Ok, this book has nothing to do with one of the prizes, but I have an ARC to give away, and this cover makes me feel verry verrrry creative. And really, there is no law at Smart Bitch HQ that says I have to make any sense. Whee! So, two prizes, one contest, and my thanks to April for the linkage and the original question.
Take a look at the picture below the fold. In the comments, tell me what he’s looking at. A few words, a narrative, a poem, whatever. Just tell us what he’s looking at. The two best winners as judged by you all and yours truly will win either (a) a copy of Rhonda Nelson’s The Hell Raiser and The Loner OR (b) my ARC of C.L. Wilson’s King of Sword and Sky (which is due out in October). The fabulous folks at The Dorch sent me a digital copy and a paper copy, and when I asked and said “Please,” they said it would be spiffy to give my paper ARC away to one of you lovely readers. Comments expire in 24 hours.
So, on your mark, get set, and tell me: What’s he looking at?! What’s he saying to himself?
“OMG!!! It looks just like a naked mole rat.”
(Too bad I can’t paste the picture I have:(—the visual is stunning;)
“Did he say 3 or 4 drops? Oh man, I cannot remember.” The luckless agent, Will Wiltington, stared at the bottle of Bois Bandee* and wished that he had studied French in college instead of Russian. Who knew he’d end up in Haiti, taking orders from a Vodouisant, and trying to get it up for an all night session with that hot reporter from the Dominican Republic.
*Bois Bandee really exists. My cousin was given a bottle himself as parting gift when he was reporting in Haiti. And the bottle had really interesting French specifically spelling out how very little one should use on one’s memeber. Appearantly one drop too many is a very very bad thing. I know this because I did study French instead of Russian. =)
“What the—That bitch took my dick!”
(I dunno, he just looks pissed off to me.)
Barry’s on the player.
The fire’s burning bright.
I’ll peel off this last layer.
Oh man, what a sight!
My lady’s coming over.
Yeah, my door’s got a lock.
I’m your dreamscape lover,
And…“Oh Hell! Where’s my cock?!”
Dayam, I can’t remember another thread with so much hilarious bitchwittery. I like Suze’s: What the-? Is that a-? Holy shit, I’m a DUDE?! But they’re all funny.
Our out of uniform hero looks pensive. Methinks he’s in the midst of a soliloquy, so here’s my contribution to the clusterfun (with apologies to all you fans of the Bard) –
Tis but thy size that is my enemy,
Thou art thyself, though not a huge example.
What does it matter? It is not breasts, nor clit,
Nor vagina, nor lips, nor any other part
Belonging to a woman. O, be some greater size!
What’s in a cock? That which we call John Thomas
By any other name would perform as well;
So Peter would, were he not Peter called,
Retain that hard erection which he sustains
Without that title. Peter, forget thy size,
And with that length which is a small part of thee,
Fuck all thee can.
Soap on a rope ….. (swing) ….. soap on a rope …. (swing) …
Wonder if I’ll get laid tonight? What does she mean my balls roll in their sac when I sleep? Was she being serious? Is that code for I left the seat up again? I gotta ask the guys if their shit rolls when they…Hey! What’s that? Is that a mole? I think it’s a mole, but it might be cancer. I’ll ask her to look at it; she’ll know.
Damn. It’s hot in here. I could use a beer. I wonder if I’ll get laid tonight?
Ok, do not read any of these while eating or drinking…. I will never be able to hear a Christmas Carol again.
“Thar be whales here, Cap’n”
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that can go to Moby Dick, but I prefer Scotty’s version (for the other Trekkies out there)