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

Picking on one of Sandra Hill’s “Viking” covers is like knocking over a one-legged kid without a crutch: horrifyingly easy to do. But then, there is a reason why we chose to call ourselves “Smart Bitches,” instead of “Smart Women Who, if They Have Nothing Nice to Say, Say Nothing At All.” Let the sniping begin!

Candy: My. These two are certainly… strapping. And blonde. Very, very blonde. Hitler would be so proud.

Sarah: I like how she seems to be suspended in mid-air, and I doubly like the subtle shadows on his vikingly furry loincloth. I also like to write “loincloth.”

Stupid gravity! Come back down here, woman!

Candy: Actually, the first thing I thought was, “Oh how nice! He’s humidifying her nipples! Those Scandinavian winters sure can get cold and dry, and cracked nipples can be a real bitch.”

The second thought was, “Wow, I didn’t know blow-up dolls had bendable legs!” And really, he can stop blowing into her now, she looks quite amply inflated. His lung power has to be impressive, those things are hard to inflate fully without a pump.

Errr, not that I’d know this from personal experience, or anything. *koffkoff*

And what IS up with that loincloth? If you look closely (UGH), you can see the very disturbing suggestion of arms and paws on the damn thing. I know pre-washed cotton wasn’t exactly the most readily available commodity to the Vikings so they had to make their clothing from whatever they had at hand, but really, couldn’t this guy at least trim off the limbs before tying it around his waist like some sort of bad, formerly animate sweater?

Also: did you notice that the amulet on one of his necklaces bears a strong resemblance to the amulet that the Beastmaster wears? D’you think that’s how he lured the polar bear to its ultimate, undignified fate as Viking ass covering?

Sarah: Notice also that she has a similar amulet on her hip (ow) proving to the initial glance of the reader that they are Meant to Be. You know, besides the blonder-than-blonde hair and the alarmingly scanty clothing for a Scandinavian winter.

Again, I am forced to ask, How did they get into this position? Aside from a lack of gravity theory, I have no idea. I know pictures of actual people having sex are marvelously unattractive, as we tend to look all twisted and goofy-faced, but come on. Why is she climbing up his side like a stubborn vine?

Candy: Hmmmm, d’you think they might possibly be related? I mean, the blond hair, the amulet (a family heirloom?), the chiseled cheekbones, their inability to close their mouths fully, the beautiful, firm boobage… Will their children be exponentially more likely to be color-blind and/or hemophiliac than the general population? And even more importantly: Is lack of adherence to the laws of gravity an inheritable disorder?

Just like last week’s Covers Gone Wild, click on the links in this entry to admire our L33T PH0T0SH0P SK1LLZ and marvel at our trenchant wit as we bestow alternate titles to Johanna Lindsey’s Man of My Dreams stepback cover. And yeah, we know--it took us this long to finally get around to giving a Fabio cover the Smart Bitches treatment. As penance, we’ll stare at the cover for Flowers From the Storm until our eyes bleed or our cerebral cortex implodes, whichever comes first.

Candy: Doesn’t the woman look as if she has some sort of weird sexual orifice in the middle of her back? Because it sure as hell looks as if Fabio is humping her spine. And from the looks of her O-face, she really, really likes it.

Sarah: Oh my GOD with that corset she LOOKS like a GIANT PENIS. God the longer I stare at that the more horrified I get. He’s NAKED. She LOOKS like a PENIS. And he’s NAKED. I mean, utterly naked, and jabbing his manhood against her shoulder blade.

Candy: Wait, maybe she’s a whore who’s just really, really new at this. Maybe she really thinks shoulder blades are the humptiest spot on a woman’s body?

And you know what else is bothering me? Fabio’s legs. They’re so friggin’ hairy. What is up with that? He has obviously shaved the rest of his body bare, but his legs are still plentifully be-furred. The first time I saw this cover, I wondered for a second if he was wearing hairy, flesh-colored pants. Then I realized, no, Fabio is in his altogether, unless like the Red Hot Chilli Peppers of yore he has a sock on his cock. I wonder why he left his legs alone? Did he think “Hmmm, a completely smooth chest, belly and arms are manly, and so is long hair carefully dyed black being blown by a giant fan in a studio, and so is humping a woman whose corset lends a distinctly phallic aspect to her appearance--but I’m NOT shaving my legs. That’s just way too gay.”

Sarah: Further, the longer I stare at it (Ow, my EYES!) I have to wonder, what happens to get oneself into this position. He’s naked, standing upright, with a corseted and skirted woman (in full makeup, so a big “hmmmm” to the whole “whore” idea) kneeling in front of him. Are they playing hide-and-go-seek? Was she counting to 10 and he just took his clothes off and snuck up behind her? Or maybe he was taking a whiz and he’s blind and thought she was a tree? (That would explain the O-face.) Or maybe she lost her Hitachi Magic Wand and he’s giving her a shoulder massage with a magic wand of a different sort? I mean, I have the most wonky imagination out there, and even I can’t come up with a viable scenario for how these two got in this position. Imagine if his wife walked up - how’s he going to say, ‘No, honey, this is not what it looks like!’

Extra-super-bonus for this week’s Covers Gone Wild: alternate cover titles and subtitles! Click on the links in the entry below to have your minds TOTALLY BLOWN! No, seriously! Just do it! Please don’t make us have to use any more exclamation marks!

Candy: Wow. That combination of scrubby-ass stubble, unnaturally smooth chest and badly-bleached blond hair just screams “tough cowboy” to me. Because as we well know, razors were in short supply in the old American west, but hair-removal wax and cheap peroxide dye jobs were surprisingly plentiful. And much as it pains me to admit this, the question “does the rug match the drapes?” has run across my mind, though that same mind boggles at the thought of viewing his… rug. If he hasn’t had that area waxed as cleanly as his chest, that is.

And are you scared by that FLAMING FUCKING BRAND he’s brandishing around? Because I am. It looks like that brand could hurt. At the very least, it looks like it could poke somebody’s eye out. And set fire to their whole freaking head in the process.

Sarah: Dude, what is up with that brand? OUCH! Especially since in the little vignette picture to the left he is PULLING HER SHIRT OFF and baring her BACK SKIN. I mean, subtlety much? OUCH OUCH OUCH! And as for the brand, what do you think the BC stands for? Branded Cowboy? Barmy Cowboy? Bunker Curry?

Candy: I don’t know… Bare-assed Cowgirls? Bubblicious Cunny? Bible Camp? Hell if I know. Bible Camp might make for a really surreal title for the book. “Bible Camp… Praise the Lord, and be branded by His Love.” How’s that for sacrilegous?

You know, the more I look at this picture, the more I’m convinced that the brand is some sort of phallic symbol the poor guy is hiding behind to Compensate For Something. Normally I’d say a really tiny peener, but looking at his hair, his chaps, and the complete lack of hair anywhere on his body except his lower jaw, I think Jakey-boy may very well be a homo on the range who thinks that ripping off a female bodice or two will convince the people at gay recovery camp that he no longer craves sweet, sweet cock. But you KNOW he still has those too-tight Y-fronts with “Butt Boy” scrawled on the ass stashed away somewhere.

Sarah: You are so right about the mixed vibe from this guy, but my biggest beef (har) is the complete lack of realism. Who in the name of God’s arse would ever stand near a branding pit without a shirt on? I know the cover sells the story somewhat, but this is so awful.  It’s almost insulting. It’s beefcake for the sake of beefcake, and it’s part of what gives romance novel readers a reputation for being stupid. this cover is beyond ridiculous, so I have no patience for the contents within. And this could be a marvelous book, but I wouldn’t be caught reading it in public or in the bathtub.

Inspired by Longmire:

Yes, this is what happens when a computer geek gets the day off and she decides she doesn’t want to sweep the floors juuuuust yet. Sorry the guy looks like he has eczema on his torso, but damn, that Clone Stamp is tricky to maneuver when there’s so little clean bare skin I can sample. Think of it as a consequence of being stuck in a nasty dungeon for God knows how long. That way the heroine can rub Lubriderm all over him after he’s rescued.

Mmmmmm, Lubriderm....

Candy: This is the first Loretta Chase novel I ever read, and it is without a doubt one of my all-time favorite books. But you know what? The damn cover scared me so much I almost left it on the shelf when I first saw it in a used book store ten years ago.

First of all, let’s discuss the male model’s hair. He’s sporting a mullet. Not just a mullet, but a mullet that seems too be composed of extremely limp Jheri curls. Baby Jesus is crying RIGHT NOW.

The models’ expressions and their extremely odd, uncomfortable postures inspire even more sorrow in Baby Jesus’s breast. Why are they sniffing each other with such intensity? Perhaps even more terrifying to contemplate: WHAT exactly are they sniffing? Did they perhaps partake in some of Mary Jo Putney’s chili, resulting in some thundering roses? And if you study the angle at which they’re clutching each other’s heads with such fervid fervor, it almost looks like the female model is about to slam the guy’s forehead right into her chin.

Sarah: First, he’s pulling her hair. Not sexy. Second, she’s touching that greasy-ass wad of dippity-doo-coated perm snarl with a bare hand - no latex gloves for her! Perhaps he is thinking, “Hmm. Without my daily Dairy-Queen soft-serve-sized dollop of hair gel, perhaps this is what my hair would feel like.”

Third, what on earth is she standing on that positions her so much higher than he is? The complete lack of setting is very odd. Moon, yeah. Red dress, yeah. Bare-torsoed jheri-curl man, yeah. Is she standing on a stack of Manhattan phone books?

Fourth, have I mentioned his hair?! Ew.

And fifth and finally, this cover is one bicep away from a wardrobe malfunction.