When I saw the following covers while browsing the 35-cent rack at Cameron’s Books in downtown Portland, I knew I had to buy them, scan them in and share them with the Bitchery. Oh yeah. That’s how dedicated I am to this blog: I plonked down $1.05 just so your retinas can be as thoroughly seared as mine were. That’s true love, baby. The kind of love that gives you a black eye, then tells you that it’s for your own good, darlin’.
Not unlike the kind of love I imagine the heroes on these covers giving to the heroines. I mean, really. Just look at them.
Sarah: I have fantasies of a hairbrush and a more supportive bra.
Candy: The fantasy here is, she’s the bored, lonely housewife, and he’s the cable guy come over to check the state of her *wocka-chika-wocka-chika* reception and connection.
Sarah: Yeah, you know what that bittersweet sacrifice is? Marrying him knowing that he’s GAY.
Or, now that I take a closer look, it could be that the one on the left has to sacrifice her schmeckie because she’s a MAN, baby, YEAH.
Candy: Once again: Willem Dafoe in drag is NOT an acceptable substitute for a female model. Christ. And accordingly, cover artists should never use Uncle Herbert—you know, the uncle who always hugged you just that little bit too long and made the awkward, discomfiting jokes about your development when your breasts started growing—as a model for the hero. Common sense, people!
Sarah: “Thank you, darling.”
“You’re welcome. For what?”
“For allowing me to cut off a giant swath of your hair to paste to my upper lips. The Mounties will never suspect it’s me, even if my moustache doesn’t match my hair in the slightest.”
Candy: Look, what did I say about the use of creepy uncles on covers? I mean, this one has even clearly kidnapped his 16-year-old niece and spirited her away so’s he can add her to his creepy Fundamentalist Church of the Latter-Day Saints
harem sex slave ring
collection of wives.
