#lyricalfineprint

* I can, uh, help you with that addiction, you know.  That's right, I'm — an addictions therapist.  Dr. Palmer — have you seen my ads on late-night TV?  No?  They're very popular.  Anyway, I can definitely, definitely help you work through this, uh, problem of yours.  Your case is fairly urgent; can you come by my, uh, office tomorrow morning, say?  Great, here's my card.  See you then —   oh, and wear your hair up.  Tight bun at the back.    Dark clothes.  And can you make your face any paler?  Yeah, it's for the therapy.  Good, good.  Lipstick too.  Bright red if possible.

♀  Yo, jerkface.  That's your cue.

†  I also like it braised or lightly seared.  Thanks in advance!  -ODB

***Neither are the alternatives.  Grow a pair.  Alternatively, move on.

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ˆ Actually, it was twenty years ago today that Sgt. Pepper, at one of the Lonely Hearts Club Band's earliest informal jam sessions, looked around the room and exclaimed:  "Fuck me, you bastards are terrible!  Can't even play your bleeding instruments!"  It was twenty years ago next week (after taking the weekend to imbibe a caseful of port and give the matter duly careful consideration)  that he commenced the slow and often tortuous task of teaching the band to play, which remains an ongoing project.

* (For those whose feelings about hip hop tend more toward the ambivalent, pointing at or otherwise gesturing in the direction of your dicks will suffice.  You've got options, player.)