I had several, rapid-fire epiphanies listening to some Daryl Hall and John Oates in the office.
I love Hall and Oats. They’re distilled 80s awesomeness that are eminently listenable in 2018.
I love both halls, and oats. Halls allow me to traverse buildings without first smashing down walls in adjoining rooms, and oats are basically the world’s most perfect breakfast food.
With care, you can navigate halls while eating oats.
Hall and Oats are sorted alphabetically, then by letter count, then by the number of vowels, and finally birth date, funnily enough.
Both Hall and Oats have the letter A, but not Z, which I pronounce as Zed, like a gentleman. The alternative pronunciation is only appropriate when spelled as such, like the Tappan Zee.
Hall and Oats spelt backwards would end in a little L, which is a Jamiroquai song, who isn’t Daryl Hall or John Oates. Wait, no it wouldn’t.
The group formed their musical tour de force in Philadelphia, Clara’s and my favourite American city thus far. By sheer coincidence, you can spell Philadelphia using nothing but the letters in the words that form the lyrics to Private Eyes.
Only one of the surnames in Hall and Oats are pluralised, though both gentleman would likely be sick of reading either by this point in the list.
I can think of many more, but for our collective sanity and time, I will refrain from any further comments. Refrain was too delightful a pun not to include.