"Tutti Frutti, no booty"
Here's an exercise in visual deakalization. Think Little Richard but white with even more geometric facial hair, a few extra lbs, a fluffier Jheri curl and an even heavier helping of deakical freakiness. Less than a week ago after making the trek to Vermont to see a rather well known folk artist, we had a run in with the White Little Richie Freaky Deak.
Two minutes into the concert, we're approached by White Little Richie Deak, otherwise known as the opening act, who invites us to the VIP section. We agree to go: a) because we were having a hard time seeing and breathing over the unshowered Stevie Nicks's bird nests, and b) because we figured he had the 411 on the after party. But to quote the self-proclaimed architect of Rock N' Roll Mr. Little Richie, "Good Golly Miss Molly", we had no idea how high of creep on the deakical scale we had on our hands. Minutes upon entering VIP, he says to Dar, "Now I really know you're an angel. Our pinkies just touched on the banister and I felt a little piece of heaven."
Well fortunately we caught a break when Deak gets a call to go backstage. Without thinking we give him our number for the soul purpose of getting an invite to the after party.
And now without further ado, I present to you last night's voicemail from the White Little Richie Freaky Deak:
A-Wop-Bop-A-Loo-Lop A-Lop-Bam-Boo, all I gotta say it Eww-Eww-Eww...
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