"You hear 10,000 strong, waving flags, doing the wave, blowing trumpets, it's disconcerting at first," Valentine said.
I jumped from the wire into their midst and unleashed a concussion wave, blowing two more bad guys over the precipice.
The shock wave blew out the turret officer's switchboard and the leads.
One blast wave blew the baseball cap off the head of a spectator next to me, as though we were in a cartoon.
The blast left a one meter-deep crater, and the shock wave blew out windows throughout the town.
The Embassy annex crumbled; shock waves blew out windows and doors for blocks, including those of the Hilton Hotel across the street.
As he darted from table to table — waving, blowing kisses, and bestowing hugs along the way — he explained his decision to put America's fourth-largest city on a weight-loss regime.
When he finished, he put his hand over his mouth, doubled over, put his hands to his chest, raised his arms in triumph, waved, blew kisses, jumped up and down, stoked the cheering with a kind of semaphore — on Thursday, he'd made an I-can't-hear-you gesture, to similar effect — and skated off in pure satisfaction.
She danced to reggae-funk music on Friday night and spent the better part of Saturday partaking of a regional custom called caravan, in which she coursed through dense neighborhoods in the back of a pickup for six straight hours while waving, blowing kisses and bobbing to songs blaring from a 15-foot-high sound truck.
She closes with the carnal techno throb of US mega-hit Tik Tok and bounces back flanked by drag queens waving blow-up dolls for an encore romp through the Beastie Boys Fightt for Your Right to Party, a song that succinctly encapsulates her ethos, despite being written before she was born.
