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About gusmus

  • Rank
    Super Anarchist
  • Birthday 07/11/1956

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  • Location
    Valencia, Spain.
  • Interests
    Removing barnacles from under my toe nails.

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  1. 99% of this thread consists of people theorizing. And 99% of those are talking out of their assholes. Latest example: Some knobhead downloads a photograph of a boat which was take from the deck of another boat, draws three lines apon it without knowing any original data regarding angles, dimensions, perspective,etc, and then declares himself to be a master of trigonometry by declaring that the hulls have splayed. I'd theorize in stating that his fucking egoistical brain has splayed. WcW
  2. Check the webcams on Richardsons Bay / Sausalito
  3. Dear sirs. I must insist on on serving a cease and desist order being placed on any further expansion of this conversation. Good god man. You've just published over 90% of our production process. Yours. RED BULL. P:S: Please do not publish any details re: Linoleum production process as a by-product.
  4. There is another basic something that is also missing, and that is "Sailing." Anarchy, we seem to have in spades. But, this hasn't evolved to the level of CA yet, just AA. No, not that one, but "Anchoring Anarchy." Just hope we don't have main shipping channel anarchy, or CGA. And recently, we looked like we were going strong with "Sons of Anarchy", what with the Harleysaki and guns. I'd love to see some Sailing Anarchy. Really! Just hope HR and family don't then have a bath WITHOUT an EPIRB. So do I mate. So do I, but it would be nice to see him pull it off if only to get some of the knobheads on here to shut the fuck up for once. Most of the twats on here would be quite willing to watch a blind man get run over by a truck just to be able to tell him how stupid he was for being blind in the first place.
  5. Source: 65- by 32-foot catamaran 3200sqft of living space
  6. You know. Throughout this whole "tome" of a thread, there is a basic "something" that seems to have been missed by most of our resident experts. That "something" is the fact that this site is called "Sailing ANARCHY" and in that vein our Flying Hot Rod is more of an ANARCHIST than 90% of the rest of our gallant bunch of bullshitters. Yes, he maybe doing it wrong from our point of view but, at least he's bloody well doing it and not sitting in front of a screen thowing shit in the air between bouts of wanking at the latest peice of plastic boat porn that they'll never be able to afford. I'm not condoning HR's design / build model by any means (I actually think that it is quite hideous), but, what I do condone is the fact that he got off of his ass and had a go at making his dream come true (And I trully hope he will do so). Most of the motor mouthed bastards on here are too scared to have a bath without having the comfort zone of an EPIRB and a GPS leaning against the hot tap. WcW
  7. Source: Foiling wing ground,skating gybe, big cat foil effect.
  8. I agree mate, but it needn't be a monohull only event. In monos the AC32 event worked brilliantly using a box rule and had more to give the spectators than any of this nonsense and in actual fact the big screens gave the land spectators a better view than us reporters had out on the water. If the cup continues as a multi event then the box rule has to go and we revert to the old J-Class format which was " Make a challenge and throw money at it". I'd be interested in seeing that. Ten multihulls of different designs and configurations racing under a box rule of max loa 75', min loa 60' x max beam 50', min beam 30' x max draft 10'. This would make the designers work for their money and create all kinds of innovations that would gradually trickle down through the system in the form of build techniques and development materials. It would also create intrigue, spygates, and bankrupt ex millionaires. That is what the AC is all about. It WAS the sailing worlds most prestigeous trophy because of those things. It is now a borefest. I really hate to say it , but, I now wish Bertarelli had won the last event because no matter what we all thought of him, he had panache, he built a brilliant infrastructure, he created intrigue, and he did a lot to help the poorer teams stay the course and keep the entries to an acceptable level. Yes, it was all about money, but then the AC has always been about money. The difference I see between AC 32 and AC34 is that the money is flowing the wrong way. The AC has always been about making the contestants poorer with a trophy for the winner. It now seems to be about making a very few inner elite a huge amount of money and to hell with what happens on the water. We win, great,,, We lose, no problem, and we made a buck either way. Whoever wins this event is of little importance because the only loser has been the event itself. WcW Source: Commentator thread......
  9. gusmus

    Viva le "Cup"

    So I expect Larry is happy now. His fiasco of a "Cup" event has the sensation and all of the excitement he could ever have wished for. I wonder if he ever sat down to think about just what the "Americas Cup" is all about. If he had done so he would have maybe realised that it isn't about launching boats into space. It isn't about breaking speed records, and it certainly isn't about ringing up a death toll to rival "Nascar". His attitude from the start has been about payoff and making a buck. His attitude from the start has been about "Bringing in the punters" on a scale never seen before. The last category failed over a year ago, and now maybe he will realise that the public wish to see yacht racing in a civilised manner and not an "Oracle" devised destruction derby. He has taken the base limits of a beautiful sport and lowered the baseline even further in the name of progress. That to me is not progress. It is simply a hype to try to gain sponsors and public wreck-watchers. "Hydroptere" is progress. A decade of trials and errors with lessons learned and duly recorded and a team dedicated to furthering the boundaries and frontiers of sailing. Larrys Leviathans are nothing more than a five minute wonder which will be remembered for making a huge packet of dollar bills for a few privelaged money-grabbers at the cost of the life of one of the worlds most talented sailors. Sail on Bart. You were an inspiration to many and a martyr to very few. WcW. Just wait until the next "Fastnet". "Oxygen bottles"? Check. "Body armour"? Check. "Crash Hats"? Check. Body bags????. "Oh don't worry, the insurance company supplies those".
  10. Source: The Vendée Globe game
  11. 6times7, on 18 December 2012 - 09:52 PM, said: Ay, a slow 12 hours ahead, moight just get the donkey out and have me some fun to pass the slow times, to be sure, to be sure Also notice I've crossed the half way mark - 12,880 to go, 13,544 sailed.... which means we must all be close to the same stage, only another 5/6 weeks to go!. Also seems like a good time to say thanks again to brIar. Well me ould son. Oim hopin yez passed yer twelve hours witout problims nor flaying hooves, but, I should've given yez a tip or two before yez started crankin the handle an all. Furst: Mek shure the bugger is in idle, or at least layin down. Iffn it isn't, get yer missus ter sit on the buggers head, (It always confuses them cos it looks like a straw midden decending from above). Secund: Never ever mek the mistake of grabbin the startin handle before yev got yer glove on because one single swing of the "Dangerous Shenanigans Act" could leave yez limpin fer weeks. Turd: When yez've got the bugger hoisted... try an kep it there otherwise yez'll end up wit yer head down an yer feet up an gettin inter all sorts of bother just like I did before I'd even gotten me spanker into full swing. An Fort': Doncher ever, ever try ter do whatever it was that I did. I don't remember exactly what it was I did, but it was a bad move. There was a kind of screechin that sounded like a bloody banshee an then a tump around the left ear which trickled all its way down to me familiar impulses an that was that. I woke up to find dat I was doin 28 knots in one direction and the bloody donkey was doin 45 goin the other way, an that me friends,,, is the reason why me batteries have gone flat an me self steerin' is all over the place.. donkey engine n. 1. A small auxiliary steam engine used for hoisting or pumping, especially aboard ship.
  12. gusmus

    21-12-2012, We're all doomed

    That's it my friends. We're all fucked. Unless we go climb a mountain in France or kiss our asses goodbye,, the friggin Mayas got it right. EEEHHh. Hang on a sec. If those clever little sods got it right then how come they dissappeared before they knew it?. OK. Let's try again. The calendar says that the end of the world comes on the 21st-Dec- 2012. Great, So if it's so accurate over 4000 years,,, why don't they tell us what time it will end so we can tidy our desks before the great "BOOM". Nah. I don't believe a word of it. I reckon that my kids are right. They demand money for "After" D-Day parties. They demand smart phones and iPads for "AFTER" the end of the world so they can tweet, twitter, and twaddle about how they survived without the help of a martian living inside a french mountain. And think about it. Who in his right mind would stop the Vendee Globe before the boats even reached Cape Horn? It's all nuts to me and I refuse to recognise that bolt of lightning that just struck my wife,,,,,,,,,and the poodle with the bobble hat on. You see I think it's all a big ploy by the world banks to get themselves out of the large cesspit they've managed to dig for themselves. If they can convince us that cash will not be an option after the 21st then we'll all run out and spend our every last penny on party hats and Malt Whisky. So it's on that basis that I shall be applying for a very large loan first thing on monday morning. .
  13. gusmus

    Sailing Handicap

    Well you see the thing is Cool is that disability is relative to the past as I am now finding out. If you have read the first couple of entries you will note that I'm feeling pretty handicapped myself now. I've been an active chap for most of my life but over the last few years I've gone down the chute so to speak. Here I am feeling sorry for myself because I can't walk properly any more and My legs joints hurt because I've been favouring the bad leg over these last 5 years. I moan about the massive doses of pills I have to take daily and yet when I really think about it, There is very little wrong with me. I can walk without assistance (albeit badly). I can drive myself to town without crashing. You see my wife is completely different. She has 82% disability and the only time she ever complains is when she tracks some dog shit into the house on her wheels. I asked her why she doesn't consider herself to be disabled and she replied that it is because she really isn't disabled since she has never known any other way of life. She considers herself to be of "Limited mobility" and woe betide anyone who begs to differ because that armoured personel carrier which she sits in is most definitely not of limited mobility and condecending social activists from government departments have the bruises to prove it. Cheers Cool. Keep up with the sailing. I'm dreaming of the day I can get back on the water and become properly mobile again. The car is ok but you have to admit. A boat does it better..
  14. gusmus

    Sailing Handicap

    I was having a gander at the Paralympic sailing the other day and very good it was too. It also made me realise just how handicapped us so called "able bodied" types really are. My wife has been in some form of assisted transport since childhood (polio victim of the 1960,s), and although a very sweet natured and highly intelligent woman in normal circumstances she can become an absolute demon when obstructed by ignorance or sheer bad manners. People don't seem to realise that she is in fact in control (very precise control) of a personal armoured car. Supermarkets are her favourite hunting ground where on one occasion she left a swathe of empty shelves in the canned goods section after being ignored repeatedly by two chatting employees to please pass her an item she couldn't reach. The supervisor was most apologetic as she sweetly explained that she had lost control trying to reach the said item after being given no help by the said employees. On a more recent occasion during a home visit from social services regarding a replacement for her faulty and now rather old wheelchair, she blithely parked one of her front wheels on the foot of a condecending "expert" who seemed to be of the opinion that "Polio" was a was a severe mental condition affecting only those with an IQ of "demented simian" level or below. The poor chap soon learned that 140 kilos of wheelchair and apparently helpless operator are not to be argued with and duly hobbled off to his car with all paperwork completed to my wifes satisfaction. He even apologised for spilling his tea into his own lap. She's a strong headed woman is my lass and I stand behind her all the way. I certainly don't stand in front of her just in case gets that wicked gleam in her eye. This brings me neatly along to the art of sailing with disabilities. I used to help out with transport and unpaid crewing now and again for an old guy who had a lovely little gaff cutter moored in the Swale behind the Isle of Sheppey on Englands Thames estuary. He was a curmudgeonly old sod with a love for life, sailing in all weathers, and good beer. He had one or two faults about his person, the least of which was a tin leg. The tin leg was of no great handicap to him at all and in fact most of his sailing was done single handed but it was a severe handicap to anyone who ever sailed with him. He only used to pick up a crew if he was overnighting across to Holland or France to stock up on booze or a particularly pungent Dutch pipe tobacco that he used to stuff into a pipe with a bowl the size of a marine toilet. Day watches were fine with the hot rum toddies running like a good following sea but what old George used to love was taking the late watches from midnight onwards and that is where the handicap came in. Usually after a long days boozing at the helm it was bliss to roll into your sack and let the skipper take charge during the wee small hours. Not with George. He would balance the sails beautifully and let the boat sail herself to within five or six degrees of her course and then brace himself in the companionway and let the boat roll beneath him. That's when the hapless crew became handicapped. His tin leg had a squeak to starboard. It never squeaked to port, only starboard which to Georges mind gave him right of way to squeak whenever he felt like squeaking. It wasn't a door like squeak or even a mouse like squeak. It was the squeak of screeching fingernails on glass. It was the squeak of a frequency honed over eons to sever nerve endings, shatter teeth, and to turn even the most exhausted of crew into quivering lumps of jelly. The tin leg was also a time keeper. It squeaked for 1 hour, there would be a silence for 30 minutes while George sat down and had a nip or two from his flask and then, like the seven bells of hell from naval days past, there would be a CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, as George bashed the dottle from his empty pipe on his artificial appendage prior to filling it up and restarting the whole sequence all over again. I discussed every measure with George regarding a remedy but he would have none of it. "Thart's a delikit instrument son and we don't wants ter go meddlin wi' them now, do we" he would say. Old George is long gone now and the last time I saw his lovingly kept boat she was hauled up on the mud looking neglected with a for sale sign hanging over the stern. I swear I heard a squeak as I walked past.