I don’t even know where to start with this thing. I was so blinded by the ugly orange jumpsuit that the orange-haired guy is wearing that I didn’t even notice that his blue jumpsuit-wearing body has… a pair of antennae on top of his head. Damn, I can’t find any ears on him. I think the antenna ARE his ears. Eww. I wonder if those things come into play while the three of them are having sex. Maybe he uses it to tickle orange jumpsuit’s butt. Eww! Well, I don’t think purple jumpsuit and orange jumpsuit should stand so close together because… umm… they’re sporting Laker colors and look like deranged Laker fans. What is purple jumpsuit holding in her hand, anyway? Is that some weird back scratcher? And I can’t believe that the graphic artist would slap that nasty yellow hair on her head. It looks hella ghetto. It looks like she went to the salon for a bit of color and they left the dye on a little too long. Girl, get you back to the salon and buy yourself some high-quality weave. Go to the same salon that did your french tip. Trust me, you’ll look as good as new.

Oh, and while you’re at it, drag orange jumpsuit with you, too. His hair color is a damn eyesore. Even Carrot Top would make fun of him if he saw him. And Christ, what’s with his nose? Did he bring a picture of Michael Jackson after his sixteenth nosejob and tell his surgeon that it’s exactly what he wanted? Dear god… ugly ass jumpsuits, antenna, and bad hair. It’s all too much.

Thanks for the nightmare, Barb!

Grade: D+

I can say it. I can finally say it. I AM DONE WITH YOU, LAURELL K. HAMILTON! My friends told me that I was insane for sticking with you even after the literary abortion that was Narcissus in Chains, but good god, woman, I counted one hundred and twenty grammatical and typographical errors in the first ten chapters of this steaming pile of crap you dare call a book. Count ‘em. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY. But that’s not all. You also managed to use the word ardeur fifteen times on one page. That’s right. Fifteen. In fact, I can count on my ten fingers the number of pages of this book that didn’t have the word “ardeur” on it. Why can’t we just call a duck a duck, huh? Anita is a slut-bag-whore true and true and I’m okay with that. I lurve slut-bag-whores, especially the ones who admit it to themselves. We don’t need this stinkin’ ardeur to complicate things. It just sounds like Eric Benet trying to tell Halle Berry that he’s a “sex addict”. You don’t gotta justify Anita wanting to have sex with all of Missouri. As if that’s not enough, Anita finds out that she’s also pregnant (come on now, at the rate she’s going, I’m surprised she hasn’t already metaphysically shat out five kids in the last six months). Oh, and she’s now a lioness, too. And a succubus. And this time, a whole bus load of people actually come to see her and beg to fuck her. And I can’t tell you how many times I threw this book against the wall. There are DENTS, people, actual dents on the wall now. Why did I keep picking it up again? ‘Cause I’m a masochist, alright? Why do you think I created this site?My buddy Karen Scott says, “That’s what you said about Micah’s story, honey. Give it up and admit it, you love LKH like a fat kid loves cake.” Shut up, Karen. Don’t look at me like you think I need Intervention. Why don’t you lock yourself up in a room with your MJD books and quit judging me?
(more…)

Hmm… this looks like a promo picture for a soap opera. In fact, this looks like it came from a photo shoot of Soap Opera Digest. Just check out the way this girl is looking at her groom. It’s like she’s thinking, “You don’t kiss like Jean-Pierre. And you don’t smell like him. And you have this creepy look in your eyes that says you want to drown me in the bathtub. I should be scared, yes?” And he’s looking at her like, “Ha-ha, I finally have you, Maricela! I have tied up my brother Jean-Pierre and sold him to Koreans from whom he will inevitably escape just when you think you’ve banished your doubts about me from your mind and find yourself in love with me… at the season finale! Oh, I can finally avenge myself on your father by having sex with you in unnatural positions! Oh, I am so very devilish.” Yeah, these two just aren’t looking at each other like they’re in love. In fact, the girl is looking at him like she smelled something bad… and that something is crotch. Oh, come on, people, you were just waiting for that joke, admit it! Give me a break. What are they doing in somebody’s crotch, anyway? And whose crotch is it? I wonder if it’s Jean Pierre’s crotch. Poor Jean-Michel… living in the shadow of his brother’s crotch forever. It’s hard out there for an evil twin, I’m telling you.

Thanks for this cover, C.L.!

Correct me if I’m wrong, but… that is a grown man standing behind that little blond girl, isn’t it? What the hell kind of “future together” will these two have? The only future I can see here is–is that a black guy? Huh. Not only is this a pedophiliac romance, but it’s an interracial pedophiliac romance, too? Oh my God, our more conservative God-fearing housewife readership is going to have a field day. As I was saying, the only future I see for our older man back there is a twenty year stint in prison for child molestation. And the girl? Maybe a few years in rehab after a couple of years on the streets selling herself to be able to afford her crack habit. I’m just kidding. Maybe the blond girl is actually twenty five years old and just looks really young. No, she’s about… I don’t know, eight or ten, tops. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the girl is some sort of violin virtuouso (you like the alliteration?) and the guy is her violin teacher who ends up falling in love with the girl’s sassy, “independent” mother. They are poor because the girl’s father doesn’t pay child support, so they can’t afford violin lessons, but their next door neighbor, a once world-renowned violinist who was caught in a scandal and is now a crotchety hermit, takes pity on the girl and offers her violin classes. The girl’s mother, who is sassy and “independent” takes umbrage at this, because she won’t take hand-outs from strangers, but she sees how much her daughter enjoys spending time with the man–her father is a dead-beat–so she relents.

Am I good or am I good? Thanks for the cover, C.L.!

Darn… they switched from the Monkey Man cover to this. I hope I had nothing to do with it. My ego is as big enough as it is. If I had anything at all to do with this cover change, my brain will just explode. ‘Sides, I would be a total asshole if I even thought I had anything to do with this. Maybe the author saw the cover, shat a brick, and got on the phone right away to her editor, screaming bloody murder, threatening to kill the editor’s family if Monkey Man With the Brillo Pad Hair wasn’t yanked and replaced. I think I like that story better. It’s funnier. Though this cover is immensely better than the previous one, it’s still not perfect. I can’t ever be satisfied, go figure. I look at this cover and I’m thinkin’, “Somebody get Ben Stein on the phone ’cause that giant eye in the corner needs Visine!” I can’t just can’t get past that gooey, oozing Conjunctivitis goodness. Staring at this cover, I suddenly have this intense desire to wash my hands vigorously and obsessively keeping them from touching my face. Damn, my eyes are itching right now. I’m gonna get so pissed if I get pink eye from this.

I think I would have also preferred seeing the girl’s entire face. Either cut off her head entirely or show the whole thing! With her face cut off like that, it just looks like the author ran out of room. ::sigh:: Why can’t I ever be content? Don’t worry, kids, I’m seeing a nice lady about it.

Thanks again for the heads up, Shanna. Oh, and this cover review is dedicated to my lord and master, Aaron Spelling. He showed us a world of shoulder pads, Brenda Walsh, and wig-ripping goodness. Most importantly, he taught all of us the proper way to be a bitch. I’ll drink a glass of Cristal for you, homey!