiley photographer with an “I will kill you”-type tattoo on his back), and Bill B. (another Quiksilver guy with a hip haircut). Dill was supposed to be there too, but he was stuck in Europe¿they wouldn’t let him leave because they didn’t believe he wasn’t Richard Simmons, so he didn’t show up until the next city. Everyone was plumb tuckered out when they arrived and all decided to hit the high-quality hay that Quiksilver provided.

The following morning, I was served breakfast in bed by a gorgeous topless maid¿that’s just how Quiksilver tours are run, I guess. Merci, Quiksilver. After breakfast, I was whisked away via golden chariot to my and Reese’s first demo of the tour. We were taken to a nice little cement park I didn’t know the name of where Reese and I ollied over a bike rack for three minutes. Then we left.

Next stop was a skate shop in downtown Montreal called Underworld, where we met up with Alex the owner. He took us to a nearby skatepark called Tazmahal. They wanted us to wear helmets, but Reese refuted this demand by claiming his hair had sensors much like a cat’s whiskers, and by covering them, he’d no longer be able to walk, let alone skate. They let the big blonde guy have his way, and then we skated for a little bitty.

Our next mission after the skatepark was to mingle with the local folk of Montreal in the night hours at a place called the Shed Cafe. All the females at this joint were what they call “most bonerific,” especially the bartenders and waitresses. The drinks were flowing, and things were getting crazy. I was in awe of one bartender’s beauty, so everyone in our entourage urged me to hop over the bar and get a flick with her¿she wanted me to do it, too. I got up on top of the bar and was on my way to terra firma on the other se when something went wrong. During my hop, the bar decided to collapse under my feet, causing me to bust a full gainer, but somehow I still landed right side up with a lemon mysteriously lodged in my navel region. I got the photo and quickly got out of there in order to avoid helping the hot bartender clean up my mess.

Later that same evening, I was doing some chilling with my main man Mark Oblow. We were talking about cool stuff when a female, out of nowhere, interrupted and asked me if I was Brad Pitt. I said, “No, he’s my brother.”

The girl looked somewhat familiar, so I asked her if we knew each other. She said “No,” but we continued to talk anyway. I stated that I was a hunky, famous professional skateboarder, and I was in Montreal on a tour. She told me she was Julie from the New Orleans Real World, and she was in Montreal for a Real World Road Rules tour. I followed up that sentence with, “Then where the hell are all the cameras that are supposed to be filming your life?” As soon as the last word spilled from my mouth, spotlights and cameras were on me from every direction, filming Julie and trying to pick up my hot life. After a brief conversation with Julie from the Real World, she informed me she had to be going because she had to wrestle some alligators or something to earn MTV money for food and tampons. I signed some waivers for the show, she gave me her number, and that was that.

Once she was out the way, my new mission was to get to know the hostess on a more personal level. She was the finest female specimen I have ever met in my whole life, and if anybody out there goes to the Shed Cafe, do me a favor: find hostess Ellie and let her know The Tim O’Connor will take her away from that job thing and bless her with my beautiful companionship. Also, tell her I will be back for her soon, even though we only said about three words to each other. I got the feeling she wanted to say maybe four words to me, and I don’t want to leave her hanging.

Another morning happened the nexy day, and we were scheduled to go to Detroit. Reese awoke suffering from the infamous Canadian chicken flu and was looking harsher than ever. He put on a camouflage jacket and declared war on the virus. He planned to have it conquered by the time our flight landed in Detroit, but he lost the war, so instead he had to receive a shot in his heinie from the pediatrician to stop the illness. Reese was down, and Dill arrived just in time to accompany me to our next demo. This was one of the sweatiest demos I’ve ever experienced, and due to all the perspiration, the papier-mâché cast on my wrist was getting all soggy and malleable. After the demo, Mark Oblow (team manager of the year) helped me out by making me a new cast. It was nice and strong but weighed a lot more, and made me walk in circles if I didn’t focus on walking straight.

Once again, a demo was to go down the next day at Airborne Skatepark, just outside Detroit. We met up with the Birdman here for one of the ESPN Hawk Tour demos, and it was more like a rock concert than a skateboard demo. Because Dill is our fake rock star (being that he looks like a rock star but can’t play any instruments and ain’t in a band), he was able to hang with the heavy hitters, and proceeded to throw down House of Kasai 360 aerials over the park’s snowboard jump. His curly-ass head was about twenty feet in the air¿this was quite simply the greatest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Other stuff happened at this demo, too, like mugs jumping out of warehouse rafters into ramps and breaking themselves. But I was still all about Dill’s magical 360 without sleeves on his shirt, and that remained the highlight of my day. Exquisite maneuver, Jason¿absolutey fantabulous.

Somehow, when the sun came up again the next day, we ended up in Chicago¿I think we flew there. We signed some stuff for a hot minute at a shop, and that was about it. We were there for a short time, but I was impressed by the city’s clean sidewalks, and I got to sleep in a hotel with a bed so comfortable that I dreamt I was in heaven, sleeping on a cloud of love. When I woke up, I was driven to Milwaukee to sign some more stuff at a local shop where Julie from the Real World’s best friend Joy worked. “What a coincidence,” I thought. Then we drove back to Chicago, and I flew home.

That basically sums up the whole tour, but I did leave out a good part about this guy Pete’s meat planets (he called them burgers) with bricks of Velveeta smothering everyone’s life. Chris Ortiz ate two, and that’s basically impossible. There’s no room for that here, so just ask me about it if you see me in real life. Also, I don’t like to thank people normally, but my ways have been broken by the caring support of the people on this tour. So I would now like to extend my love to the people of Quiksilver and their corporate credit card. Peace, honkaloids.

was impressed by the city’s clean sidewalks, and I got to sleep in a hotel with a bed so comfortable that I dreamt I was in heaven, sleeping on a cloud of love. When I woke up, I was driven to Milwaukee to sign some more stuff at a local shop where Julie from the Real World’s best friend Joy worked. “What a coincidence,” I thought. Then we drove back to Chicago, and I flew home.

That basically sums up the whole tour, but I did leave out a good part about this guy Pete’s meat planets (he called them burgers) with bricks of Velveeta smothering everyone’s life. Chris Ortiz ate two, and that’s basically impossible. There’s no room for that here, so just ask me about it if you see me in real life. Also, I don’t like to thank people normally, but my ways have been broken by the caring support of the people on this tour. So I would now like to extend my love to the people of Quiksilver and their corporate credit card. Peace, honkaloids.