What Is An Idea Made Of? Of

I Do Dumb Stuff, Like Playing My Favorite Dumb Barry White Song And Lip-synching Into The Mirror So It Looks Like His Voice Is Coming Out Of My Mouth.

The Groove Is So Mysterious. We're Born With It And We Lose It And The World Seems To Split Apart Before Our Eyes Into Stupid And Cool. When We Get It Back, The World Unifies Around Us, And Both Stupid And Cool Fall Away. I Am Grateful To Those Who Are Keepers Of The Groove. The Babies And The Grandmas Who Hang On To It And Help Us Remember When We Forget That Any Kind Of Dancing Is Better Than No Dancing At All.

Sometimes, I Think The Only Art Left For Us Is Slowly Peeling The Label Off A Beer Bottle While Somebody Tells You About A Dream They Had.

The Strips Are Nearly Effortless Unless I Am Really Emotionally Upset, A Wreck.

What Year Is It In Your Imagination?