Uncle Orbison singing for Costello

The loud girl wasn't there. The dynamic boy missed her only in the most tangential sense. As the radio plays. The flighty girl missed her when she wasn't getting enough attention, for the loud girl was disturbingly good at giving her attention. I just can't face myself alone again. The weary boy did not miss her, for he had peered into her soul and seen the evil fomenting within. Maybe we ain't that young anymore. Italian blared. You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're all right. The euphuistic boy was of three minds about the subject and he made no prætense about it. Throw roses in the rain. The rude girl flip-flopped like a politician on speed. For a savior to rise from these streets. They maintained their course, with smut, standards, and debauchery. Is beneath this dirty hood.

The weary boy invoked the power of pork, and the euphuistic boy invoked Chaim and his band of goyim. Let the wind blow back your hair. The flighty girl grew more insecure. We got one last chance to make it real.

Oh, Thunderoos.