Sweet, Savage EEEGAH!

Sarah: Is she even conscious? It looks like she might be, since she’s holding herself up with her right arm, but… dang. Could she look less interested in that there Comanche cowboy who already has one finger extended as he lifts up her skirt – EW.

And y’all. Horse. Coming right at you. Might want to take the necrophilia party to another location.

Candy: OK, what’s with him trying to sniff her earwax? Is this a new fetish I’m not aware of? And here I thought there was no way the Internet could surprise me again.

Sarah: “Apache Tears?” I know him! This is his formal title. His friends call him, “Apache-who-lactates.” Those “tears?” Breast milk, baby, breast milk. He’s a wonder to all who know him, really. Any random chick who gets stranded in the desert can count on him for sustenence. He’s like a one-man rescue operation of food and antibodies, with a boner to match. Here he is rescuing a lost maiden, tired, dirty and dehydrated, and for a quick roll in the clover, she’ll get all the manmilk she can drink. What a hero.

Candy: The Apache’s tears are from when the paleface chick clamps down a leeetle bit too enthusiastically on his man-titties. And all the time, he’s probably thinking “Lower, you stupid whore! Go lower! I’ll weep you some tears then—TEARS OF DESIRE.”

Sarah: Again, is she dead? Conscious? A willing participant? Maybe the back cover reads, “As her soul journeys Beyond the Horizon, He-who-humps-dead-chickens tries to get one last full-moon lovin’ in before the body gets cold.”

Candy: Yup, another necrophile-who-sniffs-dead-chick’s-earwax-before-boning-the-lifeless-body cover. HEY! That would make a totally awesome Indian name.

I wonder how the woman died. She looks especially pained, as if she was right in the middle of a really big menstrual cramp before she bit the big one. Ah, to live and die in the days before Midol. Savage eras, indeed.

Sarah: He-Who-Craves-Gingham-Not-That-There’s-Anything-Wrong-With-That saw her standing in the frosty mountain light. He wanted her dress. It was cold. The night was…frosty. And her dress was gingham. It had been so long since he’s seen a yellow pattern with white eyelet trim. It would make such a fetching hat for the next pow-wow. He had to have it, um, her. She looked malleable and acquiescent; perhaps he could remove her dress and run off before she noticed he was gone.

“Undress me,” she begged.

He thanked the Great Spirit for her generosity and reached for her.

Candy: First of all, I just love how in all these covers, man with black hair = Indian savage. These dudes look about as Indian as my labia.

Second of all, it’s nice to see that besides hideous shades of eyeshadow, breast implants, bad dye jobs and collagen injections were all amenities people in the nineteenth century enjoyed.

Third of all, dude better get the gingham dress off her soon if he wants it in one piece—looks like the seams are gonna blow any freakin’ second.

Comments are Closed

  1. 1

    Wow.  I never knew about the gingham thing until I read it here.  And like Candy, I thought I’d covered every fetish out there on the Internet.

    Speaking of which, have you killed the bunny yet?  Can I have one of the feet for my keychain?

  2. 2

    I think there are 4 ads up…mine is one of them, so the bunny may be kaput.

    Thanks for the laughs.


  3. 3

    Gingham. Earwax. Necrophilia.

    I love you guys. *shaking with helpless laughter*

  4. 4
    Arethusa says:

    I am weeping tears of laughter. Seriously. Perrier went straight up my nose.

    That first cover though, was it done by Lisa Frank? Are they lying on…clouds? It really reminds me of those awful trapper keeper art back in the day that me and my friends fought to possess, to my everlasting shame.

  5. 5
    Doug Hoffman says:

    As an ear, nose, and throat doctor (really! it’s true! they let me treat people here—blame it on the desperation of a rural community for much needed medical care) I cannot recommend sniffing or licking earwax. Trust me on this. I clean the stuff several times a day, and I have yet to be tempted.

    As for being surprised by all the internet has to offer, did you guys catch my anus bleaching blog? Bet you won’t find bleached assholes on the cover of a romance novel.

  6. 6

    Oh great, Doug!  It wasn’t bad enough that I was getting paranoid over whether my teeth are white enough, now I have to worry over whether my asshole is white enough!

    Man, I can just imagine the look on my husband’s face if I asked him to check that out.

    On second thought, no, I can’t.

  7. 7
    Robin says:

    Okay, if you want to witness some ear or eye-splitting outrage on your blog just get me started on the portrayal of Native Americans in Romance.  And to add insult to injury, that first dude is Rick Springfield.  But OMG, Doug—THE BLESSED STARFISH??????!!!!!!!!!!  Does the new and improved BS actually yield bleached shit?  Ugh, I just grossed myself out.  Anger at racist Native American stereotypes temporarily diverted.

  8. 8
    Doug Hoffman says:

    Darlene, I guarantee your husband has already checked it out. We guys look at everything.

    Of course, I might be different.

  9. 9
    Candy says:

    Ahem. We Smarty Bitchypoos linked to anal bleaching back in April.

    Hard-hitting news factories. That’s what we are.

    (Actually, stole the link from Chaos Theory.)

  10. 10
    Doug Hoffman says:

    Candy, I bow to your superior cutting edge knowledge of asshole chic.

  11. 11
    Candy says:

    Oh no no no, Doug—I think the one with true cutting edge knowledge of asshole chic is Condi Rice and her new Ferragamos.

  12. 12

    Um, I may be prissy, but, uh, this is WAY TMI for me…(and I read all the d**n comments anyway, but I haven’t followed all the links….)

  13. 13

    Comanche Cowboy is shown taking the heroine to safety after she was savagely attacked by the mutant giant desert deathmoth of doom, still seen lurking menacingly in the bottom corner.

    After the hellish deathmoth ate the top half of her dress, the heroic comanche cowboy bravely (ho-ho!) fended off the vicious lepidotera, protecting our heroine with his manly valour. However during the course of the raging battle, the infernal deathmoth ate all his clothes. This was in actual fact a more advantageous state for any wielding of said manly valour. Vicious Desert Deathmoths aren’t noted for their intelligence.

    The cover captures the touching post-battle moment as the noble hero ministers to the heroine with Traditional Mysterious Herbal Indian Moth Repellent, which smells faintly of lemons and DDT.

    Moral of the story: Modest persons, or those brandishing hand-held weapons should only combat deathmoths wearing man-made fabrics.

  14. 14
    Shannon says:

    And those covers belong to the author who publicly said Also we may want to stop prattling on about how ‘we just don’t get no respect’ when we allow dopey-looking hunks in ridiculous costumes advertising an erotic publisher on our back cover.

    I’m so glad she’s the arbiter of good taste, aren’t you?

  15. 15

    Did I say lepidotera? I’ll have a “p” please, Bob, to make it lepidoptera

    Hopefully caught that in time to avoid being smothered by a winged beast on the way home tonight.

  16. 16

    Oh, and could I humbly recommend as worthy of future discussion the cover of “To Tame a Savage” in the same series? Believe that only you at SBTB can give it the justice it truly deserves. It still stalks my nightly dreams, particularly after eating cheese quite late.

  17. 17

    Evil Auntie: you have made me spray coffee over my monitor for the first time this morning. Bless you.

  18. 18
    Candy says:

    Evil Auntie Peril: That was poetry. Sheer poetry.

  19. 19
    Dee says:

    Candy, you’re moving up to deity in my brain, you know that, don’t you? LOL, I’m with Robyn on the “Criminally Wrong Portrayal of Native Americans” on romance covers. Half of them aren’t even depicted as brown (sorry gang, Cherokees weren’t the Danes of the native American population, no matter how many times you watch the old movies.) So, looking as Indian as your labia damn near had me spitting in the face of my child with laughter.

    Y’all are on a quest to make me love Mondays!

  20. 20
    anon says:

    Is it just me or does the guy on the cover of The Horzon, how shall I put this, LOOKS LIKE A WOMAN!

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