A Short List of Sweet Nothings That I Wish Jeff Goldblum Would Whisper Into My Ear

Jeff Goldblum speaks slowly, dramatically. He stutters in that way that bookish men sometimes do. Everything he says is peppered with pensive grunts and pregnant pauses. He stares, contemplatively, off into the middle distance. Sometimes, when we're lucky, he'll raise a finger to his bottom lip, thoughtfully.

Jeff Goldblum is, ah, perpetually...um, in the process of-of-of deducing something. He's also the guy you're gonna want to stand next to if you need to be close to someone with the absolute perfect amount of chest hair. 


We'll never know precisely how many 12-year-old girls in the mid-90s nursed debilitating  Jeff Goldblum infatuations, but I can assure you that the number is higher than you'd probably expect. When I was in middle school, I regularly fantasized about Jeff Goldblum. As I got older, those fantasies didn't cease, they merely became more elaborate.

This isn't some kind of strange sexual euphemism, I'd really just like to feel that Jeff cares enough about my health to pay attention to my eating habits.

This, on the other hand, is some kind of strange sexual euphemism.

(This may actually be the first time that I've creeped myself out with something that I've posted here.)
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You're cordially invited to the Jeff Goldblum YouTube par-tay.

I like how he touches Laura Dern's hair at 0:54. Smooth.