Phallic Phriday

Once again, on Saturday. The fates are conspiring against me.

The following cover gives a new meaning to the term "Woody". Or perhaps not.

Looks like "The Rifleman" (their quotes, not mine) needs some help sustaining that morning wood. Good thing little Timmy is there to help.

I....I....I just don't know where to start....

No Blessings

Where do I start? Let us count the problems with this cover, shall we?

1. Bubble Butt

2. Paintball splotches that look like fungi

3. Octopus Hair

4. Yellow. *sigh*

5. Bad artwork in general (did someone get their HS aged niece to draw this?)

I actually like the dog. Don't mess with the bulldog. The rest of the cover is fair game. What do you think is wrong with it?

*Minor caveat* I actually read and enjoyed this book. Doesn't excuse the cover, though.

I love my readers!

Why do I love my readers (besides the fact that you're my readers, of course)? 'Cause you tell me this: "When I see a bad book cover, I think of you." And because you send me bad book covers.

This one is from Dave, who asks, "Man or woman? And what about the inscriptions headed down towards the pubic region?" I don't know, Dave. But I notice it's about TV, which means transvestite to me!

Michael sent me several links to Amber Heat Erotica, which includes the following fine gem. I include the description because it just defies imagination. I never thought I'd see clowns and erotica in the same venue (although Michael reminds me that with the internet all porn combinations are possible).

Peter Cortland, running from the tragic loss, first of his child, then his wife, found solace and some sense of peace behind the painted white facade of a clown, the presence of one lone teardrop the only outward evidence of the heavy sorrow he carried inside. Undeniably drawn to the vibrant and beautiful aerial performer, when a terrible accident almost takes her life, in a desperate act of self-preservation he forces her out of his heart. It’s taken seven years for him to come to terms with his tragedies and now he wants another chance at the love he threw away all those years ago.

*Gag*



And finally, SecretMargo has this to say about the following cover: "Your recent "Werewolf penis" post reminded me of a book that a friend who worked for the Seattle Times sent me from their review slush pile because the cover was so amazingly horrible she thought I had to have it. She sent it all the way to Japan. I also read it, and it is just as insane as its cover, but written with even less skill than you might imagine. It actually looks worse in person. And fun to leave on the coffee table when you have guests over."



Thank you very much, gentleman. And now I must wash my eyes out with bleach.

Disregard the First Paragraph

For some reason Blogger is not letting me title my post. BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW ADVERSITY TO UNDERMINE MY MISSION! No indeed! I will push on titleless! I shall overcome! Ha! As Maughtamom would say, SO THERE!


I just can't be deterred today and I'll tell you why. I've done another little trip to the popular fiction section of my local everything-plus-the-kitchen-sink-at-a-discount store, and boy did I come across some gems. How about this one?

It's the title that really drew me to this one (babies in bondage? Ewwwww), but the belt buckle and the cuff links that keep me wanting more. You know he's a millionaire 'cause he's got BLING. If you can only have one millionaire per month, choose the one with the key to his hotel room nonchalantly draped over his hand. There's class.

C'mon, we all know this is Firehouse 69 with additional pedophilic action. The halo over his head and the loose pants say it all, really.

Please please please tell me these two are not twins. 'Cause that's just NASTY. Maybe the "Times Two" refers to the swans in the background? Mmmmmm, them's good eatin'. I'm glad to know this is an American Romance, because the idea of romance between, I don't know, Scandinavians or Botswanas just holds no interest to me. Patriotism, you know. I don't want to read about romance between commie pinko bastards. Only romance from the good ole U S of A will do for this patriot!

Ahhh, the best for last. Something about this just, I don't know, CREEPS ME OUT!!! As we all know, women only exist as a vessel for a man's seed. They don't even need a head. And what's with the "Sorority sisters friends for life" bit? Non sequitur much?

UPDATE: Thanks to faithful reader Bryan R. Terry, there is now a title. Unfortunately, it fenged the shui of the first paragraph, but these things happen. C'est la vie.

Hands Across the Renaissance

So I love StatCounter. If you have a webpage and want to find out how many people go to your blog, and where they're from, and other bits of trivia, I highly recommend it. All this to tell you that I like to see where people have linked to me, and thanks to that circuitous trek through the blog universe, I've discovered what is, perhaps, the worst artwork on a romance novel ever. Thanks to people unknown (to me, at least, I'm sure they know themselves*), I give you Castles in the Air. All I have to say to you is: count the hands.

DocTurtle suggests that perhaps she is supposed to have a few too many appendages, but I pointed out that this is not a Baen cover, and he conceded to my superior intellect. Plus I bit him, which always wins me the argument.

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*Which begs the question: Can one ever really know oneself? I don't know. I hated Philosophy 101.

Happy Fourth of July!

Well, if you're American, at least.

To help us celebrate in style, here's a special cover I've been saving for you: Why yes, it is a very large modern warship. And a knight. On horseback. Standing amidst huge piles of horseshit. Out in the ocean ('cause surely if the depth of the water is deep enough for the ship then that's got to be Jesus reincarnated as a horse standing on water). But what really fascinates me is the American flag font for the title. Nothing like patriotism. And knights. On horseback. Brings a tear to the eye. As the blurb says, it's "American Freedom and Justice vs. The Tyrannies of the Seventeenth Century." Wonder who wins?

I guess no-one, 'cause they had to come back:

I like how they've changed the positions of the authors's names so that you don't think it's a book called "Eric Flint" by David Weber. Or vice versa. I could see "Eric Flint" being the name of a James Bondesque character in an "adult" fiction series. One who gets all the girls, if you know what I mean. Nudge nudge wink wink.

There's a new Roddy Doyle book cover that bugs me, too, 'cause you can't tell which is the name of the author and which is the title of the book. If you didn't know who Roddy Doyle was, surely you would think it was t'other way round!

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Also, thanks to faithful reader Larry, who sent me this link, I will never be the same. I am aghast, appalled, and yet strangely fascinated.

Triple Play

Hey folks! Sorry it's been so long. I've been super grumpy due to various Asheville (Ashehell) reasons. Fortunately, my readers don't let me down. Snow found this gem for us:

She says:

Sunken cheeks and inflated boobs, oops... I mean pecs, and an excellent wax job can't salvage this cover image of Prince Mysterious and Sulky. Check out those forearms; our prince must spend a lot of time gripping that sword. The fact that he's only shown from the waist up tells me that he has chicken legs.

By the way, the editor's description sounds even worse than one might
expect from the tit-le.

In the last installment of the Children of the Sun trilogy, a shackled
virgin must choose between the monster she knows and a sexy stranger who could spell doom - or help her fulfill the Prophecy of the Firstborn.

I actually thought that the author was Linda "Wasted" Jones. Boy, if they're gonna start using author's college nicknames on books, I'd better never write something!

Bryan R. Terry has come through again with a "novels-you-can't-actually-believe-they-published" cover.

My first thought? Realdoll (link not suitable for work!). My second thought got sidetracked thinking about the publisher's name, PEC, and how obsessed this blog seems to be with pecs. And finally I thought, "Boy, she's got quite a package. Must be one of those she-male Realdolls. Kinky."

Speaking of packages, here's another romance hero without one.

Beware Lord Ware, he's not all there. The widow, however, has a nice pussy.

I guess this would be the Lack-of-a-phallus Phallic Phriday edition.

Mammary Monday -- Pulp Edition

Faithful reader Bryan R Terry has been a busy boy. He's done my job for me, and provided links to all of the following covers. (Have I mentioned I love my readers?) He swears he's not obsessed, but he knows someone who is. Su-u-u-u-ure ya do, Bryan! Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h, yeah!

Some of these are just so damned cool that it's going to be very difficult snarking on them. But I shall try (with assistance from my evil henchman, DocTurtle)...

Maybe this one should be for Phallic Phriday?

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YELLOW!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! The deleted scenes from Disney's Fantasia.

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Yet more yellow...

Starring Ron Jeremy as Mark Trail.
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"Heysh, hun, ya gotta corkshcrew under that towel or anythin'?" *Hic*

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Cypress Hill says: "Three thumbs up! Waaaaay up!"

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Ole'!

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"Please don't eat my ear. My ear is not for nibbling."
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"She is a Pirate Weeeeeeeeench! And she has, she has an awful stench 'cause she's a Pirate Wench!"

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Boy, Annie Lennox is totally mackin' on Bette Davis there.

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"Consider this an intervention!"

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Phallic Phriday holds Mammary Monday hostage.

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"Und now you vill stop eating my couch, ja?"

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I've saved the best for last!

Okay, folks. I don't even know where to begin on this one. Snark away, my minions!

Cock Rock

Yes, there really is a Chimney Rock (right here in North Carolina)! Yes, it really is the most phallic rock in existence.






But I don't think it deserves handcuffs. The hot babe beside it...perhaps...

And I'm still irritated by yellow books. Do these really sell well? What's the rational? "I have a one color palette to work with. I think I'll pick...YELLOW!"

Ahhhhh, S and M, hot babe with no head...could you ask for a better Phallic Phriday?

A Quickie: Naked Noble Savage

"Hello, little bunny...come to Ishi...closer...closer...I won't hurt you..." SNAP! "Mmmmmmm, them's good eatin'!"

Someone's been learning from the ex-Pralite monks:

An ex-Pralite monk's method to hunting: It consists mainly of standing still for a while and smiling! After a while an animal -a deer perhaps - will appear from out of the trees and watch you cautiously. Continue to smile at it, let your eyes soften and shine, and radiate a deep and universal love, a love which reaches out to embrace all of creation. A wonderful quietness will descend on the surrounding countryside, peaceful and serene, emanating from your transfigured body. Slowly the deer will approach, step by step, until it almost nuzzles you, whereupon you will reach out and break its neck.

RIP, Douglas Adams.

UPDATE: Now NON-Fiction! Thanks, another Josh!

Wizards and Cats...

...a creepy combination!

How does one get from here:

To here?

Through this:

Cats Fear No Evil is just horrifying, and I LIKE cats. But evil yellow-eyed staring cats? Creepy. And I think we've seen from Mr. Pearl and Mr. Trollope that having a cover done almost entirely in crayon yellow is never a good idea.

It is, of course, A Wizard in Peace that takes the cake, mostly for the creepy guy in the background wearing a speedo over his clothes. Is it a Fantasy, as evidenced by the Renaissance fest clothing and dippy feather-in-ones-cap, or Sci-Fi based upon the weird-guy-from-a-second-rate-Sci-Fi-movie in the background? (Have you seen the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 episode of Space Mutiny? What are you waiting for!? You must!) Or is it crap? Who can tell, with a cover like that?!

I threw in The Feline Wizard because one, I'm sick and tired of cat this-and-that selling books (how many cat mystery series do we really need?!), but mostly because of the bad rhyme in the copy. It would by a crime to waste your time on a wizard in rhyme (and flea-collar).

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P.S. It's my fiftieth post. Yay me!

Al Scaduto Rocks the House

Not book related, but Maughta related, so deal.

For those of you who've gotten here by other means than Comics Curmudgeon*, you may have missed the glory that is They'll Do It Every Time (TDIET) by Al Scaduto. It's an old, ooooooold school comic strip (think the '50s) that is still alive and kicking, and still taking ideas from its readers. Just yesterday DocTurtle and I had our idea published.

This actually happens in our house. However, to save Mr. Scaduto's 1950s sensibilities, we switched the genders around. Yes, 'tis I who sits around in oblivion, usually reading or surfing the net, while poor DocTurtle labors away cleaning up after me and the dogs. Since he's also the primary breadwinner of the family, I make out like a bandit. No one can understand how I lucked out so much (not even my Jewish mother, who thinks the sun rises and sets on me, but recently told me she's proud of me, but really proud of Patrick. We love you, Mom!). Charm, humor, and the love potion from the gypsy down the stree....ulp...forget I said that! Let me just say that I love my DocTurtle with all that is in me, and he must be getting something out of the bargain 'cause he hasn't run screaming yet. And you can't have him. Neener neener.

Here's a shot of us from six years ago, the day before our wedding. See how tightly I've got a hold of him? No escape! (Please don't ask me about those pants. I was young.)

Wow, we do look like Mr. Scaduto's drawing, down to the color of my shirt. Creeeeeeepy.

So this has really turned into a paean to my Patrick, the coolest mathematician on the block. Sorry for the sidestep into Maughtaworld; more covers to come soon. Just thought I'd take a moment to show you how my fame spreads far and wide. Like my hips.

*The rockingest blog on the blogosphere and someplace you should definitely go.

My Pecs...Largest

Sometimes I can't believe the crap people check out. It's very hard to not snicker, as I'm sure you can imagine.* Fortunately, I have this outlet. I hurry up and write down a title before it disappears forever in that black hole I call my memory (I know I've lost some good covers to the dreaded forgetfulness monster). Then I rush home to my computer, crack my knuckles, and get to snarking. Here's the most recent atrocity to cross my desk. Yes, someone ACTUALLY checked this out! Bless my patrons, they make my job so fun!

Just looking at this picture is getting me sicker. I can't decide if the mustard yellow/ketchup red color scheme or the obvious cut-out quality of the figures bothers me more. Probably the bad Photoshop. Let's look more closely, shall we?

Ah yes, nice pearl earrings, Ms. Anonymous body builder who looks strangely like Janet Jackson. Y'know, now that I look more closely, I realize that the closeup is of the updated cover, and they've switched models. Instead of the mullet-haired trailer-trash in the original, this one is a helmet-haired bodybuildress of an indeterminate race. Yay for equality! Good ole Bill Pearl is the same, though. Whew. After 600,000 copies, you'd think he could change his wife-beater.

Finally, just for kicks, here's a picture of former Mr. Universe Bill Pearl. Looks like he's made of plastic, doesn't it?

"My pecs are WA-A-A-A-A-AY larger than that other guy's! My buzz cut isn't quite as stylish as his mullet, though. Bummer, dude."




*Librarians in the crowd: What is(are) the weirdest thing(s) you've ever seen someone check out? Right now I think it'd have to be the guy who checked out the Tanakh (the Jewish bible) and Mein Kampf. Oy, mein Kopf!

UPDATE: DocTurtle just pointed out that it's Mammary Monday. I think I covered that anyway, don't you?

An Odd Career Choice:

FANTASY VETERINARIAN!

I wonder what the entrance exam for this profession looks like.*

Do you:

Like animals?

Have empathy?

Enjoy helping those less fortunate?

Believe in fairies?

Maybe I'm just in a pick-on-covers-with-griffins kind of mood, but I just find something so odd about seeing a veterinarian administering vaccinations to a half-eagle, half-lion. It can't be too sanitary out there in the wild. I like that she did, however, take the time to put on a lab coat. It's that kind of attention to detail that I admire. And shouldn't there be, oh, I don't know, roads crossing in the picture? I mean, going by the title and all...

I do wonder, however, about the amateurish, out of place crestesque device that's surrounding the title. Give me five minutes with MS Paint, I think I could come up with something better. It's like the artist just got bored when it came time to adding the title to the design. "Screw fancy fonts and raised text, I'm just gonna block out a big white splotch and put the title in that." It looks almost like a bad cartoon word bubble.

*So when I had total writer's block in grad school, and couldn't finish my thesis for love nor money (not that anyone was offering me either for finishing, but it wouldn't have helped!), I took a career-aptitude-type test with a psychologist. Veterinarian and Librarian were both in my top-five job vocations. I think I picked the right choice, but if Fantasy Veterinarian had been in there it might have gone differently!

Phallic Phriday Phun...

...and a little bit of Mammary Monday thrown in to shake things up.

Greetings to all. I'm having a ton of phun with this whole Phallic Phriday thing, so bear with me. I will assume you are too, or you wouldn't be coming back, right? Drop me a comment or a line, eh? I love hearing from my readers!

Anyway, I don't think I could write the word PHALLIC big enough or bold enough to describe the following cover, so I'll just send it your way with no further ado. Thanks to Kiwi for being into this whole RPG stuff in the first place and sending me in this direction. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the two-headed phallus:

Let's forget for a moment that if you held your swords (heh heh, just the equipment is phallic) like that you'd probably break your wrists or at least eviscerate yourself when you tried to maneuver. Heck, let's just forget this whole thing. Oh, how I wish I could. Unfortunately this image will be branded forever in the image file stored in my head. I call it Drippy Werewolf Penis. Ick.

Oh, yeah, here's a mean lookin' naked chick from the same people. Is that a wolf between your legs or are you just happy to see me? How come the werewolf (man) gets pants, but the chick has to be naked? *sigh* Guess the 15 year-old boys who make up the key constituency for RPGs (sorry, Kiwi) just aren't into subtlety. Or tastefulness.

In case you haven't made it to the comments, Snow posted a really fascinating link to an article on the anatomy of a comic book babe. http://www.gothhouse.org/gh_parlour/posts/ghp000094.php

Excellent reading.

Way of the Chickenfooted

So every once in a while a book comes across my desk that makes me do a double take. Then a triple take. This is one such book.

Ooooooh, sexy blond naked guy with wings. Helloooooo Hawkman, take me to your nest and....ARRRRRGH! OMG, CHICKENFEET!!!! Ewwwwwwwwww.

Y'know, if I were a "woman warrior" I think I'd wear something a little more stain-resistant and travel-friendly then a gold-chased black bustier, red rope belt, heavy bronze necklace, and royal red cape complete with fur-lined epaulets. I would totally do the forehead tattoo, though.

Mammary Monday

Just in case you thought I was sexist with my Phallic Phriday, put your fears to rest! We are equal opportunity snarkers here at Judge A Book By Its Cover (tm) (r) (c) (etc).

I know what you're thinking...I'm going to take this opportunity to pick on romance novels again. You're probably thinking you'll see lots of covers like this:

Who needs a head when you have a corset?

and this:

And then her dress fell off.

and, of course, this:

Those look like mammaries to me!

Or perhaps I will decide to lampoon Sci-fi. Like this:

Bras aren't necessary in space, y'know. Anti-gravity. Every 15 year-old boy's dream. Whom am I kidding...I'd give anything to not have to wear a bra!

But no. Today we are going to pick on the even easier target of manga. Get a load of these hooters!



Do I even need to point out that NOBODY'S TITS DO THAT! I'd like to see her try and walk. I think she'd fall forward! And we keep this stuff in our Young Adult section. No wonder I have such a hard time getting some of these kids to look me in the eye.


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On a side note, my Mom says I don't look like a vampiric hippo, as my last post asserted. She's very worried that you all will think that's what I look like. I have no idea what that has to do with the price of tea in Starbucks, but I have to say, she's right. I look more like this:








Mammary Monday, folks! Mark it on your calendars.