“Total Babe” …how did we cross paths? From what Cream Dream where you whipped up? Deliver me my pie, garbed in polyester hat with matching shirt; chest pockets shaped in all the right ways. Take a lap around the rink with perfectly stylized midriff faux football jersey, flap-waving to all the drips at the stand. Tan your tenderness along the sandy dunes of “Life’s a Beach.” A brazeness statue of deep skin sinks in the attitude active behind the bleachers while making out in your flannel. Someone’s cap is backwards. Switch-hitting spliff hits on every level. There’s a smoothness about it that rides out in every tick and turn; if hair were as soft as wind, your arm against mine would feel better than a breeze. The way your calves crease while walking along the boardwalk, yes. Ocean mist dusts you just right, glittering speckles of attraction to your silhouette melting into the sunset skyline. “Total Babe,” my voice aches in your attraction. Find your local internet babe on the straight G. G-rated, that is, with lovely little ditties via Crash Symbols, freshing all that is music.