Angry Interns 5

So this is the way it goes-plowing through the junk drawer looking for something fun to bitch about. This month we’ve come across a few letters from the You Asked For It, Sucker files. Unlike the plight of the snotbags responsible for writing this magazine, things have been dull around here for the Angry Interns(tm). Send us something we can sink our fangs into. Mail it all to:
The Angry Interns(tm)
353 Airport Road,
Oceanside, CA 92054. Or type a note if your fingers still work, to

Cell-block Punk
I’d like to start off by saying you guys rule! TWS magazine has been my best friend for a couple of months now. Before I start sounding like a complete brown-nosing loser, let me tell you why. I’m currently sitting in jail. Your mag is the closest I can get to riding until I get out. Hence, it’s become my best friend. I live in Iowa, so local boarding sucks. This time, I’m not getting out of jail until May! I got another D.U.I., and to make things even worse, my parents gathered up my boards, boots, and bindings and sold them to get me a lawyer. I would have been happy with a court-appointed lawyer.
Mike McBee
InmateScott County Jail, Iowa

Imagine yourself out on the open slopes-slashing powder at nearby Tyrol Basin. Or free from those demeaning group showers. Imagine a night of sleep in your own bed, not that flea-bitten bunk, with your cell mate there, creeping you out. How about just walking along-no shackles, no lame uniform, just the world of freedom before you? These simple pleasures were all in your control-you blew it. Your parents are without fault here. They had every right to sell your gear-you screwed yourself, and now, in the eyes of future employers-you’re a convict. You should be worried about a lot more than when you’ll ride next. While you lay there counting the days until you’re no longer the cell-block punk, think back to the night you got tweaked and went for a spin. Dumb. Spare us your tiring scribbles and get your shit together.

Fade To Black
I’m a thirteen-year-old guy. I’ve been snowboarding for four years. This one weekend, a buddy and I were snowboarding in the backcountry, hitting a tabletop all day. My friend said I should try a 360 tailgrab (which I’ve never landed), so I did. I felt good in the air and thought I was going to land it-I thought wrong. My board slid out from under me, and my face hit a rock. For a minute, all I saw was black. I went to the doctor because I couldn’t move the right side of my face. It turned out I had fractured my skull. I stayed in the Intensive Care Unit overnight. I went back for a checkup and the doctor said I can’t snowboard, BMX, ride my quad, or even play basketball for four months-but I’ll be hitting the slopes soon.
Derek Craft
Placerville, California.

Yuck, a smashed face, that sucks. One day we went down the street to the burrito joint for lunch, on the way we saw a minor car accident. A gray car was pulling out from a stop sign, and another car smacked into it. They weren’t going too fast, but the guy riding shotgun in the gray car slapped his face off the windshield-no seatbelt. He staggered from the car covered with blood, and his bottom lip was nearly torn off. He should have worn the seatbelt-instead, facial hamburger. Like “burger boy”, most likely you could have prevented your injury. You rode the jump all day, yet didn’t notice any rocks in the landing? You only get one head, Derek, use it for thinking instead of trying to break rocks. Consider yourself lucky-this time.

Gone In Twenty Minutes
I’m pissed because I got ripped off. A few weeks ago my friends and I finally hit the mountains. We were riding the park for most of the day. We got a little hungry, so we parked our boards at the lodge and went in. We were in there for about twenty minutes and ready to ride again, but then we had a problem-my board wasn’t there. When I found a Ski Patrol dork, he told me that the person who stole my board was probably already gone. Then he sat down for a coffee.
Lanny Gilbertson
Alberta, Canada

An amateur move, Lanny. To a thief, unattended boards are just a scoop a way. Most Ski Patrol are like cops-never there when you need them, and always there when you duck a rope. Don’t rely on these guys until you need a sled ride. Your board is your friend-do you leave it outside the lodge? Hell no. Ignore the signs on the door and drag the thing inside. Whatever it takes, you can’t allow yourself to be the victim of these dirtbags who steal boards-protect your investment. Another way to avoid being preyed upon by these scoundrels is to spray-paint your board matte brown-no one will even look at it then.