We all seem to have homogaiety on the mind lately, and my thoughts have turned to gay romance, so I’ve looked up quite a few on-line. A lot of the covers are kinda hot—two hot men embracing, looking like they’re about to kiss? Ohgodyessss.
But some of them? Not hot. In fact, so very, very not-hot, they just about kill my desire live, much less any sort of desire to partake in hot gayboy ackshun.
Candy: “Honey, I hope you don’t think it’s anything personal when I unhinge my jaw and SWALLOW YOUR HEAD.”
“Not if I get to you first, sillybuns!”
Sarah: There is nothing more all-American than two gay men exploring the romantic crevices. Of each other’s tonsils.
Candy: Apparently, the thing the blond freak loves is a pasty pagan afflicted with cerebral palsy. And the thing the dark-haired chump loves is a limp-haired Miami Vice fanboy who would die rather than give up his Botox treatments.
Sarah: Someone threw Crockett in the laundry with a red sock, but only his hair and his lips turned pink, lucky man.
But I agree with the expression of horror on his Deiter-friend’s face. Yeesh.
Candy: OK, so this book isn’t strictly a romance—from the description, it sounds a lot more like a fantasy novel with surrealist overtones. But I just couldn’t resist. Dude, the guy on the far right looks like Legolas in Huggy Bear Drag. I mean, look. There’s Gimli down in the corner, weeping over his lost love. It’s not just awful, it’s pseudo-slashy awful! The Crayola on Crack look to the whole thing is just icing on the cake.
Sarah: Not only is there, as Candy says, a Crayola-esque homoeroticism about the whole thing, but check out Legolas in red. He has ONE GIANT BREAST. That right there is the epitome of “Man. Titty.”