Sarah: Being dead: $5000 for local hitman.
Being dead and still looking pretty fine: $5000 for local mortician.
Being dead and having some dimwit engage in actual coitus with your corpse on the cover of a $4.99 romance novel: Only the art department knows the cost, but one would suspect it cost their souls.
Candy: The SEXTH SENSE? Dude, when your pickup line is “I see dead people—and then I fuck them rotten,” what you have is a bona fide DSM-IV disorder, not a catchphrase. In the spirit of “Thou Shalt Always Kill,” here’s another commandment for you: Thou shalt not shag corpses.
Bitchery reader Katherine sent us a link to this… cover:
Sarah: That’s one way to refer to gonorrhea.
Candy: When I saw that cover, I immediately heard Wolf Parade singing “Sometimes we rock and roll, sometimes we strip at home and it’s just fine, this thong’s on fire, this thong’s on fire, this thong’s on fire, this thong’s on fire.”
Anybody else? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
And courtesy of Lady Rhian, oh the pain:
Sarah: Few people know about Ass Pirate and Butt Pirate’s younger brother, Petticoat. One might think he’s into chicks, but really, it’s all for show. Because that’s a man, baby, yeah!
Candy: It’s nice to see that homeboy is setting realistic expectations for himself, y’know? Instead of Terror of the Seven Seas or King of the Pyrates and other such hyperbolic sobriquets, this dude lives up to his name thoroughly. No disappointment, no false advertising.
Next up in this new Truth in Romance series:
The Pencil-Necked Rogue
Thief of Stacks of Post-It Notes
Lord of My Sock Drawer
Knight in Renn Faire Armor
I keep waiting for the first chick to open her eyes, and then I’m going to run screaming.
I wanted to make a reference to the “Sexth Sense” thing but Candy, nothing I could say would be better than that.
Dear me…I fear perhaps, her thong is on fire due to all the horrible chafing from that butt floss…did you see this was from the author of “Thug-A-Licious” ? Hmm…nothing’s sexier than knockin’ boots with yer baby daddy after he gets out of the pen.
As for PP –
1: That is what I call a pedophile mustache.
2: He’s rowing with one hand – what, are they going in circles?
3: I dunno why she had to head for the high seas, I’m sure there’s plenty of men ready to pirate her petticoat in San Francisco…in fact, I’m sure of it. They probably have that mustache too.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, but PP—totally Adrian Paul with a mustache.
You’re right, MamaNice, he is rowing with one hand… and with a large dowel (really, darlings-of-the-art-department, isn’t a sword more traditional and phallic?). How is that little row boat moving? Is he punting it, like a gondola? (Blantent mixing of nautical terms, yo).
And the water is so turned up, right around the boat. It looks as if they are about to fall out. But then, behind them… still as a mirror.
I need to look away from the last cover. But the others are so much worse.
I can’t get past Thong On Fire. Holy shit. I shouldn’t be surprised at the utter horrendousness of that title since its predecessor was called Thug-A-Licious (didn’t he tour with Eminem last year?), but still. That’s one damn lousy title for anything other than a STD prevention manual!
“Are you a shameless hussy? Do your friends refer to you as the Revolving Whore? Are you physically incapable of seeing anything oblong without humping it madly, regardless of who’s watching? Have you not yet lived down that incident with the blow up doll, the waffle iron, and the church pew, despite moving to another state? Can you read at a 2nd grade level? Well, this is the book for you—THONG ON FIRE!
“This stirring novel teaches you ways to prevent a recurrence of that inconvenient green discharge from your Magic Vajayjay, as well as detailing methods for reducing that irritating twat chapping caused by fucking every doorknob in Home Depot! Order your copy today—only $19.95 in this special TV offer—but wait, there’s more! Act now and get not one, not two, but three extra-strength, silver-studded, faux leatherette condoms! Make your men howl with pleasure… or is it pain?… as they penetrate every one of your glistening lurve grottos. And that’s not all—we’ll also throw in this industrial-strength energizing and disinfecting spray, specially formulated for the tired and overused ladypocket…”
Oh yeah. I can’t wait to read it.
I cannot imagine what would make someone think that the Thong cover was even remotely a good idea.
But really, if you’re going to have a huge naked butt on the cover, what’s the point of the blue fur-lined vest?
By the gods, between Sarah, Candy, MamaNice and Amy, I’m spewing so much kiwi fresca out of my nose that Ilike some bizarre keyboard-destroying fountain.
Hah. I want to read Knight in Renn Faire Armor, now.
I imagine it’s about some poor Renn Faire enthusiast bloke is thrown back in time to the actual Renaissance, complete with his largely ineffectual armor and weapons. A Lady in Need finds herself saddled with him as she struggles against [some manner of trouble]. He is dress and opinions are most strange, but she discovers that he knows [something very useful to the plot] because he worked as a chemist in modern times and knows many Magical Things. He learns to
endure her pre-hygene reek appreciate her for her… many good qualities, and she comes to LURVE him for TREATING HER AS AN EQUAL, OMG.
Ode to the Thong on Fire
You know I’ve got a torch for you
A huge and fiercely burnin’ spire
And I know a thing or two
Girl, you want it hard and higher
Let me sit you on the dryer
Come on babe, my schlong’s on fire
Burning like a lighted tire
Let me sit you on the dryer
It hasn’t sparked since we rewired
If we’re immolated ooh,
Then we’ll have a comfy funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on babe, my schlong’s on fire
Set the laundry room on fire, yeah!
The buildup in the chimney flue
May detonate from our desire
I really doubt if we’ll pull through
We’ll climax in a ball of fire
Hurry or I might misfire
Come on babe, my schlong’s on fire
Set the living room on fire
You know that I’m alight for you
Come on babe, my schlong’s on fire
Light the gas, we’ll say adieu
I love you more than my supplier
Let me sit you on the dryer
Tie you with piano wire
Come on babe, my schlong’s on fire
Let me set your thong on fire
Let me set your thong on fire
Let me set your thong on fire
(To be sung in the style of Jim Morrison)
***********GHOSTS AND ROSES***********
Ya know, if I were trying to convey how
sexy my book is, I don’t think I’d have a
cover where the guy and the chick are
doing it and the chick is asleep.
Yeah, that guy must be REAL good in bed.
******************************************
**********NOIRE THONG ON FIRE*********
Sarah – You hit the nail on the head with
this one. I have nothing to add.
******************************************
***********PETTICOAT PIRATE************
Someone should tell him that if he wants
to club her over the head with the boat
oar and steal her identity, ala The
Talented Mr. Ripley, he’s going to
have to shave that 70’s porno mustache
he’s sporting.
*****************************************
OMG – thank you for the first out loud laugh of my morning!
The Petticoat Pirate – Not only does their ROWBOAT (not exactly a dashing conveyance for a pirate) look as if is about to tip over – I guess it’s hard for him to row when he’s busy copping a feel of her breast – but they hardly appear to be out on the high seas. And who’s the dude up in the box at the top right corner? Did he lose the ‘stache during the story?
There’s nothing I can possibly add to Thong On Fire – Jim Morrison says it all…
Actually, I will add one thing – these covers demonstrate why I prefer “abstract” covers on books. Can you imagine sitting in an airport reading THONG ON FIRE? The title is bad enough without the visual!!
AmyE…your informercial was frickin’ high-larious!!!!
As for “Ghosts and Roses,” the tagline is “In his wildest dreams…” So which one of them is dead and which one is the necromancer/necrophiliac?
You have a point, taybug. Maybe she’s just sleeping and he’s a ghost rapist!
Geez, you’re not even safe in your own bed anymore…
Petticoat Pirate is the clear winner. Isn’t it great the way cover art is embracing interracial romances? I mean, the dude *is* a Bollywood escapee … isn’t he?
I don’t think they have mullets in Bollywood…
They have mullets everywhere.
*growing38* As in, “The back of my hair is growing 38 times faster than the top.”
Petticoat Pirate: Does steal petticoats and sell them on the blackmarket? Wear them while singing, “I want to sing and dance. I want to be a pirate in the Pirates of Penzance”? It’s all so very vague.
I’m going to dub hubby Lord of my Sock Drawer since he leaves socks everywhere.
I almost missed Thug-a-licious. WTF? Who makes up these titles?
In memory of Pat’s and Edina…
If your memory serves you well
We were going to meet again and wait
So I`m going to unpack all my things
And sit before it gets too late
No man alive will comfort you
With another tale to tell
But you know that we shall meet again
If your memory serves you well
This thong`s on fire
Rolling down the road
Best notify my next of kin
This thong shall explode
I’m looking for a title for my WIP.
It’s not going to be *shudder* Petticoat Pirate.
Though I do have some sympathy for the poor author, who may have been sandbagged by the publisher and marketing department on that one.
I just had to find out the plot of Thong on Fire.
From Amazon.
Born in Harlem to a black ex-G.I. father and a junkie Korean prostitute mother,
Then why is she apparently white on the cover?
Also, Photoshop motion blur tool on fire…
Also,
Beyond the sex, what drives the book is Saucy’s vivid, trash-talking unreliability—except perhaps in describing her own pleasure.
Moll Flanders 2007?
Oh please, ask Candy about her reaction to the following bit: “Kimichi, Saucy’s mom.”
The Korean mother. Named Kimichi.
Seriously. Her reaction about made me wheeze with laughter.
Kimichi? Like the pickled cabbage?
A tiny whiff of “insert stock Asian character”.
I first read the the mother’s name as Kimchi. Paired with Saucy, that would be Going Too Far. As long as Saucy wasn’t birthed by a spicy cabbage dish, I can cope.
Oh no. Is kim-i-chi also the cabbage?
[sob]
This is too much, too soon after yesterday’s Hoffstravaganza.
Must wash brain out with soap . . . and bleach, and scaldingly hot water.
Rinse and repeat until clean feeling returns.
Perhaps when the Petticoat Pirate moves up to stealing entire gowns, he’ll be able to afford a real boat.
Is that Amazon snip for real? Can’t be. You bitches made that up.
Frenemies…the G-spot…Freedom Moore! Oh my brain!
Oh, pllllllllllleeeeeeeease give us your take on the plot, Candy!
Pretty please?
I bought Thong on Fire for my sister and mom, but I’m reading it first 🙂 I actually like the film negative-ish cover because it’s explicit yet a bit sedate.
I’m OK with the cover art. It’s less mortifying than clinches and mantitty. It’s just the TITLE. Oh lord the TITLE.
I don’t know how to explain the snorting and tears in response to the mother-or-cabbage responses here. My coworkers will just have to think that I’m a crazy person.
As to Petticoat Pirate—the “high seas” of the blurb look like a motorboat’s wake on a docile lake, ergo the “passion” would probably be best portrayed as a narcoleptic hero?
So I looked up Thug-a-Licious because I just HAD to see what THAT was about. But in looking it up I ran across two other books from this same author:
“Candy Licker” and “G-Spot”. (How come every time I read the words “candy licker” I keep hearing “butt licker” in my head….) The Publishers Weekly calls these books “black urban erotic chick lit”. Huh?
Publishers Weekly calls these books “black urban erotic chick litâ€
They missed a few categories:
multiracial
multispecies (mama’s a cabbage, natch)
satirical (I hope? with those names?)
redemption theme (or does Saucy keep charging for her special sauce?)
and my new favorite label:
alternative post-feminist fiction (the hell you say!)
I’m afraid that the aforementioned G-Spot might stand for Gonnorhea Spot. And I don’t want to hit it. Nuh-uh.
But Saucy’s internal conflict, now, that’s very, very real. She has to decide if the green discharge is a natural consequence of being the daughter of a pickled cabbage, or if she really should see a doctor for it. Like last week.
So I’m the only one looking at Thong on Fire and hearing, “Frah-GEE-lay. Huh, must be Italian” and “It’s a Major Award!” and “You’ll poke your eye out, kid”?
Those glowing legs look soooo much like the lamp once the Old Man had plugged it in, then went outside to admire it from the street.
That’s it. I’m going to start writing white, trailer-trash erotica and calling myself Blanca.