That’s right! More lush, buxom covers from the art department assigned to the first edition paperback issues of Rebecca Brandewyne’s romance novels!
Sarah: Lucky Angelina Jolie. Before Billy Bob, before Brad, there was Bodacious Man Titty with Bonus Mullet. They’re aimed right at her throat too. Hope he’s not carrying concealed.
Candy: [insert Friends of Dorothy joke here, because so many are jamming my brain right now I can’t even stand it]
Sarah: The dude looks like my husband’s uncle. The lady looks ridiculous in her coiffure and her alarming cleavage that reaches clear up to her clavicle. And the setting looks like he’s about to toss her off a cliff, or clear across that starlit sea.
Candy: Man! Have you seen people with bitchier expressions? Between that and their 80s Hair, those two look like they belong in Dynasty, or Dallas, plotting the downfalls of their even more ridiculously-coiffed brethren. “Baby, let’s kill Sue Ellen and make a run for Acapulco—and none of that ‘oh it was all just a dream’ crap, either.” “Honey, you get me SO HOT when you’re talking murder one.”
Huh, actually, the dude looks kind of like Patrick Duffy.
Sarah: I’m going to hell for saying this, but do you think her name is Sue Nami?
Because they’re about to get very, very wet, judging by the height of the horizon.
Candy: How To Tell You’re Dating a Mannequin:
1. He’s silky-smooth all the time without the benefit of a razor or body wax.
2. His hair is the same color as his skin and has all the touchable softness of a sheet of linoleum.
3. Genitals smell weirdly like plastic.
Sarah: International flavor! Purpurbluten! Think that translates to “moustached man loves masculine back musculature?”
Candy: That leaf coyly hiding the woman’s nipple is killing me. Killing. Me. It’s all “Oh, I know, they look like they’re going to fall on the floor and fuck like crazed weasels any second now, but modesty must be preserved, damn you—so I offer my paltry services in covering the nippage. Think of the children. Won’t anyone think of the children?”
Know what else is killing me? The day-glo color scheme. What the hell? Did the publishers reckon that German romance readers are color blind?