"You know there's a Hall and Oates hotline," …friend told me, like it was just common knowledge and I was the last to know. And no, I don't know what we were discussing beforehand that led to this riveting disclosure.
And who cares? THERE'S A HALL AND OATES HOTLINE? You make my dreams come true!
According to …friend, you could call a number and it'd say, "For Maneater, press one. For Sara Smile, press two."
"Go ahead and call it now," encouraged …friend, who is apparently out of touch and out of time, because although I DIDN'T call it then, I put it in my phone's Google search so I'd remember to look it up later. And when I did? All anticipatory and gleeful?
It's a bitch, girl. The number no longer works. I may have to get my private eyes on this–they're watching you, stupid nonworking hotline! Cause they're on my list. I can't resist.
Okay, I'm done. I can't go for that anymore.
Hall and Oates hotline, every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you. Marvin used to sing that, and you have no idea how many songs Marvin has ruined in my head. Also, do you like how I said I was done but kept going with the Hall and the Oates lyrics?
Why is every photo of these two so homoerotic?
And I realize I could just, you know, go on YouTube and hear any Hall and Oates tune I wanted–AND WHO DOESN'T DO THAT ALL THE TIME? but it was more exciting to CALL and get Maneater or what have you.
Why is he tired of playing Ovaltine?
So, that was my disappointment for the weekend. If I were a rich girl, maybe I could bribe them to put the Hall and Oates hotline back up.
Okay, really done now.
My baby hair with a woman's eyes will talk at you.