You find. You email. You attach. You send. We rub our eyes, and take one for the team. The Smart Bitches present a two-part series of reader-submitted cover madness.
Sarah: You’d think there’s only one obvious joke to be made here, but no. Yes, you cut a hole in the box. Then, put the junk in the box.
But then you go buy a different box because clearly that one is way, way too big. And her g-string? Too, too small. I bet it snaps off and flies across the room like an overextended rubber band.
Candy: A belated Martin Luther King present to the bitchery. Because for every single holiday: a dick in a box. Only instead of backstage at the CMAs, this dude probably makes appearances backstage at the RWA.
(I have a dream—a dream that one day, these covers will no longer sear my eyeballs and make me snort-laugh at work and make people stare at me.)
Sarah: There are so many things going wrong here, it’s like a breathtaking trainwreck of awful. I think this cover has moved me to tears – tears of horror. The facial hair. The absurd necks. The bizarre musculature. The groping efforts to do open heart surgery. And wow. Check out that weapon of mass destruction.
Note: One of my cats is sitting next to me. He took a look at the screen, got up, and turned his back to the computer. There you have it. Cat snark: That sucks.
Special bonus from SB Hubby: That’s the mantittiest mantitty I have ever seen. (I had to inform poor Hubby that I’d seen worse. *whimper*)
Candy: First of all: is it a wee bit nipply out?
Second of all: isn’t it weird that your nipples react to the cold in completely the opposite way from your junk to the cold?
Third of all: I can only congratulate the dude for having junk that reacts in completely the opposite way from everybody else’s junk. Though I’m not ruling out the possibility that he injected a whole bunch of silicone into his jibblies. (WARNING: OH DEAR LORD LINK IS SO NOT SAFE FOR WORK. OR LITTLE CHILDREN. OR ANY EYEBALLS IN GENERAL.)
Fourth of all: I admire the blond dude’s efforts to kill himself by snapping his own neck. But really: it’s a doomed effort. He’d be better off flinging himself off the castle.
Fifth of all: What the fuck is up with the Amish beard there? Because that’s serious, serious bonerdeath right there.
Sarah: You’d think it would be the furry-lovin’ bunny ears on Harvey there that really cocked my brow, but no. Check the font. The Coca-Cola font?! Is this what the ads mean by “The Coke Side of Life?” Bunny-eared corpse-humpers?
Candy: Great. Now I have that Magnetic Fields song stuck in my head.
Let’s pretend we’re bunny rabbits
Let’s do it all day long
Let abbots, Babbitts and Cabots
Say Mother Nature’s wrong
And when we’ve had a couple of beers
We’ll put on bunny suits
I long to nibble your ears
And do as bunnies do
Not that I mean to malign The Magnetic Fields—Stephen Merritt’s songwriting is infinitely preferable to this cover.