That casual sex with
a total stranger must have been Alan O'Day's penultimate fantasy. It must also have
been the penultimate fantasy of many, many a DJ, program director, musical director,
corporate honcho and sweaty-palmed lonely guy at home with the request line number carved
into the phone table, because you just could not get away from Undercover Angel for one
entire, (incredibly) lengthy summer.
I really needed to hear this, too, when I was thirteen years old. Here's the bacon analogy, if you're vaguely interested in an
overweight,
mid-pubescent southern Ohio teenager's habits in the late seventies.
Yeah, this one was a real eye-opener for a teenaged girl. So, guys really just want
women they've never met to climb in the bedroom window, service them all night, then
disappear? I'm gonna have a long, long life to endure, then.
Fortunately, this proved not to be true for all men. In fact, I've only known a few
who actually lived their lives like this song was in any way an example for them, and I'm
sure even now, they cringe at even the wafting odor of penicillin.
You make me know that there's a veneral disease for me out there ... somewhere.