Angry Interns 14.7

Man, the last six Angry Interns_ we’ve done have sucked. We only get like ten new letters each month, and half of those are irrelevant or unreadable, so, we end up throwing them in the trash. That’s why we’re so bitter. And then the other day something wonderful happened. A giant box arrived from UPS. Since everyone else in the office was out to lunch or farting around, we signed for the package and opened it up. Inside was a dope outfit from 686 and some goggles and sunglasses from Anarchy. We were like, “Damn,” so we put on the shiz and started hopping around the office. We thought a little bit of sunshine had finally fallen on our cubicles.

But then the head of advertising came over and started yelling at us. “What are you guys doing wearing that stuff? It’s for the editorial staff who actually write stuff worth reading in the magazine, not you incompetent idiots.” We almost cried as we took off the gear. Then when the dude from advertising left, we plotted vengeance against all those lazy editors. We took the empty box outside and filled it with horse poo from the stables behind the office, then sealed it back up and set it on the bald editor’s desk. And because we couldn’t be seen sporting the gear from 686 and Anarchy, we packaged it up in a box and sent it to the Angry Peacekeeper in Kosovo who stands for everything we feel is good about the old days of snowboarding. Sure, it would’ve been cool to rock that gear, but knowing we stole something that belonged to people who get everything handed to them makes us feel a hell of a lot better.

Is That A Hand Grenade In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Happy To See Us?
I’ve been snowboarding for twelve years, and I still really suck, mainly due to a shitload of time spent in jail as a juvenile. Still, I should snowboard better than I do. I want to know whatever happened to all the old-school assholes and drunks who used to tear it up back in the day. All I read about is Mormons and Christians ruling the board scene and all these so-called nice guys. I don’t care that you quit boarding to go on a mission. Is God helping you snowboard? Well, he doesn’t help me, ’cause every time I pray to him to help me stick a rodeo, I land on my f-king head. It’s good you found God and all, but I don’t want to read about it-I want to read about snowboarding. If God helped you land that trick, then I want to hear about it. I do believe in God, I just don’t believe I’m in his graces. On a similar note, whatever happened to boarding, bitches, blunts, and beers? Are we out of style now? I liked the late 80s and early 90s when you were looked at like a piece of shit just for riding. Ski resorts like Vail were prejudiced and would yank your ticket for any sort of deviant act, and the ski patrol would be left wondering why their windows got busted out. But that was then and this is now-it sucks! Maybe I’ll mount up my old-school Burton Elite, grab a battle-ax, go to the nearest ski resort when I get out of this hellhole, and go to war against the teeny-bopper, helmet-clad, shiny happy snowboarder. What I’m really trying to say is, what the hell happened? Have all men lost their testicles or do they just think they won’t get away with being assholes anymore? I wish I could still get away with the crazy stuff I used to, but I can’t get away with nothing ’cause I’m a PFC in the U.S. Infantry and I’m reading your magazine on a bullshit peace-keeping mission in Kosovo. At least I have the marbles to stand up in the face of kindness and fluffiness and say f-k you! I will not wear a helmet. I will beat up a pro rider. And I will not kiss anyone’s ass. If any of my superiors read this, my ass is grass, but f-k it. Oh, by the way, I can hit a person or a target with an M16 from 400 meters away. Ha, ha, ha.
Seth “The Angry Peacekeeper” D.
If there were more people like you in the world, it would be a better place. Since you’re busting your ass preserving the peace, we figured you deseed the outfit from 686 and the goggles from Anarchy more than anyone else. We’re not about to send it to you in Kosovo ’cause some commie bastards will probably steal it, so you’re gonna have to contact us and give us your home address.
P.S. Watch out for snipers!

How To Tax Snow
I love you, snow. You’re so white and fluffy and fun to be with. You never complain when I step on you or squish you in a ball to throw at passing cars. You don’t even seem to mind when I ride my snowboard over the top of you. Not like my girlfriend. She hates it when I do that. You understand me, snow, like no one else does. You take me places I never dreamed I could go. When I huck myself off giant kickers, you’re always there to cushion my fall. You always look out for me, and I love you deeply for that. I just don’t like it when you go up my shirt and especially when you go down my pants. I’m just not ready for that. I want to wait until it’s perfect. It has to be special. I do love you, though, snow. I love it when you cover up hazards on the mountain, making it safe for me to ride down the hill-except for that time you covered that big rock so I couldn’t see it. You made it look like a jump. It wasn’t a jump, snow. You tricked me. It hurt. And then there was that time when you didn’t cover that stump enough when I was flying through the trees and I hit it. You made me wreck my snowboard-you bastard. And why do you come and go all the time. You just leave without even saying goodbye, only to come back seven months later like nothing even happened. Why do you toy with me, snow? I loved you, now I hate you. I used to love to hold you and caress you and love you. Now I want to ride all over you and give you a thrashing like no one has ever thrashed you before. You will pay for your evil deeds, snow. I’ll be waiting.
Wade Reves
Fort Saskatchewan AB, Canada
We may be getting all Freudian on your ass when we say this, but damn, Wade, you got some repressed sexual issues you need to deal with. You should probably go see a shrink. If you don’t want to follow our advice to seek counseling, at least make sure you wear a glove when you’re “thrashing the snow.” Otherwise you might get frostbite on your doinklet.

Death To Dummies
I’ve only been reading your magazine for a short time, and the first thing I flip to when I get a new TransWorld is the Angry Interns_. Now forgive me if this issue was addressed a long time ago, but why and what on God’s green earth would cause you people to be so bitter? If you people aren’t careful, you’ll all become old farts who need regular enemas ’cause your buttholes shrunk too tight when you were young. If your jobs suck that bad why don’t you just get up and quit? All I can figure is you’re either putting on this hilarious front for the mere amusement of TransWorld readers or you all are just really, really stupid. Granted, some people have the audacity to write in with the most generic stupid comments just so they have a chance of getting published in your mag. Sure, at times it’s made for an amusing spectacle, but what about the groms who really just want some help and instead they receive a serious tongue-lashing from you guys? Have a little compassion or maybe run some sort of warning as to why you’re so bitter at the world, and maybe detour some of the moronic letters you receive.
Confused in Colorado
All this talk about buttholes and tongue-lashings has got us kind of creeped out. Maybe you’re really not confused about us Interns_ at all. Maybe you’re some weirdo who’s hiding out in the mountains of Colorado with no teeth in your mouth, forced to eat soft things like wild mushrooms and bunny-rabbit guts. Or maybe you’re some straight-A student who just can’t comprehend why the Angry Interns are so damn fresh. No matter which way the ball bounces-you’re still a dummy.

Submissions to the Angry Interns_ can and most often are edited for clarity or sense. If you’ve got a problem with this, don’t bother sending anything to the Angry Interns_ at 353 Airport Road Oceanside, California 92054 or e-mailing to with this, don’t bother sending anything to the Angry Interns_ at 353 Airport Road Oceanside, California 92054 or e-mailing to