
It seems somewhat misplaced to title your I'm-head-over-heels-in-love song after the (admittedly brilliant but) troubled soul of choreographer 
Bob Fosse. Stranger, still: spelling it as an acronym (
B.O.B. F.O.S.S.E.)  Being that I openly admit to having had a perverse fixation surrounding 
All That Jazz throughout my high school years, there is more than a little excitement in my loins when I hear 
Black Lipstick tack Fosse's name onto such euphoric subject matter.  Maybe Fosse's estate will see an upswing in revenue as a result of this indirect product placement.  Take note, 
Ann Reinking:  the proceeds from your brief appearance in 
Mad Hot Ballroom won't last forever.
 
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