First, make him round.
Then give him great big eyes and an innocent awe-struck "O" mouth.
Then give him a beat.
10:57 PDT BERKELEY - Alfred Peet, who founded Peet's Coffee & Tea and opened its first store 41 years ago, just a few blocks northeast of our house, died Wednesday at his home in Ashland, Ore., the company said today. He was 87.
Time lady silenced by deafening roar of civilization-collapse.
Magnitude ? (not yet determined)
I give it a 3.7.
Why not just borrow some neon boobies, hang those behind the Shroud of Mysterious Mysteries, then give in to the mantra/rallying cry and flash those babies on Saturday night?
Heed the immortal words (and music) of R. Bloodworth and C. Welch:
"Sha na na, na na na, na na na.
Sha na na na na."
Admit that you have streets, now, with signs and addresses and zoning requirements, and permanent residences, and a cash economy, and flyers on Haight Street for calendared performances. Try revisiting ye olde hardcore ingenuity theme, whence the BM, LLC legend, and pick a new mascot.
I have several suggestions.
And their addresses, out on the playa.
Check out the hometown sponsor, in yonder sidebar sponsorlog:Fire Pixie Entertainment.
Now have some kids, throw a party, and hire yourself some nice pirates or Mad Hatters, or some lovely girl mechanics and/or builders and/or singing dancing makeover mavens. They look like very nice folk.
The defendant pointed the vibrator [at] Mr Vakani and warned him to back off," said Tim Palmer, prosecuting.
"Mr Vakani then kept a discreet distance but kept an eye on the defendant and watched where he went."
Look at that sweet smile! It's almost as if someone took him out for a birthday dinner at À Côté, where a festive fragrant floral arrangement awaited on a gardeside table. And where, as we took our leave, one of the staff cooed to our waitress: "Aw, they're both so cute!"
Mister Beluga-baby must get that all the time.
Indeed.
I remember where I was: at my best friend Andrea’s house, thinking her teeth-gnashing and Dusty-and-Nugget-and-Suntan-Tuesday-Taylor-hair-pulling fit was perhaps more a measure of her household’s intricate mesh of day-to-day repressions than mere Messiah-loss mania. All the way home I worried that this might mean the cancellation of my hotly anticipated 7th birthday party. It didn’t: instead it meant that the Zoo Room at Farrell’s was free.
It sounds cold and untouched-by-Elvis, sure, but I was a proto-jaded latch-key iconoclast and I was deep into ELO.
"Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty..."
Mrowr?
"Heeeeeeeeere, kitty kitty kitty..."
Mroooawr!
If this microquake sends you rockin', don't bother humoring your nonsensically cheapskate landlady's "bolted 10-yr-old foundation" lines when handed chunks of not-quite-same much longer.