Dogs doing lists #1: Beatlemania

Dogs dousing themselves in gasoline and marching across Abbey Road engulfed in flames.
Dogs emerging from beneath the sheets at a John and Yoko bed-in, turning the wind-up key embedded in their spine, and repeating, “I am the walrus.”
Dogs thinking, “Will you still greet me—when I’m 64??” as their eyes bulge urgently from their undiscovered, mummified corpse.
Dogs occupying the Brady Bunch grid, rotating their heads in synchrony and groaning in off-kilter unison, “I buried Paul.”
Dogs bowing over the guitar, strumming the opening chords of “Helter Skelter,” and slurring into the microphone, “This is for all you Charles Manson fans out there.”
Dogs posing on a rooftop in a sleeveless New York City shirt with Mark David Chapman’s head screwed loosely onto their neck.
Dogs stretching Ringo Starr’s face over a bass drum and pedaling the mallet with his tongue.
Dogs covering the microphone and whispering to Ed Sullivan in front of a live studio audience, “It will be thought not ladylike to have it performed in the natural manner.”
Dogs screaming from their very depths as the Beatles take the stage at Shea Stadium, and fainting, at their last gasp, into the outstretched arms of Chairman Mao.
Dogs directing a mob of screaming teenagers toward an abattoir, chaining the doors, and screaming into an absent camera, “Beatlemania!”