Word: spiking
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...band was oozing into the last strains of "Love Me Tender." Out on the dance floor, Spike and Mary Lou were snuggled against the fading melodic strains of "their song." The music died and a hush fell over the crowd. The band paused. The heavy, murky atmosphere of the late-night bar was thick with anticipation...
...center of things Spike and Mary Lou were the focus of attention. Shake, Baby, Shake, Et Cetera, Et Cet-er-a, Back and forth. Back and forth, Jitterbug, jitterbug, jailhouse rock. Do-wah... Do-wah... Diddy... Diddy... "Wow, Spike, you sure can move!!" "Yeah." The band stopped. A satisfied drop of perspiration rolled off the end of Spike's nose. Mary Lou sighed...
...Bopper." The band dramatically swelled into crescendo. "Chantilly Lace... and a purty face... and a pony tail hanging down..." The crowd screamed. The frenzy of the dance floor exploded again. Spike and Mary Lou were Big League. They knew the moves... all the moves, "...there ain't nothing in the world... like a big-eyed girl... to make me act so funny... make me spend my money..." The crowd parted. Spike and Mary Lou accepted the spotlight. Back and forth. Jitterbug rock. Through the legs... skin the cat. Up and out. Over the hip. Round and round. It was like...
...Spike and Mary Lou sidled closer. "Workin' in the fillin' station.... too many tasks... check the tires... check the oil... wash the windows... Dollar gas... too much monkey business... too much monkey business." It was time for bump and grind. Bump at the elbow. Bump and grind at the hip. The band speeded up. The crowd licked their lips, joined the action, sipped more beer. It was Mary Lou and Spike all alone, center stage. Bump, Bump, Bump. And grind. "Too much monkey business...
...overcalculated bid for involvement. Or he mystifies with new angles until perspective exposes the banality of his subject. This is tinplate Godard, confusing instead of intellectually surprising. Take for instance, the scene of David's train arrival. He steps onto a deserted platform and confronts a raucously singing spike-heeled floozy who throws open her fur coat to reveal a chintzy Miss America costume. Then four creatures who look like skid row relics show up with battered horns and even more battered music. Not only is it imitative of Fellini, but it is totally irrelevant...