Boop

Boop! Got you on your nose. You'll have to be faster than that.

I could boop boobs but I prefer to toot tits.

He wouldn't let me boop him.

When something important happened, a polite sort of boop went off, and up in the right-hand corner of your screen, above the copy, a word or two appeared: Urgent, Bulletin, Late Stocks, whatever.

Originally, computers' attempts at making music were recognizable by their beeps and boops and weird swoops. And to suggest that the rhythms laid down by a^([sic]) electronic drummer were anything close to swingin' was humorous.

Guitars riffle precise chords and lilt through arpeggios, keyboards go boop, and every flick of a drumbeat is in place.

Santogold, from Brooklyn, may be mocking scene pretensions, defending the creative impulse or both in her single, “L.E.S. Artistes,” with its drumstick-clicking beat, electro boops and dance-rock chorus.

“Boop, on the nose! Boop, on the nose! Boop, on the nose!” “He's bypassing our shields. We can't take many more boops.” “Thanks to Father giving me full access to Starfleet data systems, I know all possible shield frequencies. Boop!”

The music on “LP” is almost entirely unnatural, booping and puffing, buzzing and ticking in tones no acoustic instrument would make.

He spun around and booped me on the nose.