The camera opens inside of a truck stop just outside of it’s showering area. The door to a stall kicks open, releasing lot lizards and steam into the air. As the steam clears,The Undercover Lover appears proudly tightening his trademark bathrobe.
“You might be asking yourself ‘why’s the Lover’s bathing at an off-ramp 18-wheeler hub?’ Well, to tell you the truth the Lover’s down on his luck because he just can’t get the rub. Zero wins means zero yens to line the Lover’s satin komono pockets. It feels like only yesterday that Lover’s career was taking off like a red rocket. Then something happened that turned the Lover from king to beggar. He lost to Bobby twice when bucking his six pack up to Dean’s mean kegger. It’s like ever since Lover came back from that toaster nearly turning him into a peg legger, he’s felt like he’s missed a step…like he’s become-“
Lover shakes off the notion as he whips his blonde mane around, as if washing the would-be rhyme out of his hair in the process. He makes his way out of the shower area and into the truck stop lobby. He peruses the different snacks on the counter as he pockets some change from the give a penny take a penny tray, all the while no one pays any mind to his half nude visage and petty theft antics.
“I’m saddened to report that around here the Lover’s become a reg ever since he was evicted from the hotel charging him an arm and leg. Lover couldn’t even manage to shack up with his main squeezes: Judy, Barb, or Meg. He’s been stranded at this truck stop living off of-“
Lover stops himself once more as a half empty glass jar of pickled eggs come into his line of sight. He begins to convulse violently as his eyes follow the floating ovals bobbing up and down in the brine. He snaps himself out of it, turning from the counter and clutching his chest as he tries to regain his composure before waving off the waking nightmare and heading for the wall refrigerators.
“Even Lover’s epic rhyming’s become stilted. I’m barely making it through this seg. Lover’s lack of rhythm’s left the ladies jilted. All they want to do is neg. Meanwhile good ol’ UL’s in limbo being haunted by-“
Lover catches glimpse of a packet of Oscar Meyer honey smoked selects out of the corner of his eye. He stops himself from fully turning to face it, as if they’ill magically dematerialize if he ignores their existence. He slams the fridge shut, trembling the tempered glass as he does so, grabs a sixer of warm Miller Banquets off of an aisle end cap and storms back to the counter with his robe wafting dangerously in the breeze. As he approaches the counter he drops the brewskis down and slaps the purloined pennies on the counter. He glances over his shoulder to find that the camera’s still filming. He turns, leans on his elbow against the counter while facing the camera reluctantly with a leer so intense it furrows the brow of his mask.
“I’m no ham and egger! I’m the Lover! Don’t forget! Just because the chips are down right now doesn’t mean I live in regret. So if you’re bawling your Susie Homemaker eyes out on your apron, don’t you fret! Because the Lover’s goin’ nowhere ‘til what he wants is what he gets. I’ve cut every corner to get attention, even attacked legends with a sock. If you believe I’m coming back looking for redemption, then your outlook’s a load of crock. I’ll be back shining in infamy’s limelight faster than Bobby Dean can inhale a leg of lamb. Photosynthesis will be my new diet regimen. Only losers live off eggs and ham! So I say this with no hyperbole, exaggeration, or oxymoron: whoever wants a piece of Lover has got the green light from this point hereon. As for now? We all know Lover’s no good to the ladies when he’s got his sneer on. So excuse The Lover while he heads out back with a six pack and gets his beer on.”
Lot lizards flank Lover at both sides and take a Banquet each and lead the Lover toward the front exit.
“Now unless he plans on cutting feed, hitting record and throwing on slow jams; might Lover suggest our cameraman throw back to the regularly scheduled program. OH HAVE MERCY!”