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

And the winner is.... Jaci Burton for her truly magnificent work, “Fragrant Stinkweed.” Congratulations, Jaci!

Honorable mention goes to E.D’trix’s “The Spastic Nubbin,” Jennifer’s “The Salacious Janitor” and Shannon’s “The Humid Pirate.”

Here are some of the funnier comments we received during the voting process:

“I’m still not entirely sure what is going on, but what the Hell, it seems like it’s all in fun and everything, so I’m going to vote for Entry #2, but not because I truly understand what is happening, or really even liked it, but it was the only entry that had actual nudity in it, and, you know, being a guy and all, we both know that’s why we show up in the first place.”

“I chose to send my email to you instead of Sarah cause you have the trashier name.” (Hee!)

“The Spastic Nubbin gets my ENTHUSIASTIC vote. Not so enthusiastic that anything is spasming. Or anything. Um. Yeah.”

“I have to vote for “Fragrant Stinkweed,” because it made me feel the most disturbed.”

Again, congratulations again to Jaci for her deathless prose. She gets a $10 Amazon.com gift certificate and henceforward shall be known as:

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about romance novel virgins after reading the latest At The Back Fence about some of the most common sexual roles for heroines, including Adele Ashworth’s spirited defense of her decision to make the married heroine in Duke of Sin a virgin.

To tell you the truth, I’m kind of sick of virgins in romance novels. Orgasmless widows are tiresome too. But to me, virgin widows are the worst. Virgin widows and women who have sex with the hero, break up with him and then remain chaste until he comes back (oftentimes years and years later) are characters that make me want to snarl and gnash my teeth.

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.

All right! Here are the eligible entries for the Romance Novel Title Generator contest. E-mail your vote for the story you liked best to either or . One vote per person, and getcher vote in by Monday, 4/18.

Entry No. 1: The Confused Rake by Gail

Clement Stockton, Earl of Attlee, raised his opera glass to his eye and peered through it. Wasn’t that Cecily, his Cecily, dancing attendance on Percival Watt? A mere Mister. With a receding hairline to boot. Who had a tendency to spout nonsense about poetry and magnetism and Egyptian hieroglyphicists or whatever the damned squiggly things were called. Why on earth would Lady Cicely Bywater spend time with Percy instead of him? Was he, Clement Stockton, not a rake of the highest rakishness, able to make women swoon with a single wink of his wicked brown eyes, to make them gasp if he waltzed them too close to his manly chest, to make them scream with the facility of his manly...instrument? And no, he did not mean a violin. Clement scowled. He did not understand it. Not at all. And he did not like being confused.

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Entry No. 2: Fragrant Stinkweed by Jaci Burton

Lying naked amidst the fragrant stinkweed, Penelope held out her arms, anticipating her lover’s embrace.

“Oh, come to me, my precious Pepe,” she moaned, unable to contain her lust. The odiferous scent of both him and the flora around them filled her with longing. His aroma brought back sweet memories of that time the water in her apartment was turned off for a month and she couldn’t bathe.

Pepe stood proudly, his thick stalk of stinkweed waving to and fro like the tall grasses of the plains. In the heated afternoon, the foul aroma wavered around him like garbage day in New York City, potent and powerful in its stench. She had never been more aroused.

“You want some of my stink, don’t you, my pet?” he teased, thrusting his hips forward, enticing her with his fragrant weed.

“You know I do, my love,” she answered, still unable to believe her luck. Pepe the skunk-shifter had claimed her as his own. She could die a happy woman now.

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Entry No. 3: The Salacious Janitor by Jennifer

He was always giving her the eye as she walked out of the door of her office in a thigh-high miniskirt and five-inch heels. He’d always be there, covered in filth and up to his armpits in a pile of trash in the Dumpster, perhaps with a condom wrapper stuck to his head, and staring. At first she thought he was a random homeless bum, until one day she saw a naked woman sneaking out of the Dumpster with a radiant smile on her face and and yet another sticky condom on her ass.

What WAS going on in that Dumpster? One day, she had to find out. When everyone had left the building for lunch, she snaked one long, slim leg, than the other, into the bin. And there the janitor was, with the zipper of his ragged gray coveralls open almost to his crotch, sweaty, stinky, and lustfully gazing at her bulging breasts. “It took you long enough,” he smirked. And within ten seconds they had run slowly over the piles of papers and discarded lunches and were groping each other on top of yesterday’s cafeteria lasagna.

“My god, you are salacious!”

She left smiling, yet smelly.

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Entry No. 4: The Sinful Janitor by Arielle

Fall into…

Their first meeting was by cheer accident. When Dora Kemp sliped on the wet tiles of her office hallway, she thought she had a concussion. She had been working late again researching iridescent glitter online for her scrapbook guru boss. Exhaustion. How else to explain how the pine-scented new janitor’s arms could feel so buff ? How could such an ackward encouter in an empty building suddenly seem like an invitation to more…

...The Vapors of Love

He thought the strong chlorine-based desinfectant he used in the ladies bathroom were the cause of the overwhelming feelings that came over Chuck Delore when this overweight and overdressed angel fell into his waiting arms. But while he gazed into her slightly unfocused eyes, her halting breaths loud in the quiet of the night, the undercover cop/custodian knew somehow that harsh chemicals alone could never ever make him feel so...sinful.

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Entry No. 5: The Humid Pirate by Shannon Stacey

“Ahoy, me sultry and dewy maiden! My mind is foggy and vaporous from my desire for you---or the dank grog, mayhap.  Aye, come close and let me lay my clammy hands upon your diaphoretic breasts.  The constant dripping, dripping, dripping of this drizzly and rainy voyage has chilled my bones.  Allow me to set aside this damp and foul parrot so I may bury myself in your steamy and moist port of call.  The muggy, sweltering depths of your wettish womanhood warm me, wrapping my throbbing, sudorific manhood in sticky, soggy embraces.  Arrgh, sweet and vaporific wench, how your misty thighs welcome my watery release!  Now, bring your humid pirate lover more grog!  Avast!”

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Entry No. 6: The Astonishingly Hirsute Nipple meets The Moist Master by Nicole

At 29, Maddie was still a virgin.  Not for lack of trying, but because she had...The Astonishingly Hirsute Nipple!  No matter that her other turgid nipple was perfect in it’s turgidness, grown men would run screaming in terror from her highly hairy breast.  Her only hope for popping her cherry before she turned 30 was...The Moist Master.  His steamy breath and gifted hand would soon have her nipple shaven bare to his gaze. But has The Moist Master met his match?  Will Maddie and her Nipple ever be free of the yoke of chastity?

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Entry No. 7: The Spastic Nubbin by E.D’Trix

One Woman…

An innocent caught on the brink of womanhood, Vyrginne St. Sultry is determined to find the no good men who shot her pa. If only she could ignore the wild fluttering between her thighs everytime she came across that no-good scoundrel Randy McRockhard…

One Man…

Randy McRockhard is a man in charge of his own destiny. A big fan of saloon girls and whores, he is shocked to find himself wildly attracted to Vyrginne—and her strangely fluttering groin…

And The Spastic Nubbin…

Unable to deal with her vibrating privates on her own, Vyrginne turns to Randy, the one man she thinks she can trust. The one man who can help her reveal the secret of...THE SPASTIC NUBBIN.

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Entry No. 8: The Linguistically-Gifted Shape-Shifter by E.D’Trix

Yesterday…

Rowena LaFarge was a moderately content accountant with endearingly chubby thighs, and a non-existent social life. One trip to a graveyard on the night of the full moon has changed all of that—throwing her anal-retentive life into a whirlwind of wild desire…

Today…

Wolfe Wintergreen is an alpha in the prime of his life. A lone wolf with a penchant for travel, Wolfe is happy with his job as a translator at the U.N., that is, until he meets the delectable Rowena under the light of a full moon…

Tomorrow…

Caught up in the blazing rapture of their erotic lust, Wolfe is waiting for the right time to tell Rowena that he and his “wolf-hound” Fluffy, are one and the same. That he is not just linguistically-gifted, but THE LINGUISTICALLY-GIFTED SHAPE-SHIFTER. If only he could get to her before the assassins did…

First of all: only eight and a half more hours to get those entries in for the contest, my pretties! Get your entries in before 10 p.m. PDT tonight. Or else…

Second: The Very Tall Husband is now reading Seize the Fire! MWAHAHAHAHA. OK, he hasn’t started yet, I gave him the book just a short while ago (I nearly passed out when he asked “So what’s that romance novel you wanted me to read?") and he’s now busy surfing Automotive Insanity at the Something Awful Forums, so God knows when he’s going to come up for air. But still! He’s going to be reading a romance novel! Yay! I’ll even see if I can wrangle a review from him, or even just a jumble of impressions, what he liked and didn’t like about the book, etc.

Third: Uh, no third, really, other than HOLY SHIT I need to finish watching the fourth season of Futurama that I loaned from the library because it’s four days overdue. Wendy Super-Librarian, please don’t hate me.

Later, my Peepish peeps, and Ra willing, I’ll have the third part of the Mr. Impossible Thumbnail Theater up by tonight.