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

Sarah: Well, there’s no font to ridicule. It’s really a pity that this image leaves us so little to work with in terms of mockage. I mean, he’s a world-champion boxer with the belt to prove it, and a really faygala man-vest that looks to be made of some stretch velour fabric.

And she appears to be polishing the belt with her breath, or maybe trying to take it off with her teeth, while wearing scarves and a wide belt for clothing. Perhaps there was some sort of an emergency and she had to flee the scarf and chiffon section of Macy’s with just two purple cloths and a belt, and make her way in the world.

Really. So little to work with.

Candy: Yowza. I think Fabio is a bit confused there. You need to remove your pants before shoving a woman’s face to your crotch in an effort to force her to give you a hum job. Or maybe he just has a fetish for belt-buckle patterns imprinted on his girlfriends’ faces. Either way, I just wish it didn’t seem like he was slamming her into his twiddly bits with such force. I mean, look at how their hair is being blown about in an apparently enclosed space. Unless they have their air conditioning cranked WAY the hell up, it just makes it seem like he’s pulling her towards him at 60 mph, or they’re whipping their heads around for no good reason.

I never thought I’d say this, but… their outfits make me actively yearn for the old-fashioned Spandex far-future uniforms of yore. And you KNOW an outfit’s bad when it makes the people on Star Trek look like cutting-edge fashionistas in comparison.

Sarah: Is it me, or does the “E” in “Love” kind of look like Homestar Runner? Maybe it’s me.

Let me express how glad I am that this style of cover has gone the way of the wind - heck, that clich covers in general are on their way out. This is particularly bizarre, though, sort of a late-70’s colored attempt at art deco stylings. Very convenient imagery, though. He’s already naked. She’s got a very long neck and a very long nose, and… her boobs are on their way south as well, so soon they will be very long, too.

If I were an art namer, which would be a cool job, I would have to name this, “Battle of the Chins.” One of them is going to poke an eye out with those mega sharp chins. Hers is sharper than her nose. Ouch!

Candy: I love how each era inflicts its bad hair and make-up practices on its cover art, regardless of what time period the cover is supposed to represent. I mean, can the woman actually open her eyes? Her mascara is so thick that her eyelashes must weight about a pound apiece.

At least this particular couple has the good sense to be naked and amorous in an indoor setting instead of in the middle of the desert, caught in some kind of crazy electrical storm. Whatever will the duenna think, though, when she walks into the parlor and finds Lord Montieth buck-ass nekkid and playing dueling banjos (if you know what I mean) with the virgin with the bad make-up on the chaise longue? (And people: it’s chaise longue, which literally means “long chair” in French, and not chaise lounge, which literally means “Please pay closer attention to how words are spelled.")

Sarah: This is one of my favorite covers of all time. It’s just so damn horrible. She’s attempting to pull him to the ground by his handle-bar-esque pectoral muscles. He’s already got her shirt half off, and… is he wearing a pair of UGGS? Fabio, you fashionable devil you. Britney and you, both Ugg-sporting fashionistas.

I think it’s the woman that’s so egregious. She looks like a hooker--and really, don’t you want some level of restraint on the cover? I mean, it’s a romance, not a woman walking up to Ugg-Fabio (a good name for him) and saying, ‘NOW, Mr Thunder! NOW!’

And now, a word about the title. My husband has savage thunder. He likes to release his under the covers so that I can asphyxiate come morning on 8-hour-old savage thunder carcass. In short, thunder of the savage variety is not romantic.

Candy: Yeah, what’s with Lindsey and the thundering titles? She and Mary Jo Putney should get together and swap chili recipes or something. Damn.

This time, our intrepid red-haired harlot is reversing some roles: instead of getting pulled with great velocity into Fabio’s crotch as in Keeper of the Heart, she’s the one doing the pulling now, and succeeding with some speed judging by the way Fabio’s hair is flying about. But frankly, she doesn’t look aroused, she looks distressed, and he looks mildly peeved. “PLEASE, you have to help the orphans!” she seems to be saying; he seems to be trying to pry her off and telling her “Lady, let go of my vest, I have to join the parade before the Dykes on Bikes pass Broadway and Yamhill Street.”

Or maybe he’s tossing her aside in favor of catching the horsie in the background that looks like it’s FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. Because you know what they say about the, ahem, strong relationships forged between a man and his horse on those long, lonely trips on the plains.

Sarah: This is one of the most memorable Lindsey covers for me. She looks uncomfortable, like he stopped her from leaning over the port side and hurling into the sea. The ocean behind them looks pretty rough, and she does not look particularly well. See that sick expression on her face?

“Please, put me down, I’m going to boof.”

And as for you, Mr. Hunkadunk, I see that you’ve tucked your shirt into your massively thick and uncomfortable looking belt. Perhaps if your shirt blowing around is a nusiance, you might try buttoning it!

Also, I keep misreading the lettering as “Gentile Rogue.”

Candy: Oh, how I weep that bad eyeshadow colors were inflicted upon hapless maidens even hundreds of years ago. Aquamarine eyeshadow is the true abomination, not sodomy. When will people learn?

And Sarah, I didn’t think her expression looks so much seasick as… pained. As if Fabulous slid a buttplug into Miss Thang without bothering to use lube. See, she embodies two abominations in one! Four if you count her lipstick and foundation as two separate items.

As for Fabio: as always, he renders me speechless. Like you said, I like how he took the time and trouble to tuck the billowing shirt into his belt, but couldn’t bring himself to BUTTON THE FUCKING THING.

This cover features the elusive trifecta most romance novels can only dream of, by the way: There’s a Hint o’ Dick, I Got Coochy and, best of all, Whole Lotta Titty--on both hero and heroine’s parts.

Sarah: I have a heart of thunder. I have heartburn like you wouldn’t believe. This cover is not helping. Oh, the many peculiarities. What’s up with her hair? Her face? And the locale? They appear to be swooning in a lush patch of foliage in the middle of the desert near Devil’s Finger - in a lightning storm. Surely bumping uglies in a desert with an electrical storm moving in is not advisable, according to the National Weather Service. Nice suggestive blossoms, though.

And dude, dude. Your face is… squished. And you are...very tan. Wait, is this a Wishes-it-were-an-Edwards-"Savage" story? Alas, no, that is “Hank Chavez, the rough-hewn, insolvent outlaw.” He’s not a “savage;” he’s “insolvent.” And according to this cover, rather unwashed, too.

Candy: Insolvent? I think it probably means that regular soap and water are unable to cut throught the three-inch layer of oil and dirt this guy seems to have caked on him and one needs to resort to industrial solvents like toluene to do the job. Just like another Lindsey cover, this one revisits the pairing of stank-ass-nasty naked man with a woman dolled up like a two-bit whore, preparing to bump uglies while a lurid sky looks like it’s going to dump five different kinds of shitty weather on their horny asses.

And furthermore, what does the title even MEAN? It sounds singularly unpleasant. If you have a heart of thunder, may I please suggest you look up a good cardiologist? It just makes me think of that Strong Bad video game: YOUR HEART A SPLODE. Internal Organ + Violent Weather = Moronic Title. “Stomach of Lightning.” “Colon of Hail.” “Thyroid Gland of Tornado.” See? It’s equally stupid when you apply it to other organs. “Eyes of Blizzard.” “Penis of Hurricane.” “Vagina of Torrential Rainstorm.” Almost makes me want to make another romance novel title generator. (Though admittedly the last one makes more sense than I want it to.)

But this is “Covers Gone Wild,” not “Incredibly Stupid Titles Gone Wild.” That would have to be a whole other ‘nother weekly feature.

Sarah: This cover is akin to “Defy Not the Heart” weirdness. Can you imagine the artist trying to sell this cover concept?

“They’re in a snow storm. He’s wearing this weird cape and doublet dealie, and he has perfectly coiffed hair, while she’s got her dress half-falling down her astonishing bosom, and her hair is blowing straight sideways in the wind. There’s a castle, some storm clouds and snow - and here’s the best part! Wait for it.... wait for it.... there is a Viking ship sailing straight up out of her ass!”

And oh my God you couldn’t make this up unless you were a Smart Bitch thinking up prize titles: the heroine’s name is Kristen Haardrad! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Candy: I didn’t picture that Viking ship coming out of her ass so much as get the impression that her hair is regularly used as some kind of weird hiding place for presents and other objects. Like, he’s taking her hair down all sensually and shit, and he’s running his fingers through it and hoping he’ll get to brush against some hooter on the way down when his fingers snag on something and he’s thinking “WHAT THE FUCK” but she’s all “HONEY, SURPRISE! Look what I got you for your Christmas! Do you like it?”

And is it too much of a copyright violation for us to create a “Duchess of Haardrad”? Because goddamn, I really, really want to.

Johanna Lindsey, who single-handedly must have kept Fabio in hair serum and diamonds for the first third of his beefy life, is having all of her backlist rereleased with new, tame covers. Oh, the shame. Vintage Lindsey covers are the equivalent of purple prose in visual form: heaving bosoms, long, impossibly well-kept hair, overwrought poses, though sadly, no raging members. We’ve uncovered a Geocities cache of vintage Lindsey, and are reviewing them in sets of three. So hold on to your galloping pulse, delicately dab the moisture from your glistening angel-wing brow, and keep the smelling salts handy. It’s Lindsey Time!

A Heart So Wild

Sarah: First of all, FIRE! FIRE! Y’all need to stop making out and posing like ice dancers and MOVE AWAY from the OPEN FLAMES. Lord have mercy, there is a time and place for everything. Unless by ‘So Wild’ Lindsey also meant brushfires.

And what’s wrong with him, aside from looking incredibly aged? I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the positioning of his little blue bandanna there looks like he’s got a quill in his hand and is about to autograph her shoulder. Or his bizarrely long thumb. My, what a long thumb he has.

Candy: When Vampires Go Cowboy! And Blind! And Gay! And Try to Suck The Non-Existent Blood of Fellow Vampires!

Seriously. The dude looks like he’s about to say “I vant to suck your blood, mwahaha,” only with a Texan accent. Just what we need: a vampire gunslinger.

What’s up with his eyes? They’re so sunken, they almost look like empty sockets. Just looking at them gives me a serious case of the jibblies.

And could the chick be any paler? I mean, seriously. She should’ve listened to her momma and eaten her liver like a good girl. Pernicious anemia is not fun, kids.

Also: Inquiring minds want to know what a “Hearr” is. Is that “Heart” said in a really retarded Scottish accent? Is this guy really a combination of all our worst nightmares, i.e. a Scottish cowboy vampire? Oh, the humanity.

Brave the Wild Wind

Sarah: I can think of a few other things they are braving, most notably the toxic freaking waste in which they are getting busy! Hello, GREEN water is not a good place for attempts to capture that lovin’ feeling.

And aside from overexposure to said green water in one’s orifices, shouldn’t she worry not so much about the wild wind as the wild rapids surrounding what looks to be a small perch of rock? I’ve been down class III rapids in the Youghiogheny River, and, while class III is not hugely scary, they move pretty fast, and hello, that green water coming up behind you looks pretty damn strong. Sheesh. Brave not so much as stupid.

Candy: “Honey, save me! The current is pulling me under!”

“Hang on, let me get nekkid and suck on your shell-like ear first.”

Sarah, you’re so right about the green water. I’m thinking either toxic waste, or serious algae overgrowth. Either way, having plutonium isotopes or a ton of algae washed up my hoohah is not my idea of a good time. Perhaps this is why I’ll never be a cover artist. I have no vision, I tell you, none. Though it’s probably better than Vlad the Gunslinger’s vision up there, since at least my eyeballs haven’t sunk two inches into my skull.

Defy Not the Heart

Sarah: This is one of my favorite Lindsey covers ever. It’s just so freaking bizarre. The only thing they are defying is any credible period-accurate fashion sense. It’s a checklist from What Not To Wear. Purple tights? Check. Puffy-shirt from Seinfeld? Check. Low cut velvet gown in nuclear orange-red? Check. Impossibly long, “ouch you’re on my hair” hair? Check. Finger waves for Fabio? Check. Eyeshadow in Bonne Bell colors? Check.

Perhaps a better title would have been, “When Elvira and Fabio Get It On.”

Candy: I didn’t know they had strippers who gave lapdances in medieval times! And how unfair that even back then, Fabio gets to break the “don’t touch the girls” rule.

Question: What exactly is Fabulous reclining on? It looks like either thin air, or a very flimsy collection of violently lilac-colored brush. His thigh muscles must be SO TONED if he can keep that awkward pose while supporting Bimbetta there. My suggestion for an alternate title would be “Defy Not The Laws of Gravity.” Or “When Medieval Floozies Go Wild.”

Candy: I won’t go for the obvious joke. I won’t. I’m taking the high ground on this one. All I’ll say is: Those ancient Greek women sure had some nifty leotards. Geometry, logic, rhetoric, astronomy, the natural sciences, Spandex--once again, the Greeks blazed the trail for Western civilization.

But really, anything I say will just detract from the pure comedy that is this cover, so I’ll just shut up now.

Sarah: I will try to avoid the obvious with you, even as we cover our mouths and snicker, so I will follow up your leotard observations with a high compliment of the ancient Greek techniques of highlight application to dark-haired individuals.

Further, the advancements in plastic surgery, specifically breast implants for her and him, must have been overlooked by historical record. So pleased I am that evidence of the ancient Greek’s cosmetic enhancement industry has been recorded visually.

Also, you’d think if he was going to buy that sword he’d have fixed himself up with at least a loincloth.

...

OK. I can’t hold back. The LOTUS EATERS?! LOTUS EATERS?! Get OUT of here! What’s next, “I Munch Box!?”

Candy: Ummm. Yeah. What a lovely head angle. Is she going to barf green pea soup all over him, then use a crucifix as a dildo?

Again: NOTHING I say can add to the comedy gold. This is truly one of the few instances in which the covers truly do speak for themselves.

Sarah: Candy’s right. All you can do is sit there and gaze at the wonderment, trying to fit it all into your brain at once. I will say that I think the men of this designer’s world need to explore clothing options. You can’t have a strategically placed weapon of destruction, or a scantily-clad girl with a broken neck handy to shield your manroot all the time.

Further, I hope that the couple in this book reveals what manner of toupee paste remains firm and affixed underwater, because clearly some J-Lo-esque intervention is holding her vest over her breasts.

I’m going to have nightmares.

This session of Covers Gone Wild is a sort of drive-by snarking. Instead of going on (and on and ON) about a single cover, we’re going to take on five different covers and snipe briefly at them, Snarkywood-style. We hope you enjoy stunning the artwork. And we do mean stunning. No, seriously: the only way you could feel more stunned would be if somebody bapped your head repeatedly with a marble bust of Liberace. Wearing an Indian headdress.

Proud Eagle

Sarah: Excuse me, Mr. Eagle, what exactly do you have to be proud of, there? Your interestingly-placed bow, shooting up from your crotch there? Does that, perhaps, symbolize something?

It sure can’t stand for your hunting abilities.  I mean, the bird you’re aiming at is BEHIND YOU, dumbass.

Candy: I was under the impression that most Indians don’t suffer from the same kind of pallor the average Oregonian does from being deprived of sun for 6 months out of the year. I’ve seen fishbellies with healthier skin tone. I mean, this guy would qualify as Oscar Wilde-grade “interestingly pale.” Maybe he’s recovering from a bout of fever? That would explain why he’s aiming in the wrong direction.

Savage Hero

Sarah: He’s not savage. He’s mentally disabled. Look: Flaccid bow and arrow shot - no firm erect bowstring for him! Also, if he’s Native American, so am I. How much more anglo can a dude look? He’s like a wanna-be beta male wishing he were a Savage Hero. Picture him at the Halloween party: “No, NO I’m a SAVAGE HERO I tell you!”

Candy: I know Bronson Pinchot’s career has pretty much tanked since Perfect Strangers was cancelled, but really, did he have to resort to Indian drag to put food on his table? Because here I submit to you: Separated at birth, Savage Hero guy and Balki Bartokomous.

Savage Devotion

Sarah: Savage Devotion?

My ass. Savage hairdryer maybe.

Candy: Does Charlie Sheen have a younger brother with a serious waxing fetish? Again, I submit for your perusal:

Savage Fires

Sarah: Darling, get UP!  THE TEE PEE IS ON FIRE!  We need to get out of here! But wait, I am transfixed by your giant chin, and I cannot move! it is making me weak!

Candy: “IT BURNS WHEN I PEEEEEEE!”

“That’s because your dick is on fire, dumbass.”

When Passion Calls

Sarah: Ha. When People Fall, is more like it. Or, when nature calls - “here, pee right here you half-conscious woman!”

Also, why does he not have a neck? And his face looks like a forensic composite head.

Candy: Reasons why this cover creeps me out:

1. No. Neck.
2. The Exorcist-worthy angle of their heads.
3. Fringed. Buckskin. Pants.
4. A rushing river is no place to show off your tango moves, you stupid bitches. And judging by the way the woman’s hair is flying, he’s dipping her at considerable velocity. Is he the primary beneficiary of her life insurance plan? Because maybe he’s trying to dash her head on the river bank or something.