I’m a no-holds barred kind of girl. I’m willing to post anything and everything if it amuses me. But today, I was clicking around on some links and found the poster to Hostel II, the sequel to my favorite torture-porn of 2005, Hostel, and I gotta say, I can’t, I can’t post the poster because my stomach is still churning from when I first viewed it. [Nay, my fragile little mind is still screaming, freaking out, wondering what the fuck it just saw, and refusing to believe it.] When I first heard about this film, I thought, “goddammit, why do they need a fucking sequel?” But check out the plot of the film:

While studying art in Rome for the summer, three young American women are lured away to a Slovakian hostel by a model from their class. Soon they will experience the grim reality their weekend getaway has in store.

American chicks in white tank-tops and no bras running away from bad bad men who want to chop them up to little pieces. Of course! That’s what Torture Porn is all about, after all! But this poster… Oh Science… Click if you dare. I’m telling you, children, it’s pretty goddamn gross… I mean… WHAT IS THAT SHIT? I have my suspicions on what I believe it is, but… no, I refuse to contemplate it further. I’m already going to be having nightmares for weeks because I looked at the damned thing once. I think I’m going to be a vegetarian from now on. Damn you, Eli Roth! You are a very, very sick man. Marry me!

Grade: A+
Goddamn, I love this book. Sure, it’s sacrilegeous, seemingly controversial on purpose, incendiary, and a little over the top, but there’s just something about this Garth Ennis graphic novel that hooked me from page 1. It’s like the Davinci Code except it has sex, gory violence, mayhem, intrigue, blue streak cussing, real characters with heart, mothafuckin’ Arseface!, oh and it’s not boring as all hell. I don’t know about y’all, but that sounds like a rollickin’ good time to me. If that’s not enough to reel you in, there’s also Steve Dillon’s art work: crazy, colorful, visceral, eye-popping, gritty… I cannot find the words to describe this man’s work without sounding like a creepy fan girl. The combination of Garth Ennis’s tour de force (yes, I did just type that), dark-as-night, yet-true-to-heart storytelling combined with Steve Dillon’s beyond brilliant artwork just puts this series way and above any graphic novel I have read in the last fucking ten years. Yes, I am a Garth Ennis fan girl, but you know what? I’m totally cool with that. I mean, how can you NOT love a book with a character called The Saint of Killers?
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Umm… what is there to say about this cover that the cover itself doesn’t already say? The girl model (whom I sincerely hope is not the author) looks like a young Melissa Etheridge if Melissa Etheridge liked cock and was aching to audition to be one of the skanks in Rock of Love. What the hell is she wearing, anyway? Is that some kind of jacket with giant bell-sleeves or is that a blanket? Whatever it is, there isn’t enough of it because this ho should really be covering her beer belly. All right, it’s not exactly overflowing out of her… um… garter belt or anything, but I don’t think anyone should bare their stomach to the public unless they’re seriously sporting rock-hard abs a la Linda Hamilton in T2. And do I really have to say anything about the Billy Idol wannabe hovering in the sky? Good Science, look at him. He looks like he’s about to strike a pose a la Lord of the Dance or something. Gross. And check out his massive boobage. Either dude has got to lay off the steroids (or the estrogen) or he should really go see the local gynecologist and ask for a mammogram. Those babies just look like giant mounds of cancer cells or something. That or they’re full of breast milk. Ugh. There’s an image. Mortal Melody. I swear to science, there’s an Amanda Ashley or Christine Feehan book with that title. You know those books: broody vampire guy who hates being a vampire and spends his time brooding and moaning about being a lonely creature of the night and the virginal (ahem), thoroughly naive girl with the emotional maturity of a twelve year old who falls in love with him.  Though for some reason, I don’t think that’s the case with this book.

Dude, I’m no Photoshop wunderkind or anything, but even I know that this image is stretched out of proportion (even if the glorious Rhian didn’t point it out to me). It just looks weird, y’all. It looks like… I don’t know, porno happening in wacky-vision where everyone is all stretched out and stuff. Heh-heh. Stretched out. You know what’s not sexy? When your lover reaches out and pokes you in the nose. I mean, it’s cute and shit, but mostly I just get annoyed. Like, what am I, an infant? It really doesn’t work for this cover here because it only serves to emphasize how FRICKIN’ HUGE the chick’s nose is. I mean goddamn, look at that thing! It’s like Mount Everest and shit! No, it’s the frickin’ K-12 that Lane Meyer had to ski on in Better Off Dead. For realz. I wonder if he’s pointing out to her how big her schnozz is. How rude! You’d think two naked people would find something better to do. Speaking of naked people, where the hell are her tits? Is he squishing them with his elbow? I swear to Science, Tim elbowed me in the tit once and I almost busted out a knife to cut him. Dude appears to be leaning leaning on them like they’re pillows or some shit like that. Yeah, they’re pillows, all right. Dirty pillows. Seriously, I can’t see her boobs, nor can I stand looking at this thing anymore because it’s making me cross-eyed. One last thing, though. How much do you guys love this author’s name? Samantha Gentry. Dude, that’s so Romance Novel Author from the 80s. Wasn’t there an author called Georgina Gentry? But maybe it’s her real name and ergo, her fate that she grow up to be an erotic romance author. Awesome.

Thanks to the lovely Rhian for this cover!

I gotta admit, when I first saw this cover, I laughed for a good two minutes. This kid is ten kinds of messed up. I swear to god, his mother must have had sex with a giant moth, then did ten kinds of hardcore drugs while she was pregnant. I get that those things are supposed to be wings and all, but they look kind of frail. I don’t trust wings if they’re not made of feathers, man. Those things make him look like one of those sluts during Halloween who wear nothing but bra and panties, add a pair of wings and bunny ears, and voila! A costume. What the fuck. Stupid whores. I do dig the addition of pointed ears, though. I like a cover artist who pays attention to details. Maybe he/she can explain to me WHAT THE FUCK is protruding from his side. For realz, what is that thing? Did his hip bone get dislocated in a flying accident or something? Pop that shit back in, dude, it’s disgusting! His pants do look like some kind of chrysalis or something. Maybe it houses a pupa and a giant butterfly will emerge from that bump. Eww. Seriously, though, do the fae know nothing about shampoo? ‘Cause dude is seriously sporting some ‘do made famous by some of those Seattle grunge bands or something. I bet you could wring a bucket of grease from that. And some ticks. Eww. Oh, and before I forget, take a look at this belt? And how much do you love his necklace? He certainly knows how to accessorize. Homeboy is trendy, dude. Trendy like a thirteen year old girl who shops at Charlotte Russe.

You may thank Mar for this cover, kids.