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

The first two covers are courtesy of Louise, who hoped that we would “enjoy them.” Oh we did, Louise. The only way we could’ve enjoyed them more would’ve been if Fabio had showed up at our houses and given us Brazilian waxes.

Candy: First of all, the texture on the guy’s hair is kind of eerie. I keep thinking that if I stare at it long enough, I’ll see tortured, weeping faces in the swirling patterns, or something.

Second of all: Dude! No, I mean it--the woman’s a dude. Why do artists insist on using Willem Dafoe in drag as a model? Pondering this enigma is seriously sapping me of the will to live.

Sarah: This may be the first ever cover art where the chick’s boobs are appropriately sagging. NOTHING sags in RomanceLandia, didn’t you get the memo? Hell, historical heroines have smooth hairless legs.

And speaking of, her boobs may sag, but Fabio clearly just left her house after giving her an underarm wax.

Candy: The alien incubating in the guy’s right shoulderblade is getting ripe, and will pop out any day now. That’ll teach him to eat after midnight.

Sarah: Do you see the iddy biddy boner? It’s kind of like the camel on the cigarette pack only not nearly as subtle.

Candy: Holy crapmonkeys! I didn’t know Nightcrawler had a younger, gayer, creepier, more transparent younger brother.

Sarah: Did Rebecca Brandewyne dress up as that guy on the back of the cover? And if she did, was she in severe hypoxia at the time?

Because, man, there is nothing sexier than hypothermic love.

Candy: Behold the power of this woman’s exposed knees! Her legs are so amazing, the mere sight of them are capable of making falcons shit out fully-formed (if rather creepy-looking) men.

Sarah: Clearly this needs to be an entry in the Art of War: to flush out (har) your enemy, drop a magenta clad Ondine in to the bushes. Her ruffled allure will force your prey to get buck naked, and you’ll be able to spot him easily in the foliage by the glimmer of his white, white ass.

The saddest three words known to us: “Lady Rhiann’s scanner.”

Sarah: That look of dawning horror on his face is due to the fact that he just realized the paddle is in his right hand. Which means it is not pressed against his hip as he originally thought. Tonight, it will be “her” flute of love that will be playing passion’s melody.

Candy: He’s holding the handle of that paddle awful tight and with intent. I can’t help but think that he has plans for that knobby end that involve him testing the depths of her, uh, love.

Sarah: A public service announcement from the lead singer of Nickelback: Your heart damn well better be made of iron if you don’t bother covering it with any protection during a joust. The more you know!

Candy: Psh! Who needs armor when you’re protected in a hard shell consisting of Aquanet, sunless tanning lotion and body spray? He might have something to worry about if somebody threw a lighted match at him, but pointy objects should bounce right off his shellacked exterior.

Sarah: Dawn of the Body Wax. Morning of the Emollient Cream. Noontime of the Overlarge Loincloth. Afternoon of the Headband. Evening of the Headbanger Hair.

Candy: Behold the dawn of a new species of man! A man of exceptional endurance and flexibility! A man who will be around for more generations than you can imagine! A man who comes fully endorsed by the Plastics Division of the American Chemistry Council! A man who meets both ANSI and ISO 9000 standards! We call him...Polyvinyl Chloride Man!

Hey kids,

So, how was your Halloween? Have a good time? Consume a lot of candy? Ready to see that candy make a return appearance? Then click on the extended text, motherfuckers!

We hurt because we love. And we place beneath the fold because HOLY SHIT, NOT WORK SAFE.

Lady Rhian’s scanner is keeping track of how many eyeball searing images it has to scan in, and it’s going to rise up like the robots in Terminator and decide our fate in a nanosecond. That fate will likely involve a lot of mullets. But until then, we are in Lady R’s debt. Because damn.

Sarah: Who came up with this series title? The same people who advertise monster truck rallies on the radio?

“SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY with POWER POWER POWER.  It’s Ecstasy Supreme GEEZER SEX! The old man scrumpin’ is so good, you won’t notice a shipwreck happening RIGHT BEHIND YOU!”

Candy: Unknown fact: Tempestuous Eden is actually the guy’s drag queen sobriquet. He’s moving his hand slowwwwly up her so he can rip off her panties...for himself.

Also, where’s the woman’s right arm? Given the angle of the shoulder, we should be able to see it. Is she a Thalidomide baby?

Sarah: You’d think this was a purple prose-laden novel about grapes and sex, but no. It’s actually a paranormal inspired by the Tooms episodes of the X-Files, only instead of stealing livers, Eugenia there steals boobs. See how she sucks the breasteses out of Mr. Tangled Mullet Wearing Cop Pants, and harvests his man titty for her very very own? Frightening beyond belief, I tell you. Gives me the shivers.

Candy: This educational maverick is sacrificing himself in order to demonstrate to us this age-old question: How do you teach a blind person anatomy?

Sarah: This might qualify for The Cover that Snarks Itself. What, pray tell, is Mightier than the Sword? Her perm? His very tight pants? Or my suspicion that he’s about to toss her chemically processed booty right into that fire?

Candy: What’s Mightier than the Sword? Her Aquanet, that’s what. Why do you think he seems so intent on fox-trotting her into the fireplace? He stands to inherit, and hairspray is VERY flammable.

Sarah: Little known trivia: The artist misheard the title during the art meeting. He thought it was “Wide are My Shoulders.”

Candy: Wild is their love. Savage is their wax job. Orange is their fake tan. Helmet-like is his hairstyle. Caked-on is her make-up.