Sakebomb was a child born with its heart on the outside of the ribcage and a crystal dick. We have existed against the odds of our own deformities, celebrating our special needs to a chorus of imaginary drunk angels on battle monkeys and an understated and understanding accountant. We have kicked back on someone else's leather couch and stretched our rippling forearms to suggest compassion to the vast reaches of the internet crap matrix. It's been so hard, it's been easy... it's been so easy, it's been hard... Anywhere somehow we hung tuff, bit the bullet, wrestled the Kracken and things like that, things we all have to do whether we like it or not, we did 'em and kept on. Translucent love children on the verge of spirituo-capitalist implosion, we've slogged through the boggy marsh of turnmillenium Amerikata and emerged scathed and bathed and ready to weep with happiness, adding to the great ocean our own salty blood.

In business news:

We have launched a tireless new production arm of Sakebomb: Speedwobbles, with our man Pete Dawes, and a frothy new thinktank: Billion Dollar Brains, with our man Mark Lewman. The corporate empire expands... pulsating... going 'phwob, phwob'...

We have busted out with another ha-ha-funny subgenius promotional movie website, for The Perfect Score. That's fresh. On a roll, now we are working on the site for Mean Girls, another Paramount offering.

One of our last special yobs took us to London with Mat Hoffman to promote Tomb Raider II, where we ran into Angelina Jolie, the Jackass crew, and rode free bikes all day. (This actually took place a year ago now... how time flies.)

Also a while ago (but still fresh!) were the Production Days shorts, which occupied the homepage for a while, and both Spike Jonze and Susan Orlean gave double thumbs up (no, seriously, they both liked them). They are a quintessential Sakebomb piece: strictly bros, black budget, broken tripod, work furlough restrictions, and so on. We are releasing a DVD of the shorts, including a print insert with Lloyd's o.g. Diary of a PA, available in the Sakebomb pawn shop, along with other items for purchase. I know we've been saying this for years, but who's gonna stop the bullsh?

We are finishing up two sets of interstitials for The N (how to do giant handrails and how to build a skateboard ramp). Aryeh Kraus, star of not only these interstitials but our dead-in-the-water Pilot show, now skates for Team Sakebomb and fights for the LOP. He's also an up and coming video producer, check the trailer for his latest release, HEART STILL POUNDING.

Sakebomb entered the world pop art with a piece in the Heroes and Villians art show. We contracted Donny Barley to paint our entry, exactly 12 hours before it was due. I'm not sure what kind of waves this made in the murky pools of the art world, but if nothing else this project reminded me that it's fun to paint.

Sun, the one and only Sakebomb Swedish Intern, has returned to her native land, safe and unsoiled by the smog of Los Angeles. We send our love. Visit pending.

Also, we are finally moving out of our dilapidated Glendale Avenue address and digging new office tunnels in the hills of EP. This is big news, as the old office was literally crumbling around us, threatening to bury our motivation and license to operate in the rubble. Hipk Hopk is officially latered, bring on the new era of quietude, hill bombs, and beery eyed sunsets.

Friends: MDA is in the studio with his new band. Steven rejuvenated the stoke with a European tour and label signing, and we are working with him on a Japanese TV show. Reza is currently in production of his first feature film, and is opening a new hapkido studio. Geoff's been busy with a mustache, family, and Champion Graphics. Ian Rogers is piloting Muse to success. D. Barley is skating hard for Birdhouse and Quiksilver. Mark Driver has finished and is selling his book. Lucas and Ruben are rocking the film world. Mike Leon is busting with Rasa Libre and other Stacks action. Adam has been hanging in Tokyo a lot more than we have. Miyuki's chilling. Takuji's book is out. LOP is gearing up for some righteous wave riding. Baby Shooch went to Australia for a while, and is back in Colorado helping build the family hippy commune, but will be out soon for the cooking show.

So that's that.

In other news, I've had some time to think.

I've thought about the stinking dead donkeys of the past and the scary jester apparitions of the future, and realized how insane it is, all of these bad ideas in our heads that pound and pound, and how helpless I have felt at times and the strange familiarity of those times when I feel not helpless at all... and I've wondered what there is to learn from all of this, what mechanism there is to somehow defy this cylical insanity. If you have cried a few tears and laughed at some good jokes you may know the heart's deeper inclinations. If you take drink or read a few books and catch a few waves you can dig the patterns of liberation. You focus your energies.

Sakebomb has acted like a magnifying glass. It has allowed me personally an opportunity to define myself with a searing, scarring focus. It felt good for a while, and then I started to blister. A crippling sense of self-consciousness lingered like the smell of burnt skin, and in response, I shook and sleptwalked and shittalked and did my very best to to blow out the Sun. Hot times! Two steps forward, two steps backwards into the hell realms. Consider this, ye drawers also of attention: the very thing you desperately define is by all accounts indefineable. I've clocked long hours swinging a sword at my own mustached ghost, all the time trying to impress you! You, my invisible friends... And all so I could impress myself! My own dancing corpse! What a crazy waste of great vacation.

Pride. Paranoia. Anger. Loneliness. Insecurity. All for greed, for greed of what you got. It's maddening, I tell you. But such is the game, the crushing illusion of fame... and there's nobody here but us.

Mr. Sweet to me: "Stay cool, baby."
Mr. Me to you: "Stay cool, baby."

And so we ride, suckers. This shiny drunken parade staggers lost into dim light; dying tragically, gratefully, for the audience of love.

-Shewchuk

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