Romantic action (preposition) flower

It was a busy day at Rhipauff Records. Three hundred demo tapes had arrived in the past week. Two hundred ninety-eight of them had been immediately burned, but the remaining two would take hours to review. About a dozen half-nude girls with guitars, violins, harmonicas, and in one case a comb covered in wax paper nervously waited in the lobby. Most of these had exchanged various deeds of lesser repute for promises of time in the recording studio, and each one's patron was heatedly arguing for why his charge's talentless keening would make the most money. The only actual musician within eleven miles was the houseless girl in the alley. You couldn't call her homeless, since she lived permanently behind the trash bin abutting the studio. She too was half-nude, but only because her possessions consisted entirely of a half-eaten sandwich, half a pair of shoes, half a blanket, a one-legged set of mens' trousers, a midriff shirt, a half-dollar, and a whole drum set. She spent most of her time playing a much-improved version of the In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida drum solo. A significant portion of Rhipauff's man-hours were devoted to hiding her from anyone who might recognize talent while assuring her that she was on the waiting list for Studio A.

The most critical decision of the day was which Single to produce from the list of carbon copy artist's they'd assembled this month. The closest they'd come was concluding that Manatee's "Humped by a Daisy" was right out. There was still a close battle raging among Sea Lion's "Violated by a Tulip," Walrus's "Tonsil-Hockey with Queen Anne's Lace," and Beluga's "Lovemaking of the Snapdragon." They were determined to ride the coattails of Sea Mammal's number one hit, "Affectionate Gesture from a Flowering Plant."

Amid all this commotion, Slick Phalanges was hunting the path to the top. The company's profit margin was higher than it had ever been, and ol' SP knew he could take all the credit with the right moves. It wasn't he who had taped Alley Girl's drumming and laid the track in sync with all the songs on Rhipauff's last several records, but only he knew who did. It had often been said of the real person responsible that he would forget his head if it weren't screwed on. Well, SP had tested that theory. Unsurprisingly, he learned that the head had never been screwed on at all, but rather attached by some elasticy stuff, some gooey stuff, and some chalky stuff. The real knowledge gained from his experiment had been which of those substances was easiest to cut with a dull bread knife.