Stirling Goldman: the man behind the legend

By 9th January 2010 August 27th, 2013 Uncategorized

GREETINGS, punters. It has come to my attention via those wannabes at Powderlife that there are murmurs that: 1) No human could achieve the feats Goldman claims; 2) That I am some mythical being (not too far from truth); 3) Simply that I do not exist. Well, I am writing here to dispel the myths, and to let you know a little about the man behind the legend.

I came into Earth like any other person, but genes were on my side. My father was the first to ever win a Winter Olympics gold medal in every event over five Olympics. My mother was crowned Miss Hungary from age 18-48, when she finally retired. Hence, when the two of them get together and do what Stirls does best…well, what do you get? A ridiculously attractive kid with prize-winning good looks who can ski above all others.

What, you want more? Well, given my father’s ski background, I was born for the mountain. With Dad being a champion skier, he got me out on the hill at a young age, and at age eight I was skiing Antarctica’s cliffs, which had only ever been photographed previously. Mum was a promo girl for all the schnapps brands, so I also spent many a night fine-tuning my ‘après ski skills’ in the bar. By age four, I was instructing adults in France and beating off 21-year-old hotties with a stick in the bar at night. Obviously I was too young to get busy, so they brought in the age of consent to keep my innocence intact. I put those ladies on lay-by, though, and years later they all returned… and all left smiling because it was so worth the wait.

If you still don’t believe me, it basically comes down to one thing: jealousy – male jealousy because they can’t ski or pull the ladies like me, or the all too common female jealousy, because you haven’t yet been pulled by me. Either way, keep living in denial – it’s probably better for you that way.

Q. I spent the evening with Lars Longcox last night. He said he was the best powder skier in the world, and drank 64 beers a night. I thought you were the king, but after my five girlfriends and I left Lars’ house this morning, we’re all left wondering…?? – Tiffany, Dallas.

Ol’ Longcox, hey? (laughs). I bet you were disappointed his surname didn’t live up to reality! You say ‘five girlfriends’, but no offence, Tiffany, I’m assuming you and your friends are…well, I’m not sure how to say this… ladies of generous proportions? Now that’s okay, I even had a larger lady fetish back in the late ’70s. Not really my thing, so now I leave it to Longcox to clean up my scraps. Also, Tiffany, if you look closer at the 64 beers he drank, I’m pretty sure it says ‘Light’ next to it. For Goldy it’s 48 full-strength and not a drop less. I am the King – the original article, baby. If you drop the pounds, you can come find out, Tiff. A New Year’s resolution right there, I reckon.
Got a question for a man who knows? Fire it to stirling@powderlife.com.

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