From his inception as the ultra-marketable, kinked-rail grinding, unprecedented tailsliding aggressor known as “The Muska,” Chad Muska has gone from musician (Muska beats?) to bohemian, coast-jumping artist.

As a beast of evolution it’s only natural to wonder what state Chad will occupy next, which is why we’ve taken the liberty to hypothesize our own vision of his future. —Cole Nowicki


After a five-day binge fueled by drugs, alcohol and ego throughout Los Angeles and its nightlife, Chad wakes to find himself in an alleyway. Covering his body is vomit and his own tag emboldened in white spray paint: “The Muska” is on the Muska.

Sickened by the realization of his errant hedonism he leaves in search of an answer. After selling a manhole cover that he paints a boom box on for $15,000, Chad buys a plane ticket to Nepal.

For two years he studies under Buddhist monks, absorbing their appreciation and respect for all things around them. Of course this doesn’t happen quietly or without internal revolution; only four weeks into his mission he has the whole of the monastery in high-tops.


Upon returning home, Chad finds a renewed sense of purpose. The monks of Nepal had welcomed him into their home and taught him their ways without gripe; it only seemed fitting that he should do the same. Four months into his venture, Chad becomes a successful realtor in Los Angeles. What sparks his popularity is not only his charismatic selling tactics but his personal promise and tagline: “You don’t just live in a Muska home; you live Muska.”

For three weeks after the initial move-in date, Chad hosts extensive workshops with his clients on how to be their own “personal Muska.” From grooming (keep your hair greasy, dawg!), diet (don’t eat anything from an animal with style, i.e. goats) to setting goals (you gotta do u, dawg!).


Tired of the realty game and more than financially secure, Chad decides to step back on the board. At the height of the 2026 freestyle-skating resurgence, Muska gets his foot back in the door by wowing the young bucks with a stationary illusion-flip into pogo. This makes such an impact that he even gets his spot back on the Black Magic roster, although in the height of the recent freestyle craze they switch from making griptape to faux-leather gloves.


It’s only matter of weeks before freestyle dies again and someone decides to reignite the salad-grind phenomena. Still yearning to be back in the skateboard limelight but without the physical wherewithal, Chad decides to write a thrilling skate-centric tell all. The book reaches the New York Times bestseller list. This doesn’t happen without a price however; the goods Muska shares in his book alienate him from his old friends and teammates. Sammy Baptista’s career is tarnished forever when it’s revealed he is actually goofy.

Controversy erupts again when rumour spreads that the book was ghost written. After a thorough investigation, reports discover that the ghostwriter was none other than Josh Kasper.


Many years later, far past the book hullabaloo, Buddhist reincarnation, and even further past the days of triple-kink noseslides, Chad finds himself in a quaint retirement community off the coast of the sunken city of Miami. He spends his days in cut-off Dockers and knee-high socks, spray painting landscapes on the sides of his neighbour’s bungalows. He is ultimately happy with the life he has lived and lives out his final days in peace, occasionally Facetiming Paulo Diaz to reminisce.

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