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

Sarah: Now this is just dumb. There’s a storm so bad there’s water on board. The ship’s wheel is up to its handle in water… so let’s have hot sex! Nothing like some onboard danger sex with a muscle-bound grease-master and a red-haired harlot in a very-historically accurate miniskirt.

Candy: Hey, is that a red handkerchief streaming out of her right pocket? No wonder that captain is all over her.

The captain’s dedication to keeping his body completely hair-free is also astonishing, if the state of the ocean on the cover is representative of the conditions the ship had to endure. I imagine it’d make shaving certain body regions into a bona fide X-TREME sport.

Sarah: I do this pose in yoga. It’s not very comfortable. I believe it’s called “Sage pose,” and it’s designed to squeeze the organs to release toxins from your body as you stretch and twist the spine. She’s doing quite a twist, there - looks like her upper body is almost 180 degrees from her lap. She’s squeezing something out.

I wonder if he’s a giant blonde toxin that emerged from her left ear? Either way, that vest is certainly toxic enough to cause expulsion.

Candy: After analyzing the direction of his gaze, I’m pretty sure he wants her to surrender to love all right. MUDDY love, if know what I mean, and I think you do.

Sarah: Ooh, ooh can I write the cover quote?

“To love a dark mullet, who loves a dead lady whose hair is not the only thing that’s Nice n’Easy. “

Candy: If he had a white stripe through his hair, I’d say he looks eerily like a man-titted version of Pepe le Pew. No, seriously, look:

Sarah: Sing with me now:

“You GOT to let your SOUL GLOW!”

Candy: If there ever was proof that the 80s was Satan’s decade, the popularity of Jheri curls would be it.

Sarah: Everything in this picture is designed to get you to look at one thing. The sloping letters, the sunbeams in the distance, the cascade of flowers. The fact that it’s the most highlighted element of the illustration.

Gaze upon the man titty! You cannot resist!

And damn hell, that is a serious mullet. He’s all stockbroker in the front, Billy Ray Cyrus in the back. You know she’s got a scissors hidden up in that big ol’ corset and when he’s not looking, SNIP!

Candy: That mullet is indeed fierce, but what disturbs me the most is how shiny this guy’s torso is. What did he do to get that heavy sheen? Brush himself all over with eggwhite? And if we check him for doneness, will he prove to be half-baked? *ba-dum-tish*

Sarah: Lord of what Border? The border between creepy and haughty? The border between “fashionably long” and “dude, get a haircut?”

I’ve never a seen a cover that actually strove for a physical embodiment of “looking down your nose” and nailed it so well.

Candy: If the border this dude’s the Lord of marks the end of Good Taste, may I gently suggest that he not fling himself OVER it with quite so much enthusiasm, and with such a supercilious look on his face?

Sarah: Oh, thank God he already has a mate. And given her dead-eyed stare, she doesn’t care that he’s all sneering at her. Or maybe he’s looking down at her off-center, oddly-shaped breasts.

Either way, I am glad that she and her curling iron can go live with him. If I owned these too books, I’d put them on a shelf facing each other so they can gaze fishily at each other in perpetuity.

Candy: It’s sad when a publisher can’t afford live models any more and has to resort to Realdolls (LINK NOT WORK-SAFE) for their covers. I wonder if the photographer gets to keep her during weekends as a perk?

Sarah: No subtlety here. That wild western desire is actually pretty far south, if you catch my meaning. I think she caught it, anyway.

Candy: Must...resist...posting...owl...picture....

OK, I didn’t really resist that hard.

Sarah: Hope the renegade has enough money for a waving iron because you know her hair is going to go flat if they spend more time outside in the humidity.

But judging from his hairdo, I think he spends his renegade paycheck on some Dippity Do for his own sweet self. And maybe he uses it for his hair… or maybe not.

Candy: This guy is a true renegade because he dares to wear his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. That sort of boldness isn’t something you learn, it’s something you’re BORN with.

Hey, d’you think he has his eyes closed to shield his poor retinas from the searing fuchsia monstrosity the woman has on?

Oh the burning, the burning. Click on the extended text if you’re ready for a world of pain.

Please note: THE GOGGLES, THEY DO NOTHING.

Sarah: I have often wished for hair that would wave gently and always stay back behind my ears. And I’ve often wished for a man with giant titties, oddly-lumped nipples (perhaps a doctor should check that right titty there) and no legs to make vaguely obscene two-fingered gestures with his fingers at me from the cover of a book.

How nice that half of my wishes come true.

Candy: He’s on a quest to find the mighty Clitoris, and he will wander through as many dank swamps and moist caverns as he’ll have to, two fingers always at the ready.

Sarah: If the something that is wild is hidden in the giant brown sock dangling from his waist, it does not appear to be all that wild. And neither does its owner, who appears to be somewhat befuddled at best, and drugged out of his mind at worst. Maybe he’s about to pull a Baldwin, string himself out on coke, and swing from the ceiling fan.

He’s wearing the same expression as the legless deSalvo above, so my guess is that no, he’s just boring and not wild in the least.

Candy: That expression looks quite uncannily like… well.

“Hey kids, wanna get hiiiiiigh?

...

“I have no idea what’s going on.”

Sarah: Why does deSalvo never look right at you? What’s he hiding? He always looks just over your shoulder, like someone more attractive is behind you. And for someone with that many ab muscles, he sure looks ineffably boring in every single cover. How dreadful to know that no matter what expression you put on your face, your mantitty will still overshadow you.

Candy: Is he dipping into a refreshing stream to douse his red-hot geyser? And is he afraid to step out now because of shrinkage?

Sarah: Have we done this cover before? If not, allow me to point out that his nipple is bigger than his gun.

And also, shall we discuss how… startled he looks, being kissed by a GIRL? That’s not a “Your Pa is going to come after me with the shotgun and the sun glinting off my abs makes me an easy target” expression. That’s a “I’ve been known to whack but I sure don’t like bush” expression.

Candy: You just know he’s yelling “AAAHHHHH GERRRRRRMS NASTY GIRL GERRRRRRMS!”

Man, what is UP with his tricep? It’s freaking my shit right out. Not as much as the cute chick is freaking his shit out, but what can you do when your bride likes to *koff* whack you with her bush, and you’re more into...y’know...shrubberies.

Fish? Barrel? Why, yes!

Sarah: What is happening to his legs? What’s happening to him? Is he dissolving into the feathery bluegrass? Is grass to him like The Dip is to Toons in Roger Rabbit? No wonder he’s carrying her.

Also, correct me if I’m wrong but I think she’s going commando.

Candy: Is that supposed to be water? Damn, I have a hard time telling. If it’s water, and the marriage is so damn miraculous, why isn’t he walking ON it, eh? EH?

Although I suppose that would give the term “Personal Jesus” entirely new connotations that I’m not quite up to working out on a Monday afternoon.

Sarah: Yeah, her last defense? To Not Eat. Look at her upper arm! Is he going to break it off and use it as a toothpick?

Candy: Her last defense is to let that sheet drop at a very strategic moment, revealing...KUATO!

Sarah: What the F is going on in this cover? It’s like a train wreck with Alan Thicke. His arm is weird, and he appears to have no shoulder. She’s looking at some kind of wreck, and there’s… a gay card dealer in the background flicking cards at no one. And… he has six fingers.

That’s it. I fold.

Candy: Does the latest card-sharping method involve the guy grabbing onto your breastable while making honking sounds to distract you from the fact that he has a marked deck?

A-HOOOO-GA!