Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

Its blueberries!

Just looking at that smoke reminds me of school dances in middle school. They had a crappy fog machine (you wouldn’t believe how many times I typed ‘frog machine’ it is definitely time to go to bed), and for some reason this fog machine had smoke that smelled like blueberries.

And the smoke is blue…and there is a blueberry man approaching.  And from the body language of the gal in the foreground she obviously likes blueberries. Okay, seriously going to bed now. :P

Why, it’s the new Burger King Flame scent, of course. 

That’s what the look over the shoulder is from - “Mmm…Burger King?  No, something…different.”

He really shouldn’t need to use that much though.

Please! The dude is obviously giving off pheromones! See how the chick’s gaze is riveted to him? Huh? Huh? Huh?

(Anyway, the street is too clean for the vapor to be sewage -something I’ve smelled too often lately. Fix the pipes already!)

No, wait! Shiloh, what’s a bhrother doing on your cover, giving off his mating scent?

This woman obviously lives where I live (Hachinohe, Aomori, Japan), and it is obviously either Tuesday or Wednesday.  Why?  Because on Tuesday and Wednesday they burn the trash and the whole town smells of cow dung and cat piss with the occasional odor of rotten fish.  She is waiting for her boyfriend as he approaches through the smog.

(I’m pretty sure that this is not a vampire book but really the way the light focuses on her neck?  It’s kinda like an advert…“Get your lunch here!” “Bite here for good eats” or something XD)

It’s got to be fanboy-funk.  He’s just left a comic convention and has spent the last three days crammed into a room with other non-bathing males.

It’s feta cheese with just a hint baby vomit.  It’s says I can cook and I’m caring.  Here’s hoping you have a gag reflex kid.

Are they down wind from a fastfood dumpster? I don’t see any stray cats.

Pine-scented farts.

Oops, sorry.  That was my morning, wasn’t it?  Nothing says ‘time to write a love scene’ like the perpetual fiance tooting up the entire first floor, lighting a holiday candle to not-disguise the evidence, and then blaming it on the corgis.

As for Shiloh’s cover, that’s way too sexy for it to be pine-scented farts.  I’m thinking it’s steam from a nearby bakery, all yummy-flavored and pretty much shouting let’s-get-naked-and-roll-around-in-the-canoli-filling. 

Which so wasn’t how my morning went.  Le sigh.

The building is on fire, and it isn’t her fault.
(Sorry, couldn’t resist a nod to Jim Butcher.)

water34—quick, put some water on that guy, and maybe he’ll grow.

It’s the scent of another ... Sandalwood… Leather…is that a hint of patchouli?

Midknyt deserves to get one just for mentioning the the BK scent!  That commercial is awful but funny.

Misty hoped her casual, yet watchful, pose would disguise the intentional use of her powerful pheromone…mist. Misty wanted to attract this man, but didn’t want to be obvious. Unfortunately, Misty’s pheromone…mist…was just that.  A visibly obvious manifestation of Misty’s body chemistry.

Its the female leaving a trail of pheromones for the guy to follow.  Something fresh and sweet and citrus-y with a hint of vanilla, that brightens his world in a dark and terrible city!

Or it could just be the smell of sewage wafting up from the grates.

As the handsome stranger mumbled “Beam me up, Scotty,” an enticing scent of heather and haggis wafted through the alleyway.

It’s the scent of trying to teach a three-year-old to wipe after every potty visit, then getting to the holiday party and realizing the lesson isn’t really…taking.

Doc Jess made me snort hot apple cider with her answer. It stings worse than coffee! LOL

It looks like the smell is wafting from her face and upper arm, so my guess it’s that all-purpose female smell: a combination of hairspray, makeup, fabric softener, sweat, and maybe some mint gum or something.

Now, I think that it is actually a good smell.  I suspect that the smell has to do with “that manly scent, soap, hard work, and the essence of male”.  While that is not a direct quote, I see that basic idea in romance novels, where everyone bathes daily no matter what time period they take place in, and no matter what rank the guy is.  Of course, it comes against her scent, the “utterly feminine, with a bit of citrus and a spicey, heady womanly smell” from her magic va-jay-jay.  This cover illustrates what happens when the scents collide.

For some reason this cover reminds me of the TS Elliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” In particular the first 2 stanza’s.  Hence it’s the miasma of broken dreams, “Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels /And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.” Is that ether I smell?

Duh, it’s a romance.  It has to be chocolate!  Probably some sort of decadent “Death by Chocolate” smell.  The guy is hot, but the look on her face says she’s calculating how much chocolate she could eat and still fit into her pants.

Oh, man…I think I already know one that I’m going to pick…

That guy following looks like a zombie. And we all know zombies exude the scent of what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. That’s the smell of “Braaaains!” obviously.

I also thin the BK Flame deserves a book, that and the T.S. Elliot.

Personally, I think she had one too many egg salad sandwiches for lunch and that smell .... it isn’t pleasant. That’s why she’s about to dart down that side street so the guy back there won’t associate her with the brimstone-like stench.

Sunday looked back to see her stalker fast approaching and thanked the gods she had the foresight to learn from her brothers how to fart on command.

It’s Vicks VapoRub.  The guy should be home in bed with the humidifier running, but will he admit that?  Of course not.

It smells like what the Rock is cooking.

(I just really really wanted to say that)

BTW, how awesome is that cover?

The smell of lustful wanting?

LOL!

Smells like teen spirit!

Why does it look like his head and torso are on backward?  I thought he was walking away until I saw the legs.

It is the stench of the underworld.

“I smelt a smelly smell
That really smells a lot
But then I noticed what it was
It scared me half to death…”

Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat,
What are they feeding you?
Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat
It’s not your fault…

Smelly cat is attached to her jacket, you just can’t see him from this angle.

It clearly is the smell of a spicy, hot and steamy shower that man recently stepped out of; our heroine knows this due to her its-not-stalking-its-love skills.

It’s the scent of desire…passion…yearning…unrepentant animal magnetism…and it smells like Snuggle fabric softener and chocolate chip cookies.  Mmmmmm…

It’s the smell of de’feet’, his that is, looks like her werewolf lover has stepped in his own crap again. Sigh, one of these days he’ll learn to change in the house instead of the yard.

It was what came off our train after 24 hours of being on it.

Seriously.

Wafts of ancient stone dust, smelling slightly of rat piss and stale beer, from the letters at the bottom (FRAGILE) crumbling into ruins!

I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win!

Its the smell of my nephew’s goalie equipment after a hard came, and its hanging up in the laundry room and your not looking at what your doing and…......U WALK INTO IT FACE FIRST!!!!!!!!!! THE HORROR

That’s the smell of David Hasselhoff walking out of your life forever—a hint of peppermint, a splash of sex, and just a wiff of that scent that only the Hoff can identify. De-lightful!

The smell that hovers between the two souls is the smell of the night in a dark alley of any big city teeming with people. It is the smell of urine mixed in with rotten food leftover in a dumpster nearby. It is the smell of smokes casually thrown on the footpath with casual abandon. Along with these decaying odors, the night also holds the aroma of the tuberoses that just bloomed in a garden just a few blocks away, a perfume so sweet and strong that every corner of the night holds a little bit of it. Then there is the assorted smell of the humans - the whiff of the womanly talc and the distinct masculine scent with a hint of Old Spice.
This is the intoxicating fragrance, full of darkness, sweetness and humanity that remains suspended at the corner every concrete structure until the sunlight evaporates it.

How is that for the maximum number of synonyms smell in one post? and maybe a win?

Clove cigarettes coming out of the disco somewhere in Spain.

As he strides toward her, he is preceded by a cloud of Axe. She’d known he worried a little too much about body odor, but she didn’t know his ego was quite so… Fragile.

(couldn’t resist, sorry)

market25: why no, I’m not in the market for a 25-year-old, but she seems to be.

“Mommy!  I poo-pooed!”

But I love Cynthia’s and Evabaruk’s!

Time to bust out context clues!

I’m guessing from the architecture, slightly uneven sidewalk, and creepy back alley feel, they are in a place similar to Savannah, GA.  And if they are, I’d say that cloud is a scented mix of shattered ghost dreams, river bank, mossy trees, strawberry toffee, Baptist church gymnasium and horse urine with a light overtone of whiskey vomit.  That or the local art students are having another impromptu zombie walk and the fog machine went haywire again.  Which would explain the whiskey vomit pretty well…

Hey, a cloud that murky has to be at least that complex.

Ooooo-ooooo that smell!  Can’t you smell that smell?!  It’s the smell of Skynyrd, of course.  Jack Daniels, stale cigarette smoke, mullet funk, five day old sweat, oiled snakeskin belts, giant polished belt buckles, and exotic reefer blend!  (Thanks Sarah.  I now have that song stuck in my head.  :P) 

I will now forever associate that cover with Skynyrd and Reefer Madness.  LOL!!

Smells like the blood of a hundred lusty strangers. Yup, that’s it, alright…

Or glitter.

Why, it’s the smell of hot ass, of course!

I’ve been to downtown LA too many times in the last couple of years, and I know what that smell is. 

It’s the smell of an alley, recently swept clean of refuse, but not so recent that there hasn’t been time to start a new urine marinade and distinguish the corner as the finest in the land for doggie deposits.

The mist is the exit fan from homeless shelter bathroom.  It’s the 28th, and it’s shower day!

It’s the smell of danger.  What other smell would surround a hot guy walking down an alley!

It’s the smell of his smokin’ hot body.  Sizzle!

Smells like teen spirit….

(couldn’t help myself)

Well, if the smell could talk, it would say: Out of my ass, saving your life.

And, of course, it would smell like cinnamon buns.

Let’s see… he’s a romantic hero.  He’s the last thing she wants, but exactly what she needs.  And someone in the book is fragile—I’m going to guess it’s actually him; he’s the man tortured by all the darkness in his past, turning his back on beautiful redheads because they threaten to reawaken the lust he thought dead forever after his wife slipped on a crashed bottle of Gerber strained peas and slid out of the house, down the stairs, across the parking lot, and into the lake where she and the newborn infant she held were pecked to death by rabid ducks!

Not that the newborn was his, of course.  His ex-wife was a whore.  But he was going to do the honorable thing and raise the child as his own in hopes it would not inherit its mother’s tendency to collect venereal diseases like Pokemon.  (Poor thing was already blind from syphilis.)

So what’s that smell?  Dust, for he buries his pain in the archives of the local library, where he looks for some assurance that his duck-pecked not-child is safely in heaven.  A hint of male musk; all that grieving gets in the way of daily showers, and with his manly, careless stubble it’s no wonder there’s no trace of aftershave.  Warm salt from his tears.  But all that is merely an undertone beneath the cloud of Britney Spears’ ‘Fantasy’ that follows him—the scent of his wife’s ghost, for she stalks him relentlessly, unable to rest until she gives him chlamydia one last time!

Really really fresh clothes!

Dryer fresh, laundered with Gain (have you seen those ads? obviously it smells heavenly, and I can say from personal experience than it makes me bury my nose in my bf’s tshirts every time I see him). And with really good dryer sheets. You know, expensive ones. Maybe if they had some with gold flecks in them, like a laundry equivalent of Goldschlagger.

You know that stuff would smell irresistably good. Nothing could smell better than a clean homeboy with enough money to fuck his dryer up with gold-flecked dryer sheets. Plus, he’d SPARKLE. In a non-Twilight sexy way.

Hmm, napalm in the (very early) morning?

White Castles for lunch meets White Castles for dinner!!

My security word: moved43

Man juice.  MMMMmmmm, man juice.  =)

I agree with PK the Bookeemonster

Why does it look like his head and torso are on backward?  I thought he was walking away until I saw the legs.

It smells like sulpher.  It must be the devil because he can turn his torso backwards while walking towards her down the alley.  Either that or it just smells like balls.

Jessa Slade said:

Hmm, napalm in the (very early) morning?

Aieeeeeeee!!! The perpetual fiance’s movie obsessions have followed me even to my safe haven of bitchery!

That being said, it *is* a great line.

Why, it’s the smell of hot ass, of course!

Hot ass and Cheetos!!!!!

LMAO

Eau de Mantitty

Tobacco smoke.  Pipe tobacco, or possibly cigar.  He’s wreathed in a cloud of it—the really yummy stuff.  Dark, manly, sexy—not at all like the taste, but you don’t have to talk about that.

It’s the smell of fear and fragility….after all, he’s a shadow and she’s a real girl, like Pinocchio wants to be. 

Deidre

Anybody remember the old Pepe le Pew cartoons from Bugs Bunny?

Pepe: “Ah, ma cherie…! Why do you run from me, when all I want to do is shower you weeth keeses?”

Kitty: “Les puffs! Les pants!” (frantically hides)

It’s the smell of Blood.
When fresh and steel are one drying in the colour of the evening sun.
Lest we forget how fragile we are
How FRAGILE we are.

Or so says Sting.

Hmm, napalm in the (very early) morning?

Ack!  You beat me to it! 

She’s on a dark street in Hue in 1969, when she’s approached by Colonel Kilgore, fresh from a surfing assignment at a (recently) unpopulated beach at the mouth of the Nung River where the waves break just right.  She knows that her “young Vietnamese boy” disguise has worked when he says to her, ““You smell that? Do you smell that? Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” 

He exposes himself and offers “twenty dollah.”  She gasps and exclaims fearfully, “Too beaucoup!  Too beaucoup!”, and he sadly moves on, realizing that he’s walked into a different movie.

Why, its the arisen odor of hot, wet garbage stored in crusty pages of quality romance novels.

eau de city streets?
lame but it’s exactly what i thought when i saw it.

It’s the smell of sweat and fear of being attracted to some crazy stalker guy!

That has definitely got to be an alley in Chicago (where I live) and there are dumpsters with rotting food in them. So it’s a pretty awful smell. I don’t have a blog, so this will have to do.

Bom Chicka Wah Wah, she turns at the irresistable smell of Axe body Spray and is ready to jump on him.

Sometimes the last thing u want is exactly what u need…Beano! See how I played off the cover’s tag line to imply our heroine has IBS? Is that clever enough to win.

I scrolled way down with my eyes closed as not to see anyone else’s comment—- I say—“Looks like the underground people are having a BBQ again—smells like BBQ rats to me!!!

Its the smell of someone about to get their ass kicked. Doesn’t he understand that when she says she needs time alone she means it. He has to understand that she is leaving so she can have time to read this new book she found at the bookstore, you may have heard of it. Its called Fragile by Shiloh Walker. She loves Shiloh Walker and if he doesn’t go away she is gonna get really UGLY. No one interferes with her reading time not even one as sexy as he.

I think it smells like wet brick.  That isn’t very creative, is it?  How about:

Sex fog
Testosterone
Clean sweat evaporating from hot male skin

OMG! The attraction is immediate, the smell he is giving off has to be Chocolate covered Strawberries and those ass-ets are delicious! The haze or fog is her induced daze from all that yumminess!
Oh Please Pick mee!!!

Okay I agree the BK one should so get some…

The scent is easy… It’s the smell of paper books, ink on fingertips and coffee to keep you awake while you read through them all…
Because we all know you can’t stop at one book… Once you go book you never go back. :D

*goes back to her coffee and books*

(haven’t read all previous posts so apologies if this is mentioned already)

Donuts.  It’s the wee hours, the bakers are getting ready for the early morning commuter onslaught, he’s a cop, she’s trying to entrap him, so she’s stationed herself in the alley beside the donut store. He won’t be able to resist the smell and where he’ll momentarily be so olfactorily befuddled she’ll be on to him before he knows what’s up. Vanilla dip with sprinkles will do that to you.

Well, since this is a back alley I’m going to presume that smell is the mixture of hobo pee, college girl throw-up, rotten bar food, rank trash, and rat.  When combined, this creates the smell of an incontinent stray cat suffering from bacterial vaginosis.  Since this is a romance novel, when the heroes get closer they will notice over this smell, his personal scent of spicy male sweat and her soft scent of a woman.

Fabreze!

He tried Nicorette Gum.  He tried the Patch.  He finally gave up and started smoking the whole carton to beat the need for nicotine. 

Now if we can only figure out if he’s coming….or going.  :-D

It looks so like the fog in San Fran to me. I remember it as a cool salty mist that carried the scents of sea, fish and Chinatown. You know that scent. Hot peanut oil, spice and a sharp bitter tang of desperation.

French Quarter, New Orleans.

Which smells like beer, mostly, with a hint of old French colonialism, fake Gypsy fortune tellers, beignets, hansom cab donkey poo, vampires, gas lamps, oysters, middle-aged desperation, and, much later in the evening, a bit of vomit.

But mostly beer.

He smells like new clothes and old money, of course. Can’t you see his gentility rising from him in waves?  What else could a woman want? Of course his exterior is rough-cut, but it’s merely a shell that disguises his inner nobility!

Hmmm… His torso is longer than his legs, and his torso is backwards… but other than that, a great cover.

Oduer: Boston wharf district in heavy fog…

It’s smoke from the barrel fires on homeless alley were the destitute are having a Saturday night ratBQ.  Which intersects with hooker corner where price is negotiated by rearranging ones pants.  Notice how she has agreed to the negotiations by tugging on her belt loop and yanking her pants down in the front and he is now ready to complete the transaction and has begun to drop trou by unzipping the handy-dandy side zipper on his dungarees?

Its the smell from the his/hers perfume factory they’re staking out…Eau de Old Spice and Eau de Toilet….striking isn’t it? She’s double checking to make sure her the hero isn’t checking himself.

He walked a long, loooong time to find her, which is why he looks so..disfigured. And the smell, of course, is the smell of his unwashed feet in his sweaty socks full of holes!

Clearly, it’s eau de “smokin’ man meat”

I have noticed a certain rule in romance:  all odors have to be comprised of three ingredients, of which one, at minimum, is completely nonsensical—like sunshine, or bliss.

So, “Insert hero’s name here smelled of steely determination, hot man, and a boat-load of trouble.”

Hmmm… His torso is longer than his legs

Now that you’ve pointed that out, I’ve identified the odor.  It’s chlorine from the pool, as Michael Phelps approaches to give her 8 gold-medal laps.

She nuzzled his neck; it was hot and pulsey like a neck with a pulse in it.  Her gaze stole downward, into the deep V of his flannel shirt with the arms cut off with scissors.  What is that smell?  Was it man smell, like the musk of a burly, sweaty lumberjack who wears flannel with the arms cut off with scissors?  Or was it the scent of his lust, ill-concealed by his jean short shorts?  No, no.  It was mantitty.  The smell of mantitty allured her like no other.  It was chocolate and frost-bitten Aspen mornings and Lubriderm all rolled together on a hairy chest.  Mmmm.  This might be the best month she ever spent at an Alpaca farm.

Thats not a smell, it is smoke, hot smoke coming from the hero (because he is smoking hot)
ah ah
I think I am better off to bed. :D

I have noticed a certain rule in romance:  all odors have to be comprised of three ingredients, of which one, at minimum, is completely nonsensical—like sunshine, or bliss.

So, ”Insert hero’s name here smelled of steely determination, hot man, and a boat-load of trouble.”

That’s so true, now that you mention it.  How does one smell like mischief, or trouble, or anything.  I love it.  :)

I also agree, now that it was pointed out, that his top half is completely backwards.  Creepy. 

Spam word: result82.  After 82 tries of trying to win stuff from the Bitchery, will the result finally be a win with the BK smell?  -fingers crossed-  Glad you guys liked it.

Thanks to all of the input from the this name-that-smell contest and the creepiness of gmail scans for advertising, ”>this is what Google now suggest for things I might be into.

I’m SO grateful I can now remove the dog vomit my home and closets and wear my dickies with out my suspenders showing.  I was getting really worried about that.

Oh that?  *That* smell is pine-scented eevyl, with two e’s and a y’.  It’s a special sort of evil—it goes straight to the brain and makes you want to scrub the floors with lemon-scented pine-sol without ventilation.