Last night I had a dream about Jeremy Bloom.
This marks a new record for the quickest it has taken for a newly named Smokin’ Hot Burgher to appear in my dreams.
Now, Burghers, I am not making this up, okay? I swear it on my tobacco suede boots.
I dreamt that not only was Jeremy Bloom a model, he was a PIGEON MODEL!
Let me explain.
I dreamt that every photo shoot he was in, he included a pigeon. So in my dream, I was bombarded with hot photos of Jeremy Bloom holding a pigeon, surrounded by pigeons, walking with pigeons, allowing a pigeon to sit on his hot shoulder, caressing a pigeon, and then at one point, right before my head exploded, I dreamt he was filming a music video and HE WAS SLOW MOTION RUNNING SHIRTLESS THROUGH A FIELD OF FLOWERS WITH A FLOCK OF PIGEONS FLYING AROUND HIM!! He may have squeezed his own nipples. I’m not sure.
And then, as I indicated previously, my head exploded.
Over the Christmas holiday, I dreamt that Bram of The Comet showed up at my family’s Christmas dinner like a bat out of hell, double-dipped his spoon in the gravy after licking it, ate turkey right off the leg bone like a caveman, and then solved a Rubik’s Cube.
Don’t even get me started on the David Conrad dream I had last week in which I tripped inside Soldiers and Sailors museum in Oakland, he happened to be in the building and he helped me up to my feet, and then we had a whole conversation about how he had gone eight straight games with a base hit with the Buccos.
I think I need a shrink. Or a beach vacation. Or a valium.