11. The Canarian
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The post surf hacky sack was always a treat to be around.
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This is a Kiwi outside his natural habitat ie. in New Zealand.
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You may question Eugene Terreblanche's politics, but you can't question his incredible wax jobs.
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No wonder they think the Superbank is so uncrowded.
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Who would have thought that after all those years fraternising with crocodiles, Mick Dundee would ultimately succumb to a night-club bouncer’s right-hook.
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Imagine getting dropped in by all these Brazil nuts at once. Terrible.
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Eddie here grew up in Pennsylvania, where true Hawaiians come from.
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Francois was enjoying his time in G-Land, and was glad he'd brought his full quiver with him
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The Englishman couldn't decide to hit the world class right, or the world class left.
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Not wanting to be Spanish is practically a national past time in Spain... and Portugal!
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By 5pm, this Canarian booger was already due his daily body wax.
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Maybe the Germans' state of the art wetsuits have been holding them back.
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This guy's attempts to blend in with the locals didn't go so well...
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Post surf, the Scandi pack reyhrdrated with some much needed juice.
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The two Israeli lads' trip to Indo was a success.
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Where good Italians go when they die: Pasta Point
11. The Canarian
Is hairy, like an all over body fuzz thing. He probably shaves it, legs, back, arms, chest, etc, before and after jiu jitsu which he does every day. He bodyboards, drives a tuned-up Seat Ibiza or Golf (always 2 door and with body coloured bumpers, boogieboard in the boot, sideways.) He probably has stickers that look vaguely like weird kind of triangle-esqe in form but are generally unrecognisable to anyone other than other boogers. His vibe is even shittier than the French surfer(!) with a perma-angry glare stare for anyone but his jui-jits-boogie mates. He is the very antithesis of cool, rather, he is as cool as the molten lava that formed his ugly, windswept, forgettable island.
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