Third Rate Romance
He was one of the last of a dying breed, a proud, flag-waving culvert repairman at the end of an era, confused by a time of finite resources and the declining dignity of physical labor and sweat. She was a tall, long-legged woman with a tiny naked Smurf tattooed between her breasts who subsisted on tobacco smoke and beer. Together they were Earl and Charlene, and this is their story. Hold on, I know what you're thinking. Not another one of those sappy romance stories designed to titillate women, brow beat men, and bore the living hell out of anyone who doesn't go all weepy-eyed over daytime soaps, homeless puppies, and sentimental music by Barry Manilow. Wrong! Third Rate Romance is something new and altogether different. It's a tacky testimonial to bad hangovers, cigarette burns, and anyone who can belch and say their name at the same time.