Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to introduce a very special guest. Please welcome, Sanuk teamrider and New Jersey’s own, Brendan Buckley.
Born a man, but raised by a small pack of rabid wolves, Brendan isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. It’s no secret most surfers possess a pretty minuscule vocabulary (i.e. dude, bro, gnarly). No offense, Spicoli- but nowadays, finding a shredder armed with the ability to draft a coherent sentence is harder than it seems. Good thing Mr. Buckley isn’t just another pretty cutback.
Call us crazy, but we’ve decided to give him a spot as a guest contributor to the Sanuk Blog… Fair warning, folks. The following words are from the Jersey-ian, himself.
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MTV Chopped Down my Cherry Tree— An exposé written by Saunk Teamrider Brendan Buckley.
Regardless of what those ghost hunter TV shows lead you to believe, a conscience is the worst possible thing to be haunted. When your conscience is haunted, your brilliant world dulls. When your conscience is haunted, nothing matters as much as it should. When your conscience is haunted, Aunt Jemimah could whip you up a tall stack of pancakes, and you would hardly even enjoy them. Now let me tell you something, ghost hunters- there ain’t no door slamming floor creaking poltergeist capable of sabotaging fluffy buttermilk goodness made by the esteemed hand of the queen of breakfast herself.
My conscience is haunted. And when I say “my”, I mean New Jersey’s. My home state hasn’t really had the best reputation in popular culture. I recall being young and being told that New Jersey is the armpit of America. Rude! That state slandering bully must have come from the (possibly tribal tattooed) biceps of America.
Facing adversity in the form of verbally abrasive bodily comparisons, my state stood strong. Proud even. Armpit? Whatever. At least we’re not the grundle (That means you, Nebraska). So as the armpit, we drafted on in the glowing allure and splendor and grandeur of New York City. And as the armpit, we coasted along in all of the many great things that Philadelphia has to offer. Sure, we may not be NYC or Philly, but at least we’re close. So we stood strong, proud, strange, and mostly insignificant, like a Minor League baseball pitcher with an compulsive obsession for canned corn beef hash.
Speaking of compulsive obsessions with canned corn beef hash, then SHE came along. Yes… Snooki. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Unfortunately, you know her. Obama knows her. I know her. And I hurt. I hurt because I am from the Jersey Shore. I hurt because the cast of “Jersey Shore” basically did to the Jersey Shore what Borat did to Kazakhstan. If you think about it, the colors of incest and general cultural inanities that Borat uses to paint us the picture of Kazakhstan basically parallel the behavioral patterns displayed on the Jersey Shore. Move over, Nebraska.
The Internet has no rules. Hence, I hereby declare myself King of the Internet. And as my first order as King of the Internet, I appoint myself as the Official Spokesperson of New Jersey. I quote.
From the desk of the Official Spokesperson of New Jersey:
“Please do not judge the coastline of New Jersey by the heathens whose television show bear it’s common name. I assure you that New Jersey is a beautiful country, and that the real humans from there are nothing like the ones on the show. Furthermore, it can be assumed that Snooki’s nether regions smell like a Polish meat locker and that Paully D is, in fact, fantastically insecure and that he sobs himself to sleep most every night.”
I had to get that one off my chest. Now that you know the truth about my country, you can book a trip to Kazakhstan and stop in New Jersey along the way. If you cross paths with Aunt Jemimah during your travels, please ask her to get in touch with me. Please.
Sincerely,
Brendan Buckley
King of the Internet
Official Spokesperson of New Jersey
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“I-Survived-this-Post-and-all-I-got-was-this-stupid-shirt” Shirts coming soon.
For more Buckley-ness: www.embracethegoose.com
