Https://twitter.com/RustedAloha

The Death of Body Surfing

I just came across a comment about Body Surfing that I had never really taken into account before...

“The surf leash broke up surfing and bodysurfing, which up to that point had been united since the beginning — wipeout, lose board, bodysurf, repeat…” — Matt Warshaw

As I think about it, this is totally, freakin’ true… The leash did squeezed the life out of bodysurfing! Read More - Da Bob - Medium

Grandkids Are A Pain In My Bare Ass!

by Rusty Folks, it’s no secret that I am old enough to be a Grandparent… Yes! Rusty is the coolest Grandpa ever, to two of the most sticky sweet sand munchkins ever born into this salty world.

I love them so much, my heart literally aches - but I have doctor prescribed meds for that. To say I am a proud grandparent is an understatement. I am swollen with pride - but I have joint medication for that too.

I love these two Groms so much, that I overlook almost every mistake their clueless parents continue to make! Mistakes that continue to happen at the encouragement of my two ex-wives and current domineering spouse… aka, Da Tres Nanas… who endlessly and needlessly spoil these Little Tikes with my hard earned dinero - that is, alimony and cash (stolen, directly from my wallet).

 Yes, my love for these two Rug Rats is endless, but practical and sound. I would do anything for them, but I am also under no illusions as to how they fit into my life, my world… my rusted reality:

 They are cute… Bed wetters
 Cuddly… Playground monsters Gummy Bear eating… Nose pickers
 SpongeBob watching… TV hogs
 Go-GURT slurping… Droolers

Complete and total… Money sucking cry babes!

That I love.

But here is the biggest problem I have with this pair of Monkey Butts. Whenever they are dropped off at my casa, which is often, Da Tres Nanas have forbidden me to partake in any herbal activities… Which, I kind of understand. But, here’s the kicker folks, they have mandated that I must remain fully clothed around my precious Keiki.
 This is not what Grandpa Rusty signed up for! This was never part of the deal when I allowed my offspring to birth their own Water Bugs!

 As to the weed part of this deal. Again, I am in ‘almost’ 100% agreement that while watching two drunk toddlers, it is probably a good idea to have a clear, smoke free, mind. But having to do so fully clothed is just cruel. I spend everyday, outside of my house, conforming to society’s cotton blend rules. But I’ll be dammed if society is going to make me fashion conscious in front of my TV.

The truth is, outside of my house I mostly wear board shorts, sandals and t-shirts; an occasional aloha shirt. Yet, the moment I come home, the sandals are tossed aside, shirt ripped off… and board shorts become completely optional.

Now, as an audience member reading this, I suppose most of you are thinking, “Rusty, this is too much information. Old dudes like you, should keep their chonies on.” Wrong… I have spent of my life taking care of and pleasing other people - my parents, friends, employers, business partners, offspring, three freaking wives! - I deserve to be the king of my castle; and if I so choose, walk the halls of my suburban fortress in the buff! Even if the Grandpups are hanging around!

But Nooooo! Da “Evil” Nanas, have conspired against me; even organizing a military duty roster that ensures full 24 hour coverage of myself, at home, by at least one of these Fashionista Grannies. The three of them have sworn to my “ultra conservative” offspring to jump me with a full-length rob if any Little Boogers attempts to sneak attack my bare ass.

The truth be told, I can’t beat the Tres Nanas.

There is simply no beating the them… clothed and herb-less I shall remain around these tiny people… but rich in heart and bless in spirit they will make me.

 Now, where’s my stash, I need to burn-one-down before these little dudes show up. And, oh, I guess the Full Monty needs some camouflage!

Patiently… Dealing With Life’s Kooks

by Rusty

There is a Zen thing all true surfers seem to tap into at some point during their salty existence. This happens when the impatience of youth surrenders to the power of Mother Nature. When a true surfer recognizes and accepts the swells, tides, waxing & waning moons… This centered place of Zen can only be learned over time; time spent searching for the right position to catch watery ripples of energy, seconds of time spent joyfully sliding, trimming and riding that amazing energy. The more time us flawed humans spend diving into the ocean, the more we discover how small we really are, in this big and crazy world. For the open minded, this all translates into the graceful gift of patience.

So, how come the older I get, the more impatient I grow everywhere else in my life?

I have no patience for my neighbors… Please mow your lawns and take down last year’s Christmas lights!

No patience for all you kooks on my freeway!

No patience for people who walk around while staring at their cellphones!

I have not patience for anything Bluetooth!!!

No patience for my expensive “High-Speed” internet! Freaking load already!

No patience for the gum-chewing blonde pharmacy assistant, who always forgets to refill my life-depending meds!.

No patience for $4.50 Grande Lattes! Hey kid, all I want is a black cup of coffee... To go!

No patience for airport security… How many TSA kooks does it take to waive a magnetic wand around my junk?

No patience for the “New Math” my grandkids don’t understand!

No patience for 909ers who show up at San O’s during a good swell and create a never ending line just to get down the hill… Pick up your trash & go home!

Oh shit… where’s my Xanax? I need to go surfing and get my thumping blood pressure under control.

Aloha Kooks!!!

This is dedicated to all you 909er’s (951, 657, 760…) You know exactly who you are! Surf Punks - My Beach

Shark Week Becomes Squalene Chum

We are only a few days away from one of the most loathsome weeks for surfers. A week of nightly TV that most of us salty, nasal drippers do everything to avoid. It happens every summer, that one week where the fun vibe in the lineup gets a bit frosty and sketchy; where freaky thoughts about oversized fish with multiple rows of sharp teeth swim through our collective domes.

It’s Shark Week on Discovery Channel. Oh, how I love this freakin’ week… Read More - Da Bob - YEW

Self Quarantine / Social Distancing

Everybody talking about... #SelfQuarantine??? #SocialDistancing??? What's the big deal? The wife and I have been quarantined from one another since she discovered @Amazonand I found @Pornhub!

Snag this Summer’s Limited Edition Merch... Gone Forever after 30 Sept!!! Look your best all winter long... Rusted Aloha! Stoked~Till~Death

Chummy Uncle Hobart

My family’s deadly history with sharks goes way back to this photo taken in 1916. That’s my Great Uncle Hobart, whom I sadly never got a chance to meet. My Grandfather claimed that Hobart was the chummiest, best looking waterman of his generation. A turn of the century bronze god, but cursed with a vain vanity and thirst for fame! He tragically died after this photo was taken - as these fossilized jaws accidentally snapped shut, cutting him into two bloody pieces. 

Please show Uncle Hobart some love and visit Rusted Aloha’s store... linked in my bio… Ohhhh Uncle Hobart… You are forever missed. Love, Rusty!

Poor Little Willy

by Rusty The other day I experienced a premature stick - usage - problem… Needless to say, this moment left me shocked and embarrassed; feeling like a fumbling grom, who just discovered Alana Blanchard’s cheeky bottom turn.

Yes, in my rush to surf a fresh swell, I allowed my fragile Freudian ego to get the best of me. Anticipating a pumping swell, my salty libido chose to ride a sexy mid-length 7’7”. How quickly did that lyin’ libido let me down! By shrinking all my shreddable powers in front of a full line-up of long-time partners and friends. Scaring my legendary status forever!

The sad truth is, I whipped out and tried to ride a stick the was clearly too small for my advanced age in conditions that were beyond sucky. I fell victim to my own super-ego, believing that I was still a young ripper ready to “Schralp the gnar gnar.”

Well, my gnar gnar did little schralping that morning as I blew my surf load way too early - in high tide - shitty San O’s. Afterwards I felt humiliated, dejected, less of man, bruised and battered. My ego vowed to rack that mid stick forever.


The following morning, I awoke to a pulsing swell and chose to ride my 9’0” log. That solid single fin worked well, but a few buddies of mine keep asking me why I was riding such a big board in above average surf; all of them knowing my proclivity for shredding perky peaks.

In between sets, I lamented about my previous day’s poor performance to a much more seasoned, sage surfer whom I have always looked up to. He listen to me while floating on his board outside the line-up taking in every debasing detail of my humiliating experience. After reliving the horror, he simply chuckled, paddled away and yelled,  “Rusty, don’t worry! My doc has some great drugs that will fix your little willy.”

The Rusted Wives Club

by Rusty

About every 3 months or so, I undergo a Cardiac Stress Test. It is not by any means a pleasurable medical experience and normally leads me to examine many of my life's questionable decisions. But none the less, this medical inquiry offers my loved ones a measured sense of reassurance that my old, rusted butt is going to keep paddling around this watery planet… just a little bit longer.

The seriousness of this medical procedure really should not be understated. To ensure that my heart - and head - are in the right place before I undergo this test, my wife encourages me to find my “Happy Place” by hanging out at the beach and surfing with the boys. She understands that a good morning in the surf helps relax me, calms me down, puts me into that zen type place, “that only a surfer knows.”

It took me three wives to find the right lady, but #3 totally gets me.

With my toes freshly sanded and hair still salty, I am ready to have all the wires and electrodes attached to my wrinkled body… I have to say, it sucks getting old. With each year the probing and prodding of my anatomy gets deeper and deeper, sometimes reaching soul piercing depths.

So this is how the test normally starts; again, this happens about once every three months... I come home from a sunny surf session and find all three of My wives, in My living room, sipping several bottles of My wine… 2 Former Wives + 1 Current Wife = Spousal Overload... Instant Heart Attack or what my doctor has diagnosed as a Cardiac Stress Test!

If I was actually hooked up to an EKG machine, at that shocking moment, it would fucking blow up!

These “Tres Señoras de Rusty” love to do this to me; they love to see the horror on my face, the fear in my eyes, the sweat build up on my upper lip. They love to redline Rusty’s old ticker!

Once the initial shock wears off, after I gulp down a glass of wine, the inevitable questions of my actual health come up. Because folks, here’s the bottom, without me, this “Rusted Wives Club” would have no financing!

This medical farce is actually a quarterly business meeting, called to order by the three owners’ of “Rusted Beauties.” Each quarter’s agenda consists of only one bullet point and that is simply my health; or rather their complex, non-medical assessment of my well-being and how that could affect their lavish purses. For the three of them, it is a fun afternoon of risk management done over a few bottles of wine. For me, it’s the fuel that will ensure that I outlive them all!

Aloha.

Doctor My Eyes - Jackson Browne Doctor, my eyes Tell me what is wrong Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

Burnett’s Cocoaine Hair Oil

Besides my daily saltwater dip, this is the only hair product I use… Good old Joseph Burnett’s Cocoaine Hair Oil! Now don’t get all preachy on me and say, but Rusty “Just say no to dope” or “Ugh to drugs”. I am not dousing my grayish locks with Amazonian March Dust… Nope, the “Coco” is just coco-nut oil. It’s Rusty approved!!! Conditions the hair I have left, smells great and keeps the ladies sniffing around. #StokedTillDeath