Bitchin' Blog Posts
I have a stack of book covers to get through, each one more awesome than the next - and by “awesome” I mean “so searingly neon in color and utterly bizarre in artistic construct that I can only gape and wish with a naughty part of myself that there were more covers on the market now that looked like these, if only for the sake of hilarity.” Or something like that.
Sarah: “She’d never give her love to the strong handsome cowboy?” Normally you might say to yourself, “Suuuure she won’t.” Come on: he’s shirtless and has a mullet - how could she resist? But what you don’t know is that she’s already given her tender daisy blossom to someone else. And he’s racing in from the east to put a stop to that temptesting right… about… now.
Candy: Aw, man, I wish the horse freaking out in the background were a dragon just so I can yell “And the Trogdor comes in the NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.” Because look at that horse! Man, it’s pissed. It’s ready to do some burninatin’. Or at the very least some stompin’-the-everlovin-shit-out-of-that-shit.
Sarah: She may be destiny’s temptress, but she’s got nothing compared to the temptation of self tanner that makes your skin appear the exact same hue as a horse in the background.
Candy: That bilious tinge on the guy’s skin looks really suspicious to me. If you ask me, he looks rather like one of the walking dead who’s slathered self-tanner on himself to disguise the state of his decomposition. She thinks he’s nuzzling her. He’s just savoring the smell of her spicy brains.
Sarah: The boy is sad because:
1. His momma made him wear pink shoes.
2. His momma is grabbing her own ass while kissing up to a skanky cowboy right in front of his virgin eyes.
3. His momma’s hair matches her cowboy lover’s mullet.
4. All of the above.
Candy: Poor lady! You don’t need to play grab-ass with yourself any more. Look, you’ve finally found a beautifully-sculpted man who’s clearly into going to the gym, shaving all his body hair off and playing cowboy dress up…
OK, never mind, then. Keep on playin’ grab-ass with your bad self.
We are the protagonists in arguably one of the best romances ever, correct?
And we pretty much set the bar for historical romances, particularly those involving pirates.
So why did our book cover put us in front of a pepto bismol sea under a purple sky with a disturbing happy jolly roger over our heads? Where are we?!
I don’t know, but you need to have the roots of your mullet touched up.
Nice sword, though.
Candy: Dear lord. That cover looks like what would happen if a host of My Little Ponies, after a weekend bender in Vegas, decided to puke it all back up. Except one of them had accidentally eaten a hooker AND some bad props from the Treasure Island hotel in an alcohol-fueled daze.