This past weekend, we, the people of Dickhouse, gathered in what would appear to be one of those "office buddy" retreats made popular by super mega corporations and the company morale they strategically hope to foster, but was in fact just an excuse for us all to get wet, wild, and wakesurf. Individual skillsets and styles were all over the board on the board and overboard, but everyone got up and that's all that mattered in the end. So here, presented in classic Brady Bunch formation, are the weekend players and the wakes that they worked hard—so hard:
1) Jeff Tremaine mugs and fingers the brownish-green room.
2) Cordell Mansfield SMASH WAKE!
3) Seamus Frawley picks the pocket.
4) Rick Kosick, new kahuna on the block!
5) Amanda Adelson ups Spinal Tap
6) Shanna Zablow busts out a smile and a mystery bump on the backside of her thigh.
7) Sean Cliver gets slippy on the lip.
8) A bonus backside by Cordell Mansfield for all the fashionable ladies that prefer their men neandermanly.
9) Chris Pontius showcases the elements of style.
(All photos by Sean Cliver -- except the one of Sean Cliver, that was snapped by Tremaine; 2013)
in whatever capacity can be done for the first time ever during the course of its latest #MANCATION weekend. We won't be officially tweeting it up live along with the broadcast, but the MTV is running some other kind of promotion where you'll have the opportunity to win random shit for correctly guessing how many nuts get kicked in the course of the #MANCATION event (and if you haven't guessed it by now it's real important to use that hashtag or you ain't gonna have a corn kernel's chance in Dave England's rectal hell of winning jack shit).
past in his honor, because to have is to share and sharing is caring. Happy Birthday, Steve-O!
(in 
!), thereby putting the boob back in the tube. Call me silly, but I'd rank it right up there with the discovery of fire, the invention of the wheel, and a cure for the clap. Good times!
, so it was nice to see him memorialized in the piece.
collection on 
then you are really missing out on life, love, and other stuff.
or 
crew was kicked clear across to the other side of the industrial park, closer to the shit plants and refineries, where the magazine lived out its last months of freewheeling dumb before being bought up and censored by—of all people and companies—Larry Flynt Publishing, Inc.—in 1997.
had the foresight to salvage a few scraps of petroglyph from the woodpile, so that's what you're looking at now: Pieces from the mag's art/editorial director Jeff Tremaine's very own desk, where the magazine layouts and print files were labored over on a state-of-the-art-yet-still-slow-ass computer, allowing for lots and lots of bored fucking doodle time.
, but the added text was more likely than not courtesy of the resident pro/am skaters of the time, e.g. Guy Mariano, Rudy Johnson, Daniel Castillo, Kareem Campbell, Shiloh Greathouse, Daewon Song, etc., many of who spent hours of idle time perfecting their individual tags all throughout the office on any and every available surface, nook, and cranny (Tim Gavin's "SHITE" was a personal favorite of the staff's); or, it may have been a "street" embellishment provided by an enigmatic artist known only as "The Creeper".
