Ready for another caption contest?
Ren sent this cover and here are their comments:
It’s the most romantic embrace I’ve ever seen involving a man trying to stuff a woman down a drain feet first.
I’ve also been trying to figure out if the heroine is topless and if the male cover model has a Lord of the Rings tattoo.
Here are the rules for captioning that cover:
Comment below with your caption! Caption that cover however you wish! You can come up with a new title or tagline. A winner will be randomly selected at the end of the contest!
The best captioner will receive a $10 bookstore credit to a book retailer of their choosing.
Standard disclaimers apply: We are not being compensated for this giveaway. Void where prohibited. Open to international residents where permitted by applicable law. Must be over 18. If you squint really hard, you might be able to make out the model’s tattoos. And I do mean really hard. Also, not digging bare skin on a leather or pleather jacket. It just reminds me of falling asleep on a leather couch and the inevitable pain that comes with peeling your sweaty skin off of it. Comments will close Friday March 22, 2019 around noon ET, and a winner will be announced shortly thereafter.
Good luck!
Winner update: Congratulations to Empress of Blandings with the winning caption:
“You are my fated mate!”
“Oh yeah, where’s it written?”
“In the mystical runes etched into my skin. Honest.” *Attempts to stop her noticing as he scribbles furiously on arm with Sharpie*.
When she answered his ad for a partner ‘willing to try new things’, she didn’t realize that he really wanted a chin rest.
At some point he would have to let her see his arm tat. But not yet.
He even tried to push her into the suit, but it just wouldn’t do. She finally had to come to peace with the fact that she had grown out of it.
His dirty trick as a Were-tatoo artist were the pheromones he could spray out of his tattooed arm. He needed to shove her face in it just…a little…longer and she would be his forever!
“You are my fated mate!”
“Oh yeah, where’s it written?”
“In the mystical runes etched into my skin. Honest.” *Attempts to stop her noticing as he scribbles furiously on arm with Sharpie*.
“When I last saw you, you were only *this* high!”
“So stop trying to make me that small again!”
“And now Miss Wifflesniff, could you please read the letters on the bottom line?”
Better like this, or better like this?
OK, no caption but I’m trying to figure out where the woman’s right arm is. I see one hand pinching his elbow “Hey, ease off with pushing me down”. But then her right shoulder shoulder seems to vanish. Is her head wierdly twisted toward him? Is that her hand with black nail polish down by the author’s name. Where did that come from? Is he trying to rip her apart?
His friends said she was just a bar chick looking for a green card. Hers thought he was just another deadbeat offering promises. Neither knew of the others hidden talents. Would the biker turned lawyer look past her angelic features to the STEM nerd within? Then came the night, the planned ‘chance meeting’, and the fateful wardrobe incident.
When the leather jacket was removed and the tattoos were translated, nothing was ever the same.
But the biggest red flag was when he responded, “Of course I was sober when I got these. Why do you ask?”
Funny, I don’t remember Daffy Duck looking like her!
“I will hug her, and pet her, and squeeze her, and call her George.”
“Honey, Imma wear you like a hoodie.”
(True confessions time: I actually kind of love this cover.)
Correction of first caption:
“Honey, Imma wear you like a hoodie.”
“Sweetie, you haven’t figured out how to put on a jacket yet. . . .”
(Still loving it.)
Apologies to the Kids in the Hall:
“I’m crushing your head, I’m crushing your head! Crush, crush! Take that, you flathead!”
I wasn’t going to show you my Harry Potter wrist tattoo, but you’re not like other girls.
Ian used his height advantage to silence Meredith when she called him out on the cultural appropriation of his “tribal” tattoos. “If I give you a scalp massage will you promise to stop saying how ‘woke’ you are?”
The latest Warped Tour look; tats, headlocks, and censor bars by DaFont.
Fun Historical Fact: The Phantom of the Opera was a woman. Here she is trying out a new half mask. Like?
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia
The tricky thing about Greg was his obsession with Marcia from that old TV show “The Brady Bunch.” Once he found a look-alike, he simply wouldn’t let her go.
“If your right eyes tests as well as your left, I’ll consider letting you have your shirt back.”
Please look at the eye chart and tell me which are the smallest letters you can clearly identify.
She had heard he was possessive, but trying to pile-drive her into the ground to keep her immobilized was a ridiculous strategy.
“Oh — hi Boss, didn’t hear you come in… I-ah-was just putting her in the garbage bag so we could dispose of the body like you said when she miraculously came back to life again! Imagine that!”
Jenny was determined to fit into the leather jacket she found half price at Neimans – luckily she ran into Tristan, who was LOTR larping in the accessories department. He promised to help her if she would in turn help him find the “one ring” afterwards.
Caption:
He has her under his spell…on his arm. Trapped in the embrace of self-proclaimed anti-hero she attempts to escape his clutches by any means necessary. Even taking off her clothes.
Push down on the head, arms pop off, pull up on the head, arms pop back in! See all the fun he has with his brand new Real Doll!
Seriously, though, what’s up with her shoulder, and where is his right arm? I’m concerned about the anatomical issues both have in this relationship.
Overinked: The tragedy of mixing dense black ink with henna.
Special extra: Keeping you body art symbolism consistent.
I hope those tats look better in person, because on my monitor, it’s all one big black blob. Except for the red parts that look like he’s been wrestling a cat and lost, then painted himself with iodine. (Though it could be Tamil, maybe? I’m pretty sure it’s not tengwar, at least not as JRR Tolkien wrote it.)
Stuffing her in a box for a “not safe for TV” illusionist trick on America’s Got Talent.
Misshapen shoulders and the things that cover them, a memoir.
“Honey, I don’t see a cowlick!”
Finally figured out that she is facing forward, it is right hand at the bottom. What looks like her shoulder is probably the shoulder of the jacket pushed down. I probably would have photoshopped it such that it didn’t look like her actual shoulder.
He’d partied his way through chiropractic school. Bluffed the practicals. Cribbed the written tests from the secret runes in his tattoos.
Now, he doesn’t remember why, or where, or how he got the cover-ups. He doesn’t really remember much of anything.
Just the big one, the one in henna: “First, do on arm.”
The arm went well. Now, the head…
Too late, she realized he was That Guy, the one who thought the joke of searching for a three-foot woman with a flat head to hold his beer was funny. Eve knows better: her hand on that pressure point on his elbow will be the last thing he remembers for a while.
Mary Sue groaned. “My head feels like it’s going to explode! ”
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got you.”
Lower, lower…there. Now you’re not in my light.
Not a caption, but I’ve always liked arm tats, especially sleeves.
Now I see that living in NZ where most of the sleeves are on maori and polynesian blokes may have skewed my perception.
Or maybe cover dude just has a really ugly example *shrugs*
Before switching to Hefty and its patented Four Way Weave, Chad would never have trusted fitting a whole mesmerized victim into a single garbage bag.
He had to identify the killer before she struck again. But with his memory problems, how could he keep track of what he did each day? Clearly he had only one option – to tattoo the clues on his body. Too bad he wasn’t a better artist.
He put his hand on her head, his forearm covering one eye. Luckily she had the knife she had stashed in her left boot. Quickly, she grabbed it and slashed at his femoral artery.
“Dude, if only you had kept your hands to yourself.”
Why do murderers come in pretty packages?