Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Candy: This incendiary novel portrays the incredibly obscure double-jointed-woman-in-flames fetish. And you guys thought you’d seen everything on the Internet.

Sarah: Did you know that most people cannot lick their own elbow? It says so in a mass email I got, and you know that the veracity of such forwards are indisputable. Pour coke in your gas tank, too, for extra milage.

Anyway, like I said, MOST people cannot lick their own elbows. I can, but I have a Gene Simmons-like tongue. And this woman, she can, but not because of the length of her lengua. She can kiss her own elbow because she’s the sister of that stretchy man from the X-files. Look how her eyes are spreading apart, how her behind is stretching away from her torso. Y’all, that’s not bad human proportions. That’s an elastic woman.

Candy: Not so much a flame vine as a flaming vine. My god, if this cover weren’t so old, I would’ve thought the artist had used Willem Dafoe in drag as his model.

Sarah: One, are you sure that’s a dancing girl? Or is it a dancing Queen?

Second, “Helen Topping Miller?” Is that in the kama sutra, and that’s why it sounds familiar? Or did she send me a spam email yesterday?

Candy: Hee hee. Is the killer...silent but deadly? Seriously. Look at the clouds of noxious fumes surrounding the shadowy figure, and look at the expressions on the two people.

“Damn, somebody had chili cheese fries for lunch.”

“Well, don’t look at me.”

They’re thisclose to blaming the dog.

Sarah: The killer is carrying some kind of face melting serum in that test tube (think that should have a lid?) because look at the angry melty faces on those two victims below!

Now THAT is some fine opportunity for kissing descriptions: “His lips met hers, and then his cheeks met hers, and suddenly, they weren’t just kissing, they were breathing through each other’s ears.”

Ah, the romance.

Candy: Dude, I’d be flipping out, too, if I had a HUGE FUCKING NEEDLE sticking out of my palm. That shit hurts! I would, however, remove it from my person before running around like an underaged Dominican whore being chased by Rush Limbaugh.

Sarah: When a giant syringe filled with menacing Kool-Aid chases you out of a house, you might want to run faster. Moreover, it’s ok if you lose that house in a bidding war. Might even be a good thing.

Candy: Everybody knows true love involves fucking your bitch up if she gives you any lip. How fortuitous that the artist caught this tender moment. Plus, drawing a woman clutching a bloody nose is much trickier.

Sarah: Married men are indeed dangerous, because you know he’s thinking of taking off that bow tie and wrapping it around her neck. That little necklace she’s got on does nothing for her in the asphyxiation department.

However, let’s talk about that dress. He might just choke her into unconsciousness first because that’s the first time I’ve seen artistically rendered camel toe in a dress. 

Sarah: Is that a moustache, or is that her hair wrapping around his upper lip? And why is she wearing seafoam green? It’s When Superheroes Collide: 80’s Lady Meets 70’s Porn Man.

Candy: That mustache makes his face look like a crotch, and the greasy sheen on his face makes it look like a greasy crotch.

There needs to be a rule someplace: only one crotch per person per romance novel cover, please.

Sarah: There is NO doubt that that is a moustache. Right? Or is his nose casting a disturbingly deep shadow?

It looks as if her bodice is held together by strips of velcro - very convenient when one is a romance novel cover model… on the bank of the river… with moustachio’ed Fabio.

Candy: Her: *sniffs suspiciously* Is that...French onion soup I smell?

Him: Non, non, ma cherie. Eeet ees merely ze French onion face-crotch.

Sarah: Armpit Hair. Now ranking #2 on my list of “Things I do not want to see on a romance cover.”

Candy: That’s not armpit hair. That’s Ragnar, the gerbil he stores in his armpit for...festive...occasions.

Sarah: “My breast implant, eet eez so heavy.”

“I know, dahlink. I have to place you on zee sand now. Zee boobies, zey weight too much.”

“I vant to borrow your headband to hold zem up.”

“No. Eet eez holding up zee hairs of my fine head.”

Candy: Frankly, the first thought that came to my mind when I saw this cover was “OH MY GOD, she’s stimulating her nipples to try to induce labor.” But I think Sarah has it right. Don’t you hate it when a bitch-ass boyfriend lies to you? You know that hair ain’t goin’ nowhere. The weight of the Aquanet alone would keep it rock-steady.

Sarah: Vertigo, thy name is Romance Cover. She’s falling over, he’s got a serious case of the Sun-In Highlight Spray overdose, the rescue ship appears to be on fire, and they are making out on the upended bow of their sinking ship.

Nice. The surrendering of her heart is the least of her problems.

Candy: Watch out! Pretty soon, her face is going to turn as green as her dress, and Fabio’s going to find out just how hard it is to scrub red wine barf stains from his leather pants.

Sarah: Does anything say retro mantitty than some serious mullet action and neon pink hues?

And dude. They appear to be doing it. And by “doing it” I mean putting his little apache in her left kneecap.

Candy: I had NO IDEA Apaches pioneered Aquanet usage. When will white people stop ravaging the rightful heritage of Native Americans everywhere?

Sarah: The weight of that mullet must have compacted his vertebrae. How’s he going to conquer anyone with no neck?

Candy: Not only does he have no neck, his pectorals are shoved up so high, they’re nearly underneath his chin. There’s definitely some sort of spinal disorder going on.

As for the chick...dude, her face is more masculine than Fabio’s. I think that arm is hiding an Adam’s apple.

*starts bumping the tips of her two index fingers together while making poinking sounds*

Sarah: From the “Booty Call” line of Zebra romances - “his sweet savage headband caressed the wet nightgown of her passion… but could their love survive the junk in her trunk?”

Candy: Now how in the HELL is her hair flying up like that? Did she just let loose with some sweet, savage wind, too?

Sarah: You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, aka “A Movie Bent on Scaring the Crap out of Sarah,” where the high priest of funky religon is able to reach into the chests of living people and remove their hearts while they still beat? Yeah. That’s what’s going on here, except maybe he’s after her spleen instead.

Candy: Haahahahaha. Ohgod. It’s funny because it’s true.

Also, what’s with these women and their out-of-control levitating hair as soon as they get near water? Is there some sort of severe ionizing effect when cheap hairspray comes near a body of water that causes this phenomenon, kind of like a Van de Graaf generator?

So kind of y’all to share. No, really. We appreciate it. And so do our opthamologists, whose children we are now putting through college, Master’s and PhD programs from now until eternity, due to the multiple eye transplants we’ve tried in our efforts to erase these images from our retinas.

Unfortunately, the images, they stick like the glue.

Sarah: I’d like a veil. A thick one. To cover my eyes. I’m assuming from the big teeth he’s a vampire (surprise!) but dude looks dumb. Anyone who looks like that misses creepy by a mile and lands somewhere in the vicinity of, “Duuuuuuh.”

And also, it’s unfortunate that the first two initials of the author’s name pretty much sum up the cover art efforts on this one.

Candy: Damn, where’d they get this guy? Did they thaw him out from your friendly neighborhood glacier?

It’s also somewhat scary to know that vampires were already around when hominids were just barely starting to walk upright.

Sarah: Half wet-tshirt contest, half episode of “Dancing with the Stars” gone horribly wrong.

And also, she has no nipples.

Candy: Those are some weirdly squished-down breastables. That must be the Sports Bra from Hell she has on.

The dude looks like he’s detected some funky belly button lint. He’s seconds away from saying “Daaaamn, girl, you smell just like Limburger.”

Sarah: OK, there has been some nipple thiefing going on here, because the lady here, she has no nipples either. She has some kind of a rash though, and that’s not surprising, now, is it?

But that’s the least of her problems, considering that she’s supposed to be between the captains, but they look more intent on doing it with each other and leaving her out of the bumpy entirely.

Perhaps it is because the length of her neck makes them feel sexually inadequate.

Candy: Oh, Sarah, what makes you think this one’s genetically female? I’m just saying that if the two boys reach up any further, they might find a surprise.

And the two captains? Totally gay. I mean, look at the way they’re peering at her (his?) armpit. They’re all, “Bitch must wax! No way she can get this smooth with a razor.”

Lovelysalome answered the call - damn fast, too - and found us an image of Touched by Thorns. I’m thinking that the deep historical inaccuracies on this cover will make Tonda wish for some of those thorns with which to gouge out her eyes. Check it out:

And for her efforts, I hereby dub Lovelysalome, who braved the frontier of Chinese eBay for our fine graphic display, a member of the Smart Bitch peerage: