# CHUNDERBOY-12 YRS, seems like a year ago



## Gary E (Oct 27, 2003)

*chunder part 2*

Chunderboy Puts An End To Viscous Rumors

Hey brahs, what's up? Don't believe these lies- the Chunderboy does not live, and will never live on the Front Range. I don't blame Hobie for wanting me out- I've been killin' it out here for years, showin' up his crew- keeping the Steamboat scene heads and above that weak ass I 70 bullshait- Sorry Hobie but these are the facts. As for my brah Gary E, my only guess is that my old friend is still steaming over some derogatory comments I made a few weeks back concerning Highlands Ranch-or maybe he's angry at how I showed him up at USB last week-Chunderboy styled the LZ- sorry Gar for whatever your gripe might be, but player hating...come on brah, your above that low grade childish bullshait. Will the Chunderboy spend his winter skiing in the Yampa Valley? - Of course not- while Steamboat terrain may present a challenge to some douche bag from Texas the Chunderboy can ski the Shadows blindfolded on LSD. I ski like I boat- it's all about the gnarl! I have long been considered one of Squaw's biggest bad asses and am a big hit with the sluts down at the Spice House in Reno. This year, however, the Chunderboy is thinking of callin' Cham home- My high school chum Vin Diesel has a ski in ski out time-share out there and says Jeter, Darrell, Elmer and I can couch surf all winter. Euro trash will have a new enemy, and all you Front Range turds can rest easy for a few months, but don't get too comfortable, I'll be back for Escalante in April. Just to sum things up- Chunderboy is livin' the life you Front Range bastards dream about, so keep on dreamin' losers! I will never live below 6,000 feet, and I will never join your mainstream 9-5 sorry ass excuse of a life! I will come down there from time to time to run Eldo or shag some college tail-Who knows, I may even pay your wife a visit while your pluggin' away in some cubical down in Big D. See all you dorks at the Gore race and try to keep these kind of petty disputes off this forum-Can't we all just get along? Later biatches!

Chunderboy Sticking it to a True Loser

Ddudds- You ain't worth the time or the effort- you third-rate piece of crap! So you got yourself a second home in the Yampa Valley- big whoop you dumb prick- Better watch your back you silly lil' biatch, and the fact that you are ignorant of the Chunder-posse only goes to show what a true loser you are! Stay at home in the Front Range where your sorry ass belongs-Don't waste my time with your stupid comments, and oh yeh, tell your lil' sister that Jeter and myself appreciated her hospitality-Later nerd, I'd see ya at the Gore race, but something tells me Gore is a little bit above your ability level- Don't hate the player brah, hate the game!

Chunderboy Defending the Dignity of the Disable

Gapers my brah, that is low down. I think you should ask yourself why it is you are such an angry young man. Making fun of the disabled, come on brah, even Chunderboy knows when to draw the line. Let's try to keep things on the up and up and leave the retards out of our battles. That kid has more heart than you or I can even imagine- I would welcome that retarded bad ass on the Chunder-posse with open arms -You, Gaper, are a stone cold loser, a first class turd - Retards rule, you suck - Word to ya mother!

Chunderboy Runs Gore on Drugs - and Brags About It

Nice depiction of the run brah! Low and behold you have met the real Chunder-posse, strap your Front Range ass in a halo for 3 months with a broken C1 and we will see if you run Gore 14 months after the injury. Gore has way more consequence than Tunnel- that's an obvious fact. I will have you know that Chunderboy (prior to his accident) always ran the meat at Gore, and never would the Chunderboy bring a creek boat his backyard run. You guys got her done in there- and it was nice to see your one brah heed my advice and run Gore the right way. Do you homework brahs- Chunderboy is one of two paddlers to run the mighty Gore while trippin' face (Gore Race '01)- I ran the meat that day with rather varied result but I guess that just the way it goes. That day-glow paddle you guys lent Hippie Rob was dope as hell- Keep it real, and next time run Tunnel! Catch ya later brahs, and oh yeh tell your girlies I said what's up! ditch those creek boats and who knows, you brahs may just earn the respect of the Chunder-posse- and gloves in late July- come on brahs, what was up with that?

Chunderboy Tells a Tuber to Piss Off

Hey douche bag - What the #### is your major malfunction? Tubing is for choads and fat asses that hail from Nebraska, the Buzz is not some place for you to get free add space- this is a kayak forum for kayakers only!!! Tubing sucks and so do you, if I ever see a post like this again I will come down to that shanty you call home and beat your fruity little ass all the way to Kanarado-Don't test the Chunderboy loser, and oh yeh tell your sister I said what's up. Later biatch!


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## Gary E (Oct 27, 2003)

*chunder part 3*

Chunderboy Gets Her Done At Gore

Hey brahs, I guess all you player haters out there finally got your prayers answered. Yesterday, our hero, the Chunderboy suffered a broken nose on the undercut at Tunnel. Running Gore at 800 CFS is a hairy ordeal by any standard, but the Chunder-posse at 50 percent capacity no less- as usual was up to the task. Jeter was off at his sister's Bat Mitzvah in LA , and Darrell, after spending a short stint in the Craig jail and then going to rehab after his pesky mom found some blow pops and a stuffed monkey under his bed was back and ready to give Gore his all. Elmer was down in Blackhawk lettin her ride so it would have to be a two man (extremely sketchy by any standards) mission into the gnarliest rapids the Colorado has to offer. There was some silly adventure race in the canyon, and to be honest with you both Darrell and myself found the Hollywood atmosphere a little unsettling. These guys had the nerve to hover over us all day in a helicopter getting film of our rad escapades without our written consent! A move that would later prove a huge mistake when I demanded the footage at the take out. The Chunder-posse just signed an exclusive contract to make a series of paddling flicks for Warren Miller Productions, we don't let anyone film us unless they got the cash to pay us. We are some of the best in the biz, and these jackasses thought they could just swoop down and leach of our Gen X profitability! The first thing Darell and I noticed once we entered the canyon were a slew of Vail boys standing on the banks and gaping in awe as we navigated the Class Five terrain. Hobie in particular looked both scared for us, and no doubt envious of our skill and testosterone fueled bravado. I don't know how those guys even got in there- I'm guessing the obnoxious helicopter dropped them off, or maybe they bribed the conductor to drop them off- What I do know is that those guys were scared shitless of the mighty Gore, and with good reason, because one blown line at 800 CFS and even a paddler as skilled and handsome as the Chunderboy can get his shit handed to him. After dialing Apple Sauce we both Blue Angeled the meat line at Gore- the Vail boys couldn't believe their eyes! One of them (and I won't name names) even had the misfortune of calling out for his mommy when Darrell punched through Ginger- a reflex for the horrified onlooker, but one that both Darrell and myself found rather amusing. The two of us continued down to Tunnel, helicopter and about 15 Vail boys (running frantically down the tracks) in tow. Everyone in the canyon knew that there would be no sneaking at Tunnel- in fact the Chunderboy had a little surprise for the crowd. I've been dialing in a new trick all year, its called the Chunderflip, and lets just say that it is a fusion between a Space Godzilla and a Pan Am- I tried to teach Javid the dank move at Oak Bottom this Spring but needless to say the hapless East Coaster was not up to the challenge. As I paddled up to Tunnel the crowd was chanting "Chunderflip! Chunderflip! Chunderflip!" it was at this crucial moment that I had a costly mistake. A hot babe made eye contact with me as I initiated the 540 degrees bow stall coming into the boof, smiling at her I took my eye off of my line at the crux of the move. I got pushed two feet to the left and threw my flip right into the undercut rock. Dazed and a little embarrassed I rolled up- the crowd was silent, for their hero, the Chunderboy was bleeding from his nose. I paddled away ashamed and deflated. Had those Front Rangers hexed me? Was some park and play dork sitting in his cubical sticking pins into a crudely fashioned voodoo doll of the Chunderboy? There seemed to be supernatural forces at play- even Darrell had to admit that something just wasn't right. The incident would give the Vail crew some amount of redemption for what went down at the Dowd Chute, they could now justify their own wussified actions, for if the Chunderboy had fallen then the line could only be construed as unrunable- Class Six and well out of the realm of the average mortal. The undercut broke my nose clean across the bridge, but it was my ego and rad reputation that were truly sacrificed. And what about the young biatch who was responsible for my last minute flounder? Was she an agent of my foes on the Front Range?- Probably not- she most likely just wanted a chance to be with the Chunderboy, to see what all the excitement was about. In any case the silly tramp had ruined my line, a mistake that would land her on the Chunderboy's blacklist for life- a move that will no doubt haunt the young lady till her dieing day. Darell and I paddled to the take out- we knew that if the helicopter got away with the tape of our historic run then Kirk Miller, (Warren's overweight and spoiled son), would try to re-negotiate our sweetheart of a deal with his old man. The helicopter touched ground as we pulled into the boat ramp at Pump House. Darell and myself leapt from our boats, ATs at our sides and bounded for the plumper cameraman. Not wanting to suffer the same fate as over the hill glam-rock icon Vince Neil, the tape was handed over without incident, but Darell (he had drank a total of six Red Bulls on the day paired with two Pezz Dispensers) lost his cool. He swung with reckless abandon into the gut of the terrified cameraman, who hit the ground with a thud. The sorry SOB was laying there all doubled up, a fresh wet piss stain clearly visible as he sucked his thumb and prayed Darell was done. My boy whacked the pilot upside the head for good measure, leaving his mirrored aviator glasses beyond repair and a head ache to boot. We then loaded up our shait on the Baja and hightailed it Ms Z's to kick back and get some grub. Nice try you Front Rangers but Chunderboy is alive and well- there is an old saying we have up here in Routt County-"That which does not kill a brah, will only make a brah stronger"- How ironic that this incident will only add to the juggernaut that is the Chunderboy! Later biatches- Oh yeh, tell your girlies I said what up!

Chunderboy Roles Vince Neil at Vegas Hotspot

Hey brahs, what's up? Thought I'd fill you chacharooskie alfredos in on a little incident that went down about a week ago. When last we spoke I informed you douche bags that the Chunder-posse had made off like bandits at that lame ass Widespread bullshait, when all was said and done Elmer, Jeter, and myself walked with about four thousand dollars in stone cold USDA cashola. That's not bad for a days work but then Elmer got us thinking...Why stop there? A true player is always out there tryin' to increase his flow, we all know that Chunderboy is a true player; a trip to Vegas to parley the hippie take was inevitable. The three of us loaded into Jeter's mom's Subaru Baja, (gas card in the glove), and headed out to Sin City to try our hand at lady luck. Along the way we would get the chance to paddle a true gem of the West. The Virgin river had been on my to do list for years, for those of you too friggin' stupid to have the beta on the "Big V" (as the locals call her), I'll fill you in. Imagine the Atom Bomb ferry at Bald Rock for about five miles, then throw in the gradient of the South Silver, and then, if your lucky enough to survive imagine two silicone enhanced biatches grinding on your kirk at the Cheetah, making sure your wood is good and true. Can you nerds imagine that? Didn't think you could you sorry ass front range bastards.... this is the realm of the Chunder-posse, a world where true players thrive, and posers are tossed aside like a used condom on Hollywood Boulevard! I'm sure you dorks are wondering why a crew of such skilled kayakers would allow a floundering, third-rate brah like Elmer to even hang? The truth is that ole' Elmer, while not being a solid Class Three boater, does get it done for our crew in other, all be it, nontraditional ways. For one thing the dude has a gas card- a true asset to any unemployed ski town laid back brah crew, he also possesses a talent so unbelievable that most casinos in this country won't even let him sit down at the table. The boy is a card shark- plain and simple; he's blessed with a photographic memory and an innate sense of how to beat even the fiercest competitors. How did Elmer acquire these skills you ask? Why is Johnny Chin too much of a biatch to sit down across the table from an overweight kayaking wannabe? Why did Donald Trump, back in '87 ban Elmer from all of his properties in the Atlantic City area? The answer to the last question is an easy one- Elmer, after breaking the bank at one of the Donald's casinos, took Marla Maples upstairs and did her ever which way you could imagine. To add to the Donald's embarrassment he convinced the gold diggin' tramp to film their torrid and uninhibited love making (Ben Wha Balls.. the whole nine yards so to speak), and then my boy posted it on the Hun's...Not a bad little stunt...don't you think? To find out why Elmer is feared by every casino manager in the city of Vegas one must delve deeper into his childhood. Adopted by a black family after spending the first six years of his life bouncing from one orphanage to the next to characterize Elmer's childhood as tuff would be an understatement. His foster parents struggled to make ends meet and often little Elmer was left to hustle and rob to get the Sega games and porno mags he so desperately desired. The family lived on the mean streets of Houston, and as luck would have it a next door was a man would teach the youth all there was to know about hustlin' and gettin' by in the hood. That neighbor was none other than the pint-sized gangsta and Ghetto Boys front man Bushwick Bill. That crazy midget had Elmer runnin' craps games from Waco clear up to the Tex-Arkana boarder. Legend has it the Dave Karesh lost all fourteen of his wives to Elmer in a card game back in '85. After finding their hygiene not to his standards, a victorious Elmer decided he would let Karesh slide on the bet. Anyhow, I'm getting off the subject, and it's time I brought you back to the main story, the bottom line is that Elmer is one hell of a gambler and a true street hustler and that is why the Chunderboy allows him to come along and try his luck on Class Six rivers like the Virgin. Our run on the "Big V" went well, Elmer swam through a sieve and lost his boat, but luckily Jeter was able to rescue his brand new AT carbon fiber paddle before it got munched up in a rapid known as the Dirty Sanchez. None of us knew at that moment the important role the paddle would play in the wee hours of that hot Nevada night, and let me tell you now that there is one washed up rocker who wishes the Sanchez swallowed up ole' Elmer' trusty blade. After a quick trip to the costume store Elmer was ready to turn our Widespread loot, now only 3,987 dollars, (the Middle Park Meat Company in Kremling doesn't take gas cards, and for those of you who are too ignorant to know it ole' Harland, the MPMC's owner, serves up the best jerky this side of the Mississippi), while the rest of you losers are out there munchin on Power Bars and lickin your chops over some queer ass Cliff Bars, our laid back crew is wolfin' down the finest jerky on the market. No vegetarians in this crew, Steamboat is a cow town and all you pretty little vegan weenies can kiss my taint! Elmer walked out of the costume shop looking like a cross between Ron Jeremy and Kurt Russell-a strange combo, but Jeter agrees that is as close as we can get to describing him without getting our boy in trouble with the Nevada Gaming Commission. It took about three hours, but Elmer succeeded in quintupling our winnings. We were on our way out of the Aladdin, (the poshist joint on the strip, VIPs only, Chad Muscka calls room 2132 home) when who do we see but over the hill rock bad boy Vinny Neil. Neil and I have been on bad terms ever since Jeter, Elmer and myself made that slutty wife us his air tight at a Motel 6 in Reno back in '89. The guy is so pathetic he even had the nerve to show up in Steamboat and leave the stage after playin' only one song, a symbolic gesture to the Chunder-posse, but one that broke the hearts of many a mullet clad Craig youth. What resulted from this weak ass move was mayhem in Ski Time Square. Half of Moffat County was runnin amuck in my back yard, picture "Do The Right Thing" and substitute all the cracked out brothers for a bunch of white trash, math-heads from Milner and points west. Had my At paddle been on me that night I would have beat the livin' piss out of Vince, it's no wonder Tommy Lee won't have anything to do with that low grade piece of washed up glam-rock garbage. I promised myself that next time our paths crossed Neil would pay dearly for his pussafied actions. The three of us waited outside with our trusty ATs held firmly in our fists. After unsuccessfully trying to score with every cocktail waitress in the casino, and losing all his dough to a stingy nickel slot machine, a dejected Neil stumbled out into the hot Las Vegas night. What happened next was an ass kicking of the first order. Lets just say Neil called me uncle and admitted that he was a sorry little biatch, and Jeter got himself a big lock of died blond hair as a souvenir. A brand new AT paddle was busted in the mix, but all and all it was worth it. Kicking back with three coke whores that night I couldn't help but smile, the Chunderboy had done it again-my player status was once again beyond reproach. Later Vinny you biatch! Chunder-posse for life...oh yeh, you front rangers still suck, but your girlies are always welcome!


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## Gary E (Oct 27, 2003)

*chunder part 4*

Chunderboy Keepin It Real

Hey Mitch- you can go [email protected]# yourself, and while your at it how about gettin' a grip? It's not my fault you are a little turd from the front range...don't hate the player dawg, hate the game! Some food for thought for that sorry ass excuse of a brain you have...Oh yeh I almost forgot, tell your mommy that shait last night with the whip was sick, poor Jeter can't even sit down, his behind looks like something out of an Alex Haley novel, that women is one hot piece of ass, and so uninhibited...I'm gettin excited just thinking about all wild ass stuff we did to her-Maybe you caught wind of our little gang bang action, maybe that's why your so upset? You a player hater brah, a sorry excuse for a human being-keep you lame ass comments to yourself or the Chunder-posse will make a road trip down to Highlands Ranch and beat the shait out of you with our brand new AT paddles!

Chunderboy Thanks The Hippies

To all the hippie nerds out there who were so kind to fork up five dollars per balloon at Widespread Bullshait last weekend the Chunderboy thanks you. Thanks to your overwhelming generosity, I now have a brand new Kingpin 6.1 to play with, and Jeter and I are thinking about taking a little trip south of the border to celebrate our new cash flow. I'd also like to send a shout out to the Denver Medical Ctr, for without their half assed security, none of this would have been possible. Ironic isn't it, that the very people for whom the Chunderboy harbors the littlest amount of respect, the front rangers, could unwittingly finance a new boat, and a trip to Central America? A true player profits from the ignorance of his enemies, and the Chunderboy, as we all know is a true player. Thanks again everyone. Oh yah, I almost forgot, Elmer and I dialed the right line yesterday on the Death Ferry rapid at Cross. We decided to rename the rapid the Chunderferry. If any of you choads out there think you got what it takes to hang in my crew, then give the Chunderferry a shot....it's pure gnarl one slip up and your ass could be Kavorikianed for good, later biatches!

Chunderboys Cross Mountain Adventure

Hey Brahs! Thought I'd fill you dorks in on a little adventure me and my Steamboat posse had yesterday out at Cross. We set out of the Boat at about 3PM-(standard slacker time for laid back brah crew), anyhow, after a flat tire, and some Craig City Market fried chicken we were off to run the canyon. At 4 grand its obvious that one needs to bring their A game to Cross or suffer an ass kicking of the first order. After dialing Dowd Chute and Lower Mish at high water the Chunderboy was up to the stout challenge, sorry to say, others in the group where not so lucky. After I greased the Osterizer ,(up the gut- like you didn't already know, Chunderboy always runs the meat, sneaks are for Chachies and Front Range park and play wimps), I sat down upon a rock to eat some Kremling jerky, and check out my brah's lines. Elmer's been having a bad season, 15 swims, all class 3 and 4- he got #16 on the sneak line of all things and yard saled his boat and one of my many AT paddles. My boy took off after the boat with our rookie prodigy, Jeter, in tow. One guy broke his paddle and, and Jeter pulled out and went swimming blind toward Death Ferry. I flawlessly paddled the Death Ferry (no scout needed) and rounded the corner to find Jetter puking his guts out and playing with his nut sack, he was humming some 80's Howard Jones and seemed all together to be rather out of it. Had my boy suffered a concussion? As I pondered the brilliance of my own solo line, and the wave I had been forced to bypass above the Ferry, I couldn't but to smile, Chunderboy is getting it done, so what if Jeter was sitting there singin' " Whoa oh oh oh ah oh ha, thing can only get better...", I had dialed my line! After much puking and some peculiar nut fondling, Jeter came to and was ready to walk his sorry ass out of Cross. My boy with the broken paddle was there to lend moral and physical support to the hobbled Jetter on the two-mile walk out. As for myself, I was back on the river, basking in the glory of my radness, look out all you fine Biaches, Chunderboy was wave wheeling and donkey flipping his way to the take out. Ironically, what was waiting for the Chunderboy at the take out was not Vivid Contact Girl Kobe Tai, but some choad Ranger from Maybell with a mullet to beat the band. The guy looked like the bass player for 38 Special, and given his backwoods, Deliverance-esc accent, I wonder how the sorry bastard ever got his patches (no badge on this beer gutted piece of Moffat County trash). The guy had the nerve to act concerned about Jetter, it seems some ******* fisherman had called the police when Jeter's Medieval ( covered in sponsorhip stickers) came floating solo out of the canyon. He ran all our IDs and went on and on about some stupid jet boat, I noticed a tiny bulge starting to form in the crotch of his Wranglers as he discussed the way the jet boat can navigate the first 100 yards of the canyon. Unbeknownst to the Chunderboy Ranger #### had more on his mind than our groups welfare- my youngest brah, Darrell had an outstanding warrant for underage drinking- the Ranger was getting a stiffy thinkin' about having a young boy toy like Darrel all to himself in the Moffat Cty jail. At around 8 PM Jeter came out of the canyon and we all headed back to Steamboat. At about 8:30 PM we were pulled over outside the Brown Nugget Motel in Craig. Ranger #### was there, little bulge and all, he was foaming at the mouth like some demented rabid dog, he cuffed and stuffed Darrell, and after giving me a roadside sobriety check said it was OK for me to drive the truck to the ATM- to get the meager $300 this whole ordeal was about. 4 and half hours later, 1AM, Craigs finest had succeeded in filling out the necessary paperwork, and Darrell, thanks to my monetary affluence, was able to avoid the old broomstick up the crack routine. A dejected and blue-balled park ranger would have to go home to his doublewide and dream of what might have been. Final score- Brahs win, pigs lose. Maybe next time losers, have fun livin out there in Moffat and stoking your peckers- Chunderboy rules, you guys still suck-later biatch!
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## Gary E (Oct 27, 2003)

*the best chunder*

Wayne Chorter cut from Chunderposse roster for '05 season


What up brahs? It's been a while and while it's certainly true that the Chunderboy has been keeping a low profile that does not in anyway mean that he, or his hardcore crew, have been on a paddling hiatus. So, while you choads may think you finally got the ole' monkey off your back, yall' better guess again...Chunder is back! Better lock up your sisters and pray to god I don't decide that it's your wife I want to take to bed when me and my crew come to visit your podunk town. That aint no warning, it's a god damn promise-you choads best put all your punani on lockdown, or the Chunderposse will turn that shiat out. That being said, it is with deep regret that I have been forced to let Wayne Chorter go. He was without a doubt the most underqualified and slow witted member of our illustrious grew. His hapless paddling escapades over past seasons earned him the nickname "rookie"- a nickname that we hoped he would one day outgrow. Elmer and Jeter had thier doubts about the guy from the begining-claiming that his pronouciation of the word "bagel" was a sure sign of the some sort of mental retardation. I convinced the boys that we should give this lovable loser a chance, and now I feel the time has come for me to openly admit that I was wrong. I called Chorter in Feb from my posh condo in the world renowned ski village of Zermat (a timeshare I share with none other than Duran Duran frontman Simon Lebon) to inform him that the he would have to have a strong showing in the 2005 creeking season or he would be cut. There is only so long you can hold a guys hand-only so many second chances that should be permitted. The Chunderposse is an exclusive crew and "rookie's" hack paddling style was begining to become somewhat of a liability to the our overall reputation. Truth be told, if the kid's girlfriend hadn't of bought him a brand new Nissan truck, chances are we would have nixed his ass back in 2004. In any case, even that fancy truck couldn't save Chorter from his fate- the kid just lacks the necessary skills to ever become a full fledged member of our crew. Maybe Hobie and those guys want him? Hell, those choads can have him, after all, we all know that the Vail standards for radness and overall badassness (ie. thier acceptance of excommunicted Steamboat paddler Hippie Rob) are far less stringent than those adhered to by the elite Chunderposse. Let me now relate the unfortunate event that led to Chorter's dismissal. I was kicking it with two of the girls from Bannnarama in the VIP room of a Prauge night club when Chorter called to inform me that conditions in Durango were ripe for the taking. Flows were so big that even Gary E and his band of Front Range loonies were afarid to go in. Gary and the boys had recieved a major ass-whoopin' on the class four Escalante a week prior, and I guess they were still nursing thier shattered egos. In any case, the Chunderposse was on its way- once again ready to set the standard for cutting edge class five Colorado hair boating. We borrowed a lear jet from the other guy from Wham and flew staight from Prauge international into the southwestern shiathole that is Durango, Colorado. Chorter met us at the airport, and as we loaded our gear into his truck I detected that he was concerned that conditions had gotten too big. He was trying to convince us that we should all run the Piedra (spanish for old man's piss) while the flows on the classics, like the West Fork of the San Juan, subsided. Jeter stepped forward and bitch slapped Chorter and called him a "little rookie biatch"-needless to say Wayne did not seem up for the challenge that layed ahead. Elmer, never one to be shy about showing his feeelings, came forward and kneed Chorter in the balls. As Chorter dropped to the ground I calmly explained to him that we had had a long flight and were understandably a tad bit irritable, and that his best course of action was to quit being such a little biatch, and to try his best not to scratch any of our brand new AT paddles as he placed them into the vehicle. The next day saw us at the put in for the West Fork of the San Juan. Chorter looked gipped as hell, and kept asking stupid questions the whole hike up- Have you guys eve been here when it's this big? Blah...blah...blah...the kid was sweating like Shady Rich's armpit on a Westwater shuttle and he was blabbering like a foolish idiot. We got to the put in and Chorter tried to pull a Boone, claiming that he had left his sprayskirt at the house. Elmer, having seen Chorter slyly stash the spray skirt the night before in a closet, produced the item much to the dismay of the terrified Durango paddler. "Nice try Chachie, here's your skirt-now be a good little girlie and put it on!" Enraged at Chorter's lack of self-confidence, and his Boone-like evasive techniques, I gave his face a solid whack with the backside of my hand. He fell to the ground and pleaded with us not to make him go through with the mission-but we were not having it. About a mile into the run is when the shiat hit the fan. We came upon a rather benign section of class three, the only visable hazard was a stainer on the river right. Haphazardly Chorter floated right into the stainer- yard saling his boat and some rather pricey camera gear. We chased his crap, but a nasty downstream sieve made sure that the there would be no recovery of gear this time around. Chorter was shaken but otherwise physically ok, financially however, he was not so lucky. He had suffered a loss of approximately three thousand dollars worth of gear. The epsisode was a disgrace to the Chunderposse and sure sign that Chorter was not now, or at any time in the concievable future, ready for the prime time. We left him there in the San Juan national forrest crying like a little biatch and begging for our mercy. Jeter, Elmer, and myself styled the remainder of the run- with no rookie to look after the Chunderposse was running on all cylinders and restored once agin to its elite status. At the take out we parleyed Chorter's losses-taking his new truck, and leaving him to walk his sorry ass home to Durango. What's next for Chorter? We could care less- unlike the Kern brothers we are not a bunch of baby sitters, we are a laid back ski town brah crew whose sole purpose is to get her done and with a brand new Nissan truck at our disposal we will easily be able to access any run we want. The Chunderposse has always known when the time is right for cutting our losses- a true sign of any legitimate playa'. Just as we parted ways with Vin Diesel after his boxoffice flop The Chronicles of Riddick, so too were we forced to say goodbye to the rookie. See the rest of you douche bags on the water...later biatches!!!


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## lmyers (Jun 10, 2008)

This is great stuff. I was just lurking here when Chunderboy did most of his posting, but it was some of the content that originally brought me to this forum. Thanks for sharing.


I merged all 5 into one, nobody wants to click on 5 separate threads.....


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## Gary E (Oct 27, 2003)

Thanks, appreciate it.


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## boof512 (Oct 26, 2003)

*12 years*

I don't know what is sadder.
That we have been without Chunder for so long.
That I remember reading these posts in real time, and laughing so hard at how it got to people.
That this would never fly on the 2017 buzz, Gary you might get kicked off for reposting this.

Long live Chunder!!!!


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## Chief Niwot (Oct 13, 2003)

Never paddled with him, but his writing was some Funny stuff for sure.


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## kayakfreakus (Mar 3, 2006)

RIP - too bad this still isn't up:


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## luckylauren (Apr 3, 2016)

I can only assume that it should be Chunderman by now.


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## fella (Jul 29, 2008)

That's some brilliant shit! Too bad this site has been moderated into yet another sanitized, yuppie haven, dedicated to cooler pissing and discussing line choice on Class I Rapids.


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## Blade&Shaft (May 23, 2009)

What about CasperMike?


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## docd (Feb 14, 2004)

Miss the old Buzz!


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## zbaird (Oct 11, 2003)

i remember just rolling when he would post that up. That shit is so classic. Thanks for the laugh Gar. I need to look at those more often.

RIP Maxi


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## caverdan (Aug 27, 2004)

Ahhh yes.......the good old days. How I miss his posts. RIP Chunderboy


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## duct tape (Aug 25, 2009)

It's hard to pick a favorite line, but this might be mine:

who do we see but over the hill rock bad boy Vinny Neil. Neil and I have been on bad terms ever since Jeter, Elmer and myself made that slutty wife us his air tight at a Motel 6 in Reno back in '89. The guy is so pathetic he even had the nerve to show up in Steamboat and leave the stage after playin' only one song, a symbolic gesture to the Chunder-posse, but one that broke the hearts of many a mullet clad Craig youth.


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## Sir kayakalot (Aug 3, 2010)

Definitely some of the best posts ever submitted to Mountainbuzz. I re-read his stuff every year, never gets old. RIP Chunderboy


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