Yeah. I rewrote parts of the song "Perfect Isn't Easy" from Oliver and Company, and made Knock Out say them. I'm not sorry.
"Rise and shine, Knock Out. Your public awaits."
Knock Out's internal alarm system flashed his standard wakeup message, and he flicked his optics online, rising to his stablizers and approaching his standing, tri-panelled mirror. It took him a moment, but he suddenly gasped in horror.
Scratches! Scuff marks! Worn patches! This was atrocious! How had this all happened since yesterday?!
He bolted for a small keypad beside the mirror, typing in a code while trying to keep his optics from being further tainted by the sight of the abomination in the mirror. A panel in the wall opened, and Knock Out frantically scanned his shelves of supplies for the necessities to fix his appearance.
"Mech, we've got work to do," he muttered to himself. "Must find the paint... where's it got to?"
He balanced the supplies in his arms and headed for the washroom to make himself decent, sighing. "Perfect isn't easy... but it's me."
He carefully arranged his materials on the counter in front of the mirror. Buffing tool, belt sander, gloss finish, wax, primer, enamel, et cetera. He focused on the worst offenders, the ungodly scuff marks.
"When one knows the world is watching, one does what one must," he reminded himself, firing up the buffer and taking up the wax. "Some minor adjustments, gorgeous. Not for my vanity, but for my sanity!"
Knock Out moved quickly to the enamel to cover the worn patches, grinning as he took up the primer and paint gun. "Each little bend a pose. See how the finish glows! Sometimes it's too much for even me!"
He sighed a little as he moved onto the sander for a nasty scratch on his chin. "But when all the world says yes, then who am I to say no? Don't ask a mutt to shine like a show girl, no way, you need a pro!"
After a painfully long time, Knock Out emerged from his washroom, and sauntered back to the mirror, examining his newly-immaculated appearance. "Not a chip or a flaw. Take a peek at that claw!" he praised himself, examining one of his fingers, which had been previously damaged. Not even he could tell!
He turned to examine his rear side, and let out a little smirk. "Perfection becomes me, ooh la la!"
Lately, he'd taken to peppering his phrases with snatches of human languages. The current fascination happened to be French. He turned on his heel and left his quarters to begin his day.
Unrivaled... unruffled... I'm beauty unleashed!
he affirmed to himself, glancing around as several Vehicons and Eradicons spotted him. Jarred rock, hard stock, so classc and classy...
He spotted one Eradicon and actually cringed at the sight of his horrid frame. Patchy, scrap-yard rejections. Eurgh, how tragically... trashy!
The red mech made his way down the hall, optics front, emitting the air of superiority most of the crew had come to expect from him.
"Pfft, here comes Model Mech."
"Everyone renew their subscription to Car and Driver? I think Knock Out's the centerfold."
Tho' many covet my gloss and glamour, they still rev their engines for me
. You jealous thugs think your "insults" are witty. I hear them all, and you have my pity, Knock Out though smugly. Pretty is nice but still, it's just pretty.
"Perfect, peasants..." he said aloud as the door to the medbay slid open. He scanned the room, optics touching on each patient in turn, although most were in recharge and didn't hear him. "...is me."
