The Wet Boys
The Wet Boys have a lot in common with Fight Club. Everybody’s seen the movie, Fight Club. It was about a weird, cult-like, group of dudes who hung out together and hurt each other; all the while simmering with suppressed homo-erotic desire. The first rule of fight club was “Don’t talk about Fight Club.” The second rule, of course, was also, “Don’t talk about Fight Club.” The Wet Boys have a lot in common with Fight Club.
They’re based around the same precepts, are composed of a pretty wide range of guys, and are secretive about their actions. But, their rules vary a bit. The first rule of Wet Boys is to talk about the Wet Boys, at length, to a person who’s stated purpose is to write an article about the Wet Boys. However, the second rule is to then call up that same writer and demand he doesn’t print any of what was told to him.
This is a reoccurring problem when putting together a magazine. People get overly comfortable and reveal a little more than they planned, then realize what they said, and tell you not to write about it. It’s frustrating, mainly because it’s essentially censorship, but, also, it’s because I’m a writer and I feel like I should be able to write whatever I want, about whatever I want. I mean, I don’t tell them how to skate, so where do they get off telling me how to write. The pictures are their deal; the words are mine. But, the Wet Boys were really polite about the whole thing, and I don’t want to burn any bridges, so I’m going to put my tail between my legs and obey. The funny thing is, the one detail everyone wanted cut out was, in my eyes, the most innocuous. Here’s, more or less, the article I wrote, minus the one thing that scared everyone. What was it you ask? I’ll give you a hint, the Greeks did it too, and I’m not talking about building the Pantheon. You’ll have to try and figure it out for yourself now.
At first glance, a group of young men who spend a lot of time partying together and kissing seems gay, but, if you can get rid of your homophobic hang ups then it’s really not so bad. In fact, it actually serves a purpose. In the words of Tall Can, (one of the Wet Boys), it’s “to weed out the squares, not bring in the gays.” And that works. But, as I was to find out, it’s not the whole story. Not by a long shot.
It was Micah, the guy holding the chair in the opening photo, who first gave me a hint something even darker lurked beneath the surface. We were talking about problems they’d been having with strangers claiming to be members, which I’m sure would be annoying. He wanted me to make sure that we were clear about who were Wet Boys and who weren’t.
“To be truly Wet,’” he said, “you have to make out with a Wet Boy and cum on the Cum Bear.” It almost got by me. I was about to hang up, then stopped. Cum Bear? Cum Bear? What the fuck is a Cum Bear? Well, I’ll tell you. A Cum Bear is a small pink teddy bear that Micah ejaculated onto at a party. He then proceeded to show his handy work to those in attendance. What followed is, well, gnarly. His fellow partygoers felt obliged to follow his lead, ending in what can only be called bearkakke. To this day, by Micah’s reckoning, around fifteen people have provided the poor stuffed animal with a thorough shellacking. Whether these performances were solo affairs or delivered in concert isn’t quite clear. But, Jesus Christ, isn’t a semen coated stuffed animal horrible enough on its own?
And, then there’s the cutting. Have you ever walked up behind a friend and sliced their arm with a knife? Of course not. Normal people don’t do shit like that. But the Wet Boys can’t be considered normal. One of their favorite games to play, before a trip to the hospital put an end to the fun, was to get drunk, and then cut themselves. Or each other. Alcohol thins the blood, and, often, the copious flow would find it way smeared across the chest of one of the members. Between this type of nonsense, and the homemade tattoos they give each other, it is a miracle they haven’t spread some horrific disease among each other.
Being tattooed by a friend while drunk and waking up with the evidence is a reoccurring nightmare I have. I’m not kidding. It’s always the same dream, I pass out drunk, and wake up with a crude picture of a dog taking a shit on my chest. The Wet Boys are living my worst fear. The presence of a tattoo kit has lead to countless permanent filigrees across the bodies of members. Keep in mind that none of these fellows are trained in tattooing, so the resulting work is exactly the type of shit that is justified in keeping me awake at night.
The Wet Boys base of operations is currently the SOSAD (Stand On Shit And Drink) house. A three bedroom shithole, it’s home to a least fourteen people, though the numbers do tend to fluctuate. The site of countless parties and innumerable memories, it’s days are, sadly, at an end. The eviction notice has been served, and they’ve got to go by January 1st. Luckily, that leaves them time for one more party, a “Totally Wet New Years,” something that is guaranteed to leave little standing.
I’ve been told that all this shit has been photographed. They even have a video out that evidently shows all of the stuff they didn’t want me to mention here. Chris Sessions has been shooting the debauchery over the last few years, to be used in a book or something. Hopefully he puts it to use. It would be a shame for those images never see the light of day.
It’s okay if you’re a little scared by these guys, but it’s important to remember that weird and different sorts of people are what keeps skateboarding interesting. In a time when image is so important It’s refreshing to see a group of guys who just don’t give a fuck what people think of them, and who give the world a reason to hate and fear them. The Wet Boys include (Sorry to everyone we missed. It‘s not like there’s a roster we can check): Brandon Steed, Squints, Tall Can, Twig, Styles, Cobain, Smokey, Garfield, Baby Do, Sweets, Riley, Lizard King, Tommy Touch, Steve, Johnny, Jerrod Saba, Brewpac, Gordie, Mazzotta, Paulo, Micah, and Chris Sessions.