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

What in the name of nipples is going on there? Clearly this story is about an oddly-tanned man who shields his manjunk from a shimmying assault from the three-quarters of a vacant-eyed harem dancer growing out of his abdomen. Right? RIGHT?!

If the cover tempts you beyond reason (really, beyond reason, because no amount of reasoning can make sense of it), you can buy it for $8.95 from Joy directly.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be at the eyebleach station.

Sarah: While Emma Merritt is best known for her tireless service to the romance genre, this book is a little known gem which reveals the struggles of two amorous narcoleptics who put out the fire of their passion by sleeping on it.

Candy: That’s not sleepiness—that’s lip collagen poisoning we’re seeing. Egad, those lips are eerie-looking.

Sarah: He’s waiting… waiting… waiting patiently for the acid to take effect, so he can see what freaks her out more: The Parrot or His Mullet.

Candy: That look on her face wasn’t particularly slumberous or sexy; it mostly made me think “Dude, taking advantage of somebody with chromosome 21 trisomy is NOT COOL.”

Sarah: Just another day of ho-hum, if by “ho-hum” you mean pressing a throbbing lovesword against her femoral artery while distracting her with the erect cacti-peens and the flaming fuschia landscape. It’s sad he no longer enjoys his job.

Candy: She doesn’t look overpowered by lust so much as rohypnol; then again, he looks like a guy who doesn’t necessarily care to distinguish between either. Date rape in the desert underneath a cactus: mothers, don’t let your daughters grow up to be cowgirls.

Candy: Wolf Shadow’s promise? That he’s totally a heterosexual Indian man, not a gay Italian-American. All that product? Not his. Actually his “roommate’s”—Big Leather Daddy Bear.

Sarah: He’s so not going to keep Candy’s interpretation of that promise intact if she manages to get his hands below his belt. There’s no way his warrior’s staff is turgid and strong, not if he looks that worried and keeps grabbing her hands.

Candy: Hey, if you’re shagging a guy who shits roses, wouldn’t you look as smug as she does, too?

Sarah: What does it say about a man who is so in love with his own backside, he positions his shield behind him so as to catch his assflection at a moment’s notice? It says the following: nothing good.

Candy: (Warning: links are not especially work-safe.)

So. A gigantic white snake wrapped around a fey little man whose creampies are, apparently, coconut-flavored.

How fortuitous, because I’m sure it’ll come in handy (oh god) for the recipes in Natural Harvest: a Collection of Semen-Based Recipes. (Which one of you lucky fuckers is going to win the book today? Can’t wait to find out.)

You do realize he and his boyfriend are saddlebacking because they’re totally preserving their virginity for marriage, right? As Dan Savage said, they’re preserving the shit out of that virginity.

Sarah: I have totally seen that guy doing that same dance on the weather.com site, only instead of jumping for the joy of cream pie, he was celebrating falling interest rates on mortgages in my area.

Candy: I’d say homegirl isn’t too impressed with the toying-around skillz of Sawyer from Lost, if that snoring is anything to go by.

Sarah: Look closely: she’s totally drooling.