Hello Surf Reporters! Before we get to the disturbing, gayish dream I had a few nights ago, I have to do something I hate. I need to ask for donations again. You know, almost every podcast I listen to, and NPR, and other websites… they all ask for Paypal donations continuously. And there’s no hesitation whatsoever. In fact, in the case of NPR, they try to make me feel guilty if I don’t send them a few bucks. Forget about hesitation, they’re goddamned entitled.
I’m not entitled; I know that. And I sincerely hate, and hesitate, to bring up this subject. But the site requires money to operate, and during the last four years (since Warner Bros. shit me out like yesterday’s hashbrowns), it’s been more and more difficult to pull it from the general household fund. So, if you can spare three dollars or five dollars, or any amount whatsoever, I’d be much obliged.
Here’s the Buy Jeff a Beer page, and you can also send other amounts via PayPal, to email@example.com. I thank you, sincerely. And now let’s move on to the homoerotica!
Last week Toney went to Steamtown Mall in Scranton (frequently mentioned on The Office). And later that evening she told me about a bunch of floor-to-ceiling posters she saw inside Abercrombie & Fitch. She said they featured what looked like 15 year old boys and girls, mostly nude, engaged in various acts of pre-sex. In one, she said, a naked boy was pulling the jeans off a topless girl, and they looked like eighth graders.
“Disgusting!” I said. “Let’s go down there right now, so I can witness this outrage, firsthand.” Then she called me a perv, and we moved on to other subjects.
And that night… I had a dream in which I was working for a professional photographer, in some sort of fancy-pants studio somewhere. It’s unclear what task I was performing, but I was definitely an employee, just kinda lingering in the shadows. Possibly with a roll of cable across my shoulder.
The photographer was in a grouchy mood, and highly impatient with everyone. I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything to cross him, and felt a bit of anxiety in the dreamworld.
Then some poofter kid showed up, maybe 15 or 16 years old. His blonde hair was feathered like something out of the 1970s, and he was continuously combing it, and admiring himself in a mirror. He had people with him, personal assistants or whatever, and was very demanding. I couldn’t stand the prick, from the get-go.
After he combed and primped, and whatnot, the photographer ordered him to get ready. He told him to take off his shirt, and put on some jeans, with no underwear.
And I want to be very clear here… I was cringing and wincing during all this. At no point was I enjoying it. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. …Good god, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be telling anyone this.
Anyway, the dandy emerged from his dressing room, and walked in front of the cameras, shirtless and wearing jeans. Then the photographer told him to unbutton and unzip his pants, so a bit of pubes would be visible. “Teenage girls like that,” he said. And I don’t know if that’s true, or not. All I can do is report what happened.
And here’s where everything went downhill… The pretty boy looked uncomfortable, shifted his weight, and mumbled that he had no pubes: they’d been manscaped into oblivion.
“What?!” the photographer screamed. “Who told you to ‘scape? You’ve ruined the whole shoot, a whole day’s work!!”
“Well, can’t you just Photoshop them in?” he said.
“I don’t work that way!” the photographer hollered. “I work clean!!”
When I woke up, seconds later, my eyes flew open and I said out loud, “What the hell??” The whole episode made me uncomfortable in my sleep, but why was I dreaming about it, to begin with? Good god! Who was that, Leif Garrett or someone? I felt creepy and confused.
Then I remembered the Abercrombie conversation, and was somewhat relieved. At least I’d pinpointed the source. But still… I didn’t care for it. I didn’t care for it, t’all.
And now you guys can accuse me waking up fully-engorged (NOT true!), and whatever else you choose. I know I probably would… It’s a good thing I don’t put too much stock into the concept of “dignity.” Right? Holy hell.
“I work clean!”
Last weekend Toney and I were on the deck drinking a few Yuenglings, and she got up to answer her cell phone, which was on the kitchen counter. And she stepped, barefoot, on a poopball.
Yes, the profanity went on for a good longtime. And in between: “I’m going to kill that dog!”
I went and found him, in the living room, and inspected his ass region. And sure enough… a bumper crop of dingleberries.
Andy needs to be groomed, but it stresses him out so much, it’s easy to put off. So, he had a lot of puffy hair back there, and crap dangling in it.
“Someone bring me the scissors!” I hollered, and Andy began vibrating like a lawnmower.
Toney came in there, and held the hound down. And I cut off great clumps of fur from his butt. He tried to wriggle away, but Toney was so mad because of the mashed poopball incident, she had him pinned-down really well.
And now his ass is nothing short of sporty. He looks sleek, and ready for a clean dump at all times. A few minutes after Toney released him, and he’d had enough time to regroup in the upstairs hallway, he came back into the room and licked my hand.
I think it was his way of saying, “Thank you for shaving my ass, loud food-providing man.” I’m sorry, I’m getting a little emotional here…
Damn, this is a disgraceful update, from front to back. I sincerely apologize.
Have a great weekend, my friends.
Now playing in the bunker
Buy Jeff a beer, he could use a beer
All right matching minutes for buy Jeff a beer. Anyone that matched my $10 donation in the next 8000 minutes is a good surf reporter.
Done. Jeff and I have this much in common: a pitcher of fancy-ass microbrew is always welcome, always appreciated.
Disgraceful, but funny as… well, you know.
Speaking of turds, I’m number two!
your dream is andy’s way of geting even for ”manscapeing” him
andy has powers of sublimal mindcontrol
jim britton says
Now that’s an update…
Enjoy the “keg”, Jeff.
Jeff gets bonerdreams about pubeless manboys.
Holy shit!! I dont even know where to begin! That was one hell of a belly-laugh update!!
First things first….I prefer to “work clean”. LMAO!
Back in the 80’s, I dated a guy who lived on a working farm. We were on our way to the Easter service at this little country church. It was rainy and the parking lot was muddy. We sat with a bunch of our friends who attended the same church. During the sermon, one of our friends leaned forward and told my boyfriend he had a ball of mud on his boots. He reached down and snapped the dried ball off the tip of his boot, and for whatever reason, smashes it with his thumb. It was a big turd…dog, cow, who knows. It immediately conjured up a horrible stink. The kid behind us turned green, ran out and barfed in the trash can in the vestibule of the church.
On the bright side…at least Andy didn’t have the runs. Cutting wet dog pooped up hair out of your dogs butt is no fun.
Sweet Sainted Mother of Sarah Mclachlan..I’ll be glad to give you ten bucks for a beer so long as you don’t pawn of one of your goddamn neighborhood flea factories on me.
And I think bikerchick may have planted that dreamworm when she suggested I do some manscaping. Then again…dreaming about a15 year old blond boy model…fuck dude….I can’t help you with that. That’s pretty fucking weird.Careful or you might get a citation on your man card for that kinda shit.
jim britton says
Have you any plans to attend Philly Beer week?
your dream went down hill way before “And here’s where everything went downhill…”
Afraid I got nothing on the dream. Just don’t want to speculate on that one. I did hit the beer link, though, even though I found it necessary to give up the stuff myself some coupla decades ago. The site is one of my daily pleasures, and I’d hate to see it go by the wayside for lack of a few bucks. Nothing out there to take it’s place, that’s for damned sure. Sorry I couldn’t go for the pony keg this time, Jeff. But a niece just got married half a country away and between airfare, rental car, hotel and shit we’re pretty much done for the month. Last time the damn russkies stepped in and “sold” me a subscription to “Russiancupids” or some such shit for half the price of a keg. Hope it doesn’t happen again. Luckily my CC company caught it, closed the account and sent me a new card.
And on the dog shit front, We have two pretty good sized dogs. When a 140 pound half mastiff/half pit bull gets the power shits in the dining room it’s a thing to behold. Through both rungs of a chair, another two feet acrosss the floor, and a foot up the wall in a stripe about 3 inches wide. Never did find out what exactly caused that, but the accompanying sickness cost over $800 at the emergency vet for a one night stay and two liters of fluid. But still, wouldn’t trade either one of them for most anything.
Random guy says
You’re about to get a whole new crop of visitors once google indexes this gem!
There – I hit you twice on the beer tab; so don’t say I never did nuthin’ for ya’. Now when are you going to post my Smokin’ Fish pictures from my honeymoon 2 years ago. Oh – and I ‘spect you to play tourguide whenever I finally get up to see Centralia!
I work clean too, but my vision is sufficiently comprehensive to include woman-scaping. It’s time we all moved beyond prejudice into the golden land of slippery-when-wet.
Did a beer tab for ya. Hope everything helps.
Dr. Ruth says
Obviously, the pretty boy was not packing what was necessary down there to turn on the teenyboppers. Christ, do I have to explain everything?
Good Morning Surf Reporters…
…long time, no talk, about doggie dingleberries and douchey dreams…
***quick beer update report…Deschutes Red Chair is good but The Mirror Pond PA and the Obsidian Stout are my faves. Gonna try some Left Hand tomorrow. I hear their Stout is great and the PA is right there too. I’m home, back from doing the Lone Ranger movie, wife is gone for about two weeks, I don’t have to go back out on the road…got a good job driving a gravel haulin’ semi (bellydump) local road buildin’ here that will last till Oct. Now…unless I have some fucked up dreams tonight…life is good.
Fat Dave says
We’ve got a Maine coon cat that has dingle issues as well as other skin problems, so I’ve learned to shave her just about all over. She squirms and fights me while it is happening, but then acts all sweet afterwards because she feels better. My vet told me that I should quit my job and start a cat grooming business.
Fat Dave says
PS. I’ll throw some change your way when I get paid next week.
You’re waaaayyyyy better than NPR. And less opinionated.
Yeah, THAT’S the difference between the WVSR and NPR.
That was disturbing. I think I want my $10 buy Jeff a beer money back. Kidding.
Ummmmm did you get paid five bucks an hour to shave his ass?
I had a similar dream on Thursday or so. Danny devito was in full black pajamas with white cat fur all over it. He was lounging on a couch with a bowl of chicken soup in between his legs and we were both eating the soup with spoons. A 16 yrold boy was sitting on the couch just watching tv. I asked danny if he could at least move the bowl so I didn’t have to spoon soup from his crotch but he wouldn’t budge.
It was a week of weeeeeird dreams.
I once had a dream in which George H. W. Bush made a campaign appearance in our city wearing nothing but a black slip. Surprisingly, it really wasn’t that erotic.
I’m kicking in some funds via PayPal, with the stipulation that the money can only be used for hot pockets.
I’m gonna kick it old school and send you a check. Is that ok? When the movie comes out next May, you’re gonna pester me for my autograph anyway so I might as well get it over with.
Your checks in the mail….there more than likely will be postage due. I ain’t that rich and Jim at the post office said a twenty four cent stamp might make it to Toledo. You might have to get the thing yourself…dunno?
JeffInDenver (InCleveland) says
At least the dingleberry shaving didn’t work itself in to the dream.
My husband’s paypal account kindly bought you a beer. He really should read this site, I’m sure he would enjoy it as much as I do.
Survey SAYS! …RIP Richard Dawson. The prisoner Newkirk produced a gun.
Hey ya go Jeff…nice little tune you might like…nice sing along there at the end…
Rat Bastard says
Bought you a beer, Jeff. Wish it could have been a case…
“loud, food providing man” — bravo!
it’s alive….IT’S ALIVE!!
i dont use paypal often but is it just me or can I not use my credit card via paypal to buy jeff a beer? I thought it was doable before.
Is this a WVSR security feature so we don’t all max ourselves out buying Jeff beers? You know how they do that with the lottery? and to hell with the account verification, i tried and it made my brain hurt.
I don’t like it, not one bit. I haven’t mailed or wrote a check since the Clinton administration but i might have to break that streak.