Sarah: He looks like he feels a little guilty. Here he is, trying to impress you, sharpening his wee little blade, wearing his finest feather headdress, and …whoops! A little poot slips from beneath his buckskins. And he hopes you won’t notice but it’s visible, a green, sulfur cloud that wafts behind him. Ooops. No wonder he feels guilty. He killed the Laird of the Wind with his green Savage Thunder.
Candy: His buddies HATE going hunting with him, not only because of the thunderous savagery emanating from his behiney, but because the stench scares away the animals for miles around. Also, he doesn’t look savage so much as he does kind of tweaked-out and worried. He looks like he’s just snorted a huge line of coke and trying really, really hard to stifle a real ripper, but not quite succeeding.
Also: Egad. What are the odds that there’d be not one, but two books entitled Savage Thunder? Gotta love the romance novel industry.
Sarah: Oh, Holy God, SHE’S A MAN, BABY. A MAAAAAN.
Candy: Wow. Props to the art department for finding a person who has bigger titties than DeSalvo. But Sarah has a point. I’m now wondering: Where else is she more generously endowed than our erstwhile hero? Is that the shadow of…other things…I see? Does her cinnabar cave hide a lusty dragon?
Sarah: Sometimes happiness means a musclebound man with a mullet whose hair, although egregious, is still better than his partner’s, as she sports one of the seven lesbian haircuts.
And sometimes happiness means faking, *le sigh*, yet another orgasm for the cover of a romance novel.
And sometimes, happiness means getting to look at a cover like this to say mean things about it, and having so many horrible thoughts pop into my mind that I just giggle like a mental patient who got her hands on the contents of one too many helium balloons.
Candy: Do you ever have moments when so many quips flood forth that they basically jam your brain, kind of like all the Three Stooges trying to ram their way through a doorway at once?
Yeah. Am having one of those moments now. The word “beard” seems to be one of the few coherent words that has escaped the logjam. (Huh huh, “logjam.”) All I can say is, bitch doesn’t need to wait for the rainbow. The rainbow’s motherfucking THERE already—see? All sparkly-like, right on the bumper of his car.