Bitchin' Blog Posts
The presses, they may be small, but the WTFery perpetrated by the following covers is as mighty as it is wide. Fear them.
From Jane and Robin we have:
Sarah: I’d like to thank this cover for highlighted the importance of a breast self-exam, particularly at the opportune moment when one is stark naked and betwixt two stay-puft marshmallow men.
Candy: I have never seen a woman look so superfluous in a menage cover, ever. Look at them! The guys are all “Ew! Boobs! Man-nape on, the other hand…NOM NOM NOM.” And the chick’s all “But…but? Boobs? I has them. OK, how ‘bout I make an O-face? will that make it better? Guys? ...guys?”
From Karen S we have:
Sarah:: Say it with me now: “When the burning, itching, and soreness of hemorrhoids flare up….” Fiachra’s Kiss will turn your ass into a flaming, burning world of hurt.
Candy: Man, how much does it suck to have your book confused for a Terrance and Phillip movie?
And from Erastes, we have:
Sarah: I opened this file and literally said out loud, “Oh, God. No.” The poor butterfly. A perfectly acceptable image tossed into slimy pit of bad Photoshop hair, bad Photoshop skin, bad Photoshop horns, a miserable excuse for a Photoshop tail, and on top of all that, Bacchus’s badly Photoshopped son is humping a tree. That poor butterfly. Every one of its 12,000 ommatidia must be screaming.
Candy: You know what I think when I see that sassy little tail? I think of a poor, misguided chipmunk spelunkin’ for nuts. Except they’re not quite the nuts he wants or needs.