Readers, recently I came across, in a magazine, a high school photograph of one of my favorite performers, Freddie Mercury. I was enamored and fascinated at this rare peak into the past. I enjoyed seeing Freddie as an average Joe, just another senior in a class of hundreds, yet so obviously destined for greater things. It is for this reason that I present this rare peak into the past of The Surf Report, which I hope inspires some of the same reactions. This suspense thriller, written while still a student at WV State College (Go Fighting Mites!) is one of my first attempts at injecting a conscious attention to detail into my writing. And while I can only dream of achieving the lofty artistic plateaus of a Freddie Mercury, I hope this serves as a relevant precursor to today’s WV Surf Report, which at the very least has changed the world and all its people. -Ed.

Cousin Jimmy pulled his tube socks up past his elbows. “Dammit,” he cursed at the newly discovered smudge on the highly-sensitive spying device he held in his hand. “Who’s been handling this with their bare hands?” he demanded, “Don’t you know that a simple fingerprint could cause a million pounds of dirt to just leave this planet forever?” His brow contracted into wildly exaggerated corduroy, then released itself as punctuation. The carpet on which he stood seemed to flatten ever so slightly wherever he walked. Oh he had presence. His choice of clothes, usually jeans and some kind of shirt, to me represented the way in which we as Americans value our freedom. And the way he never buttoned his top button made me respect him even that much more. I remember a time when I didn’t respect Cousin Jimmy at all. Oh yes, in fact a very large “chunk of time.” It was a “clump of minutes” that I like to refer to as The Bad Period. During this certain “clutch of hours” Cousin Jimmy was doing very bad things in the name of Westinghouse that I won’t go into because it was an extremely bad “bringing together of fortnights” that I would like to leave behind me like my size 9 ½ Adidas footprints. However, Cousin Jimmy at present represents everything that I, as an American, view as wholesome as far as freedom and my right to worship as I please goes. “I’ve told you again and again not to bother this stuff! It’s a highly-sensitive spying device!” Oh, he had presence. This wasn’t always so. I remember a few years ago when he had no presence at all. In fact I remember him doing jumping jacks in front of Richard Nixon as the president gave his resignation speech. Nobody noticed. I remember him doing squat n thrusts on the moon as Neil Armstrong took one giant step for mankind. Nobody noticed. I remember his perfect dismount from the uneven parallel bars aboard the Kennedy funeral train. And nobody noticed. But now he had it. Oh yes he definitely had it now. By “it” I mean presence, which he certainly had at this point (which wasn’t always the case). “All it takes is one small fingerprint to throw this thing out of whack.” Cousin Jimmy loved Elton John and often listened to Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, which he enjoyed immensely. “Don’t you realize the importance of leaving this thing alone? Fingerprints could ruin it, he informed as his lips moved to accommodate his words, especially during “leaving this thing.” Cousin Jimmy detested strip mining and corn among other things. To me, as an American, he illustrated freedom as well as justice and made me respect all that we represent as world leaders. Especially freedom. And he had that presence.

He wiped the smudge off and chased these guys through Mexico and used the device to stop them from taking over the world. And then some other stuff happened over in Europe.

The End.

Perhaps sparked by the recent AIDS related deaths of such well know personalities as Rock Hudson, Liberace, Walter Cronkite, and B.B. King, America and the world has succumbed to what is being called a "new paranoia" towards contracting disease. We here at The Surf Report, while concerned, feel the public may be overreacting just a bit. We have compiled this list of today's "popular" diseases and their three main danger signs to hopefully dispel some of the lingering melancholia we have observed. Go ahead and take a load off your mind! -Ed.

AIDS 1) often rub open sores with random Greyhound passengers 2) sometimes order Banana Boats at Baskin-Robbins 3) possess an even number of buttocks

CANCER 1) a solar system of furry moles on your back 2) a cigarette pocket sewn onto your underwear 3) have tasted, seen, or heard of Coca-Cola

HEART DISEASE 1) prefer pork schnapps 2) get winded running the blender 3) a constant thumping in the chest

RICKETS 1) often swell up like the Michelin Man 2) farts smell like fireworks 3) a tendency to start something only to finish it or sometimes not

THE GLOTUS 1) in a desperate moment of passion, used sausage casing as makeshift prophylactic 2) eat other people's tartar 3) part your ass in the middle

CANADIAN GLACIER ANUS 1) dot your t's and cross your eyes 2) visit a lap/fist doctor 3) sweat on occasion

JIM CROCE'S DISEASE 1) a nagging desire to have your thighs pierced 2) sometimes enter carpeting stores and start throwing punches for no reason 3) only watch 60 Minutes on Sunday

WALKING BULB BLOAT 1) go to church and repeatedly yell "Why?" during the sermon 2) sometimes roll up in soiled shower curtains 3) a tendency to lick the stamp instead of the envelope corner

CREEPING BISCUIT CLOTS 1) enjoy putting your tongue on the woofer during the heartbeat on "Dark Side of the Moon" 2) crave the taste of lumber milk 3) have no intentions of drowning

STUMP REMOVER'S BACK ACNE 1) sometimes sit on toilet for lengths of time as to cause terrarium effect 2) often cruise the mall sporting an eggnog moustache because "they" like it 3) seldom burn sleeping bums with a magnifying glass in the bright sun

CORN ENVY 1) wear welding helmet to ballet, not to embarrass date but to protect yourself from sparks 2) salute implied American flags 3) you've never read the word never

Howdy! Welcome to Page Six. Boy it's been a long time coming (Page Five was done months ago, but never printed). It feels good to be back in action. I hope nobody's forgotten us. In case you have though, here's a brief overview of the brief history of The Surf Report: Page One -- a rousing success, landing me on the cover of NEWSWEEK and IRON HORSE in the same week, the first time that's happened since Russell Johnson did it in 1965. I was pleased, of course, but I vowed I wouldn't quit until I made the cover of GRIT. Page Two -- by now I was growing fat with complacency as the millions poured in. I was crazy! Fast cars, endless lines of credit, and babes, babes, babes! Yes, Page Two good to me. Page Three -- GRIT falls! Eat my dust Professor. Page Four -- the beginning of the end. I cut my hand opening a can of pineapple juice and let it get infected. I lost my mind in the ensuing fever. Days and days were spent playing sweat pants on the stereo, grooving to the beat. The folks were worried while I was squirming under the couch cushions. Page Five -- caught stealing coveralls from an unattended dryer, landing me in jail. The state saw to it that I received proper medical care and now Page Six -- the comeback! Damn, I feel good. OK, let's check in and see WHAT'S HAPPENIN' WITH OTTO. Recently Otto's bean bag chair mysteriously gave birth to l'il bean bag Otto's. A red-faced Otto remarked, "I'm so ashamed." And now the GUIDED TOUR continues, "...and legend has it that this stuff smell exactly like death." And now a Surf Report PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT. Want to score big points at the front door after a big date? Try Brut breath mints. We endorse 'em! And now one of the MANY PROJECTS OF BOB THE BREAD MAN. "Wednesday I'm gonna organize my tools. Might polish 'em." Now a WVSR SINGLES SURVIVAL tip. When a head of lettuce rots and you get a crisper full of brown liquid, don't fret. Just toss in that green loaf of bread, let sit for several hours, then toss that sucker in the dumpster. Another Surf Report PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT: a new cereal from Battle Creek, Multiple O's. Unsnap, tackle, then mop! And finally Page Six's PSYCHOLOGICAL TIDBIT. If people only shit once every nine or ten months, would they attach to it the same trauma and drama as they do to giving birth? Would people be throwing shit showers? Keeping a shit scrapbook? Redecorating rooms for their shit? Would they have their shit christened?

See ya at the beach, Jeff

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