Let's Make Fun of Gilbert Morris!

I've decided that all of these books need new titles. I've take an stab at it, but y'all can definitely help!

The Cross-Eyed Real Doll

The Giant-Headed Midget

The Fifteen-Foot Bear

The Soulless Stare

(also known as The Missing Finger)

James Patterson, My Hero

So y'all remember a little while ago a colleague of mine made a list of the last lines of each chapter of James Patterson's newest phone-in, You've Been Warned?

And it was so funny that I posted it here? And remember how A Perfect World (making the world a better place one cartoon at a time) decided to draw a one panel cartoon for every line? Well, folks, she's up to chapter 42 now and there seems to be no stopping! I highly recommend you check it out. The Patterson strips start at #16 in the '08 archives. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

Guest Blogger Snow

Faithful reader Snow sent the following e-mail to me and it needs no embellishment.

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Hi Maughta!

Visiting bookstores is so much more fun now. Whenever I see a snarkworthy cover, I whip out my cellphone and snap a picture. (It does sort of freak out the clerks, though.)

Since I feel like we're going though combined Baen and John Ringo withdrawal, here's a double hit.

What have we here? Boobs, pointed ears, big hair, mismatched shinguards, sword, bow, things dangling from "the great unknown", dragons, and what? spaceships! Of course. It all makes sense now. A cover entirely filled with teenage boy wank fodder.

Not to let teenage boys have all of the fun, here's wank fodder for the mature-ish woman.

It's not just smut, it's expensive, big fancy paperback smut. Why pay $4.95 for your cheap-looking one-handed read, when you can get a pretty copy for $13.95? Just look at those boobs, I mean pecs! They're nearly life-sized.

Come on, Maughta, put this one in your reading queue. I can't wait to see what Maughtamom would have to say.

- Snow

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Thanks, Snow! Readers, keep those suggestions coming.

Trash

So my Mom (the ever-popular commenter Maughtamom, for those of you who need obvious things pointed out, which I know is none of my super-smart and super-cool readers so this whole aside has been pointless) looks over to the sidebar at the random books from my Library Thing account and keeps asking me why I read such crap. I argue with her that, of course, taste is subjective and she's just wrong (as all mothers are at one point or another accused by their offspring), but then I find myself reading such tripe that I wonder why I even bothered wasting the time that could have been spent, I don't know, watching the ceiling fan spin and the dog hair collect in the corners of the room (an ever popular spectator sport in my house), and realize that my mom is, of course, right (don't tell her I said so!). And I've written the preceding two sentences (which may possibly be the longest sentences ever seen on this blog) because I find myself reading the book How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls by Zoey Dean.

It's a terrible book whose general premise is that rich bitches (think the Hiltons) are simply misunderstood and smart people who graduated from Yale with English degrees really just need to learn how to groom and dress themselves (and get the mandatory Brazilian wax). Why yes, that is the plot of every chick lit EVER now that The Devil Wears Prada has shown us how it's done. And I'm pretty sure that Zoey Dean doesn't actually exist (the author bio is scanty, there's no picture, and the book is copywritten by Alloy Entertainment which has its own nice little graphicon and a swanky address in New York).

But I know you didn't come here to get a literary review, you came here to see stupid covers, so here ya go:

I find it odd that we no longer need a chick on the cover of our chick lit, simply a shiny bikini and lots of bling. No nipples, though. That'd be too salacious. Never fear, although there is not actually a strappy high heeled shoe on the front cover there is one on the spine. Whew. For a second I though we'd forgotten the most important part of the cover. In case you're wondering, it took way too many people to design this cover; although I'm not sure if one should credit the cover designers listed on the back cover (the grammatically weird 3 Good, Poor Girls) or the gots-t0-be-a-pseudonym "book designer" listed on the inside page, Fearn Cutler de Vicq. Perhaps "book designer" is what they're calling ghostwriters now?

Oh, and Phoebe and Burnsie have informed me that since I mentioned their hairballs earlier I must post more pictures for their faithful fans. So for those of you who come here NOT for the funny book covers but for the gratuitous dog pictures, here you go.

Fabulous!

I've already picked on Choose Your Own Adventure books here. But they're just soooooo rife with hilarity that I can't help but bring them around for ridicule again.

First is a little something I like to call, Your Code Name is Phallic Whale

Next up is Perspective is Not in My Dictionary, otherwise known as I Went to the Longarm School of Art

And finally, saving the best for last, I present to you Gay Viking Holiday*

*Okay, I stole this last one from someone's live journal icon over at The Society for Librarians* who say Motherfucker, but it's just sooooooo perfect!

Chicken Shit

So I'm constantly jotting down notes to myself of titles and authors of books whose covers make me laugh. Sometimes I revisit these little scraps of paper eons later and wonder what the hell I was thinking.

Today I found a scrap of paper that said:

Jeff Long

The Descent

PREGNANT CHICKEN DEVIL

Yup. Pregnant chicken devil.

Just Returned to the Paperback Shelf

Haven't the green lizard people suffered enough? I mean, how much bowing and scraping does one hero need?! I personally thing taking guns to a trident fight is just poor taste. Poor drooly lizard people.

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Just a hint: when your book's FRONT cover looks more like a book's BACK cover, it's time to fire your cover designer.

Obviously geared toward the LONGARM fans, but without the gratuitous sex and violence. Which, really, takes all the joy out of it.

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And finally, for all you Phallic Phriday Phans (I pheel I've been neglecting you!):

Nuh UH! They did NOT just call her a SHEATH. Can you be any more obvious that your romance novel is about SEX?! Other titles:

The Train and the Tunnel

The Toad and the Hole

The Plug and the Socket

The Banana and the Hairy Clam

Help me out here!

From the Readers

Okay, so people seem to think that I was waaaaay off in the last post. Hey, what can I say, taste is subjective. But surely no-one finds the following covers (sent in by alert readers--keep 'em coming!) tasteful. Only subjective!

After seeing this cover, submitted by Amy, all I have a taste for is braaaaaaaaaains! Zombierific!

Faithful reader Jenna tells me that she saw someone furtively reading this book on the train. It reminded me of when I used to read bodice rippers in high school and would cover them with brown paper so people wouldn't know what I was reading. Which, now that I think about it, probably caused more eyebrows to raise than the cover itself!

I can't quite see on this screen, but I'm pretty sure that the little saying over the title says MISSION: Impassioned. My mission to you is keeping lunch down after seeing this!

And finally, a lovely contender for Mammary Monday (special Thursday night edition) sent in by Eunice. She tells me she went looking for this cover and stumbled onto http://www.goodgirlart.com/girlgangs.html. More mammary than you can deal with!

Gd, I love pulp covers! You go, Betty and Veronica!

What I'm Reading

So right at the moment I'm reading the Dante Valentine series by Lilith Saintcrow (surely a pseudonym, too fortuitous a name for someone who writes urban fantasy). It's a very good urban fantasy series and I enjoy it a lot. But I notice that after the first two books the publisher changed from Warner to Orbit (actually I've just discovered that it's still the same "Hatchett Book Group" so someone must have bought someone else out in the vast conspiracy to make sure there's only one book publisher on the planet, dammit!). Anyway, they also seem to have changed cover artists in the interim, so while the first two covers are scorching hot and rock:

Okay, the man in the flames is kinda cheesy and stupid, but can you go wrong with hot chick plus tattoo plus katana? NO!

My favorite aspect of this cover is that fact that the artist obviously read the book because this exact outfit was described in loving detail. Plus she's got a gun plus a whip plus a sword plus stilettos in her hair so she obviously kicks ass. I think the rendition is perfect, although I do wish the publisher hadn't included a blurb about the PREVIOUS book on the cover of this one, that's just bad form.

The last three simply suck. And that pisses me off. What the fuck happened? When did Danny turn into a transvestite? With some sort of creepy Rambo sword instead of a katana?? Someone really likes faux woodblock art. Blech. I wouldn't pick this book up if it were the first book. Bad artist! Bad! And so it continues:

The worst part of it is that they've re-published the first two books with the same artist who did the last three. Someone needs to get fired over this. Which would you pick up in the store?

Deal With This!

I want to have a large poster of this book cover. Then, when someone pisses me off, I can just point to it and say, "Hey, deal with THIS!" I don't know why this cover makes me just want to flash it at people, but it does. Perhaps it's the dippy belt.

Apparently Lucy Monroe "captures the heart of the genre," but I'd say she's capturing something a little lower than the heart.

Ya got a problem with that?! Hey, deal with THIS!

Naughty Nurses

So there's a restaurant in Denver that's one of my favorites. It's called White Fence Farm (funny story: When DocTurtle and I were first going out I talked about the restaurant to him and he thought I was saying White Friends Farm, which caused him to question my political leanings a bit...), and it has the best fried chicken and beets and bean salad and corn fritters ever. "Why in the hell is Maughta telling me this?" you may ask yourself. Well, self, the answer is that every January White Fence Farm closes for a month for "repairs and renovations" which is a fancy way of saying that they need to get new menus printed up with a new and exciting jacked-up price.

In that same spirit, Judge a Book took a little hiatus for the month of February to repair and renovate. And jack-up the prices. Well, not really, but in the spirit of keeping this blog ad-free I've added a DONATE button to the sidebar. Help Maughta buy more books. What else are you gonna do with your tax return?

But Maughta, you say, why have you tempted us with the title Naughty Nurses (take THAT, google safe search!) and then talked about nothing for two paragraphs? You're absolutely right! Let the Naughty Nurses roll!

First up is a little something I like to call TOO MUCH SHIT ON THE COVER!

We've got nine elements:
* Silhouette
* Desire
* 15 Years (in a banner)
* Man of the Month (in trendy font)
* Author as Seen on Primetime TV (let's hope it was on Cops)
* Author's name (no-one really cares)
* Itty-bitty little title (no-one really cares about that, either)
* A blurb by NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JAYNE ANN KRENTZ! (community service, perhaps?)
* And finally, to pull it all together, Skanky-Ralph-Macchio as NURSE.

Wow, Cover Artist, how did you manage to fit that all on the cover of a little tiny paperback? And make it so fantastically lame? Well done.

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The following is a community service message: DO NOT BE TEMPTED TO SELF PUBLISH YOUR BOOK. People will only make fun of you.

This book is $20 on Amazon. I hope Leeanne has a lot of friends willing to shell that out.

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I'd choose to not stand by the smokestacks, myself. And to not wear that stupid collar. But seriously, how does a girl decide between a Sugar Daddy and a studly blond Doctor? It can't be done, I tell ya!

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The Beach Boys can only dream about such things. Oh, Laurie, don't lose your Doctor to the waves! Why else get your RN degree unless it comes with an MRS degree to a pretty MD? I hope a shark eats their faces. (Thanks, Eric, although perhaps I should have used this for Phallic Phriday?)

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And finally, a challenge for Nurse Genie and her chiropractor. A nice close-up of the creepy hands on the back there. (Thanks, Jeanne Genie!)

No Brainers

Some books just scream for us to judge them by their covers. Take the following cover, found by intrepid judger-in-the-field, Snow. As Snow points out, it's like Baen is doing this just to fuck with us. They're trying to see just how bad their covers could possibly be. Is Jim Baen's taste that bad? Apparently!

Y'know, as someone who's married to someone who's last name is slang for testicles, I feel for people with unfortunate names. But that's the nice thing about being an author. There's a handy little thing called a pseudonym that one can use if one wants to write, say, romance novels, and one's name is synonymous with sex! Y'know, if one didn't want to be, oh, I don't know, made fun of on a blog. Nina, you're the joy of fifteen year old boys, and bane of librarians, everywhere.

And what is going on with that woman, anyway? Is that some sort of chitinous shell? Are we morphing from a cockroach? Heh heh. COCKroach. BANGS. One BITE Stand. Heh heh heh.

And finally, a book that faithful reader Michael points out, "should be judged solely on typography:"

Post #100!

Wow, post #100 came out of the blue, huh? I've got a special treat for you today which is, of course, not really book related.

It's funny how the internet works, isn't it? A couple of librarians sit around and make fun of James Patterson. One of them has the genius idea to write down the last like from all the chapters (which would be a herculean effort if the. chapters. weren't. written. like this.) and she posts the list on her blog. Another librarian in the system hears about it, finds it hilarious, and posts it on her own blog. Wham, bam, thank you librarian ma'am, and so it goes.

Ladies and gentlebeings, I have the great pleasure to present to you today the first nine chapters in the soon-to-be hit series, You've Been Warned the One Panel Comic Strip. Brought to you by http://www.aperfectworld.org/. And they said it couldn't be done...

Think Like a Cat and Other Useless Wastes of Time

That cat is thinking:

Oooh! Shiny! Creepy woman, staring at me! Fluffy hair. Want to scratch. Is that a bug?!? Must kill! Itch!!! Feline behaviorist, my ass! Wall...mmmmm...fascinating wall. Red and yellow are NOT good colors to be dancing above my head. Creepy woman still staring at me!! She twists whiskers! Get away!! Shiny camera, must topple. Destruction! Mmmmm, bug.


In other news, this blog has been named as one of the Ten Blogs to Read in 2008 by LISNews (I voted for the effing librarian, myself...sorry, eff!). I must say I am unbelievably chuffed, and promise to only use my powers for good. Ooooh, shiny! Destruction!

So, what do YOU think the cat is thinking?

You've Been Warned!

Could this cover get any worse?

Why yes, Virginia, this cover could get a whole lot worse...check it out:

On another note, I love working in libraries. Not 'cause of the stinky patrons or the moldy books (okay, I love them, too), but because other librarians are such freaky cool people! A colleague of mine recently took time out of her day to compile a list that I think should be shared. I'll let her tell you herself (stolen directly from her own blog):

YOU'VE BEEN WARNED (no, really, you have)

James Patterson's You've Been Warned is the current best-seller on The New York Times hardcover fiction list.

Number One.

Can I tell you how scary this is?

My coworker, Lauren, and I were flipping through it this morning, and we were in hysterics as we read various passages aloud. We could turn to any page and find at least a dozen ridiculous one-liners. It's the kind of book that makes one yearn for the witty, polished prose of a Danielle Steel or a V.C. Andrews.

Then we began reading just the last sentence of every chapter. They were all very--cue scary music--DUN DUN DUNNN!! And the more we read, the funnier they got.

Naturally, we decided that they needed to be collected.So I typed up a list of the last line of every chapter in the book. And the amazing thing was that the story actually made sense this way. Lauren pointed out that it's like that speed reading technique they teach you in high school, where you only read the first and last sentence of each paragraph and, supposedly, that gives you the gist of it. So this is like speed reading on speed.

Now, I am not claiming to have the World's Best Taste in literature. In fact, I'm pretty easy to please. I can usually find something redeeming about whatever it is I'm reading. I like Faulkner just as much as I like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. In fact, I probably like the Sisterhood more, because I've actually read them all.

I'd also like to point out that I actually HAVE read a full James Patterson novel. A few of them, in fact. I found the first two Alex Cross books, Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls, entertaining (I liked the movies, too). But then he started kidnapping every member of the Cross family. Bringing back serial killers from the dead. Chasing his hero with tigers AND vampires--in the same novel. And not cute teen boy vampires like Edward Cullen either. I mean, what the heck?

Then he began publishing every novel with another author, like he can't even be bothered to write his own books anymore. He has a new release nearly every month, and I have trouble trusting a writer who must spend like two weeks, max, working on a book.

I'm sorry for being snarky here, but I'd like to point out that on Amazon, as of this minute, Warned has 93 customer reviews, and a whopping 62 of them gave it one star. Some choice quotes:

Noirgirl:"All the paragraphs.Are written.Like THIS!BOO!"

Karen Honeycutt: "I am very pissed off that I wasted money on this."

Robert Stovall: "Weird and boring"Nuff Said: "Holy Moly ! This is so not a good book!"

Cricket: "This is by far the most disappointing book I've read in years."

BOOKLOVER: "James Patterson should be ashamed of himself."

deeper waters: "A waste of time and an insult to one's intelligence. There is nothing redeeming about it....not the plot, writing or the characters."

Ronald E. Pagels: "This is probably the worst book I have ever read."

goldencz: "It was HORRIBLE!!!!"

N.R. Cronce: "James Patterson Schlock Doctor"

J. Crace: "James, buddy, you're getting too far out there--even your devoted fans hate it!!"

H. Gore: " YUK!! I can't believe I read the whole thing!!! "

Anyway, here it is. The last line of every chapter in James Patterson & Howard Roughan's You've Been Warned (Little, Brown and Company, 2007). All italics and punctuation are theirs.

I'd like to think there are a lot of good creative writing exercises here. Rearranging the sentences so that they form paragraphs and a new story. Turning it into a poem. I think the coolest thing would be You've Been Warned, Last Sentences: The Graphic Novel. I'd totally do it if I could draw. And I loved Lauren's idea of a page-a-day calendar. (Hmm, what's my inspiration for today? Flip. Oh, "And I think that burning smell is back too." Excellent!)

Note: If you were planning on reading this book, please go no further. Need I say there are spoilers?

You’ve Been Warned (“Fear is just the beginning”)

James Patterson & Howard Roughan

I raise my camera again, and—
The music is inside my head.
“Lord knows you don’t want to piss off that boss of yours.”
I scream at the top of my lungs.
And that’s when someone does.
Whatever.
And he loves it even more when I join him there.
Soon.
So innocent.
See? I’m back in control.
It’s time to hit the darkroom.
And I think that burning smell is back too.
And I know just where to go.
It’s the maître d’ again.
But when he finishes, everyone reaches for a pen.
This is no dream.
“Don’t wear it to work.”
“Good answer,” I say.
Hurry!
The camera slips from my grasp, falling to the pavement.
“Detective, remember? Homicide.”
Gee, I can’t wait.
“Want to join the Maytag club?”
“I’m coming!”
“Don’t look now,” says Beth with an elbow to my ribs, “but I think that guy is checking you out.”
“Let’s dance,” I say to the girls. “It’s my night.”
“I’m not kidding around. You’ve been warned.”
I guess Kristin Burns doesn’t want to talk to me after all.
But what I’m looking at sure is.
He wasn’t letting me win now, though. Obviously not now.
My father’s been dead for twelve years.
This is no time to be alone.
Actually, this should have been my first call.
“I still want to know what happened to you at the Falcon Hotel. Kristin? Kristin?”
What’s up with that?
I’ve got somewhere to go after all.
Pictures lie.
That just isn’t possible, but there he is.
He’s opening the door!
“Can you keep a secret?” he whispers.
We’ll be fine.
He puts his shades back on, nods, and then turns away.
Utter. Freakin’. Amazement.
And then I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.
“Do you think I can borrow some clothes?”
“Speak of the devil,” she says.
“Because you do now.”
“No,” he says, leaning in close. “That’d be your soul.”
“No one’s ever forced to dance, are they?”
If only Penley weren’t in the picture.
It’s called breaking and entering.
To Michael and Penley’s room.
Shoot Michael.
Leaving me and Penley.
Oh, the irony.
It only reads 1.
And he looks dead.
“On how well you know your way around Brooklyn.”
He’s barely had a chance to look at the first one when I realize…we’re not alone.
“She thinks you’re a devil.”
All it takes is the ponytail.
“Allow me,” he says.
“How many times do you have to be warned?”
There are four people… Don’t hurt them.
Everything goes black.
That’s easy. “Dying.”
Before he was murdered in my hometown of Concord, Massachusetts.
The wretched look on his face says it all.
“Help, Michael, you have to save me!”
Timeless.
And unfortunately, that’s not exactly good news.
Right into my darkroom.
“And I know what you did at the Falcon Hotel. Both times you were there.”
And I mean everything else.
“You’re right,” I say. “Only that’s not her husband.”
And I remember who used to say that—my dead father.
At least I think I am.
With a zoom lens.
Otherwise known as Falcon Hotel.
All because of what I hear.
Praise the pencil!
“I could kill the bitch” is his answer.
“You’ll see.”
As I head home to my apartment, I get this awful, gnawing feeling that somehow I already have.
The note’s dated today.
No, just very, very desperate.
And then—what can I say?—I faint.
There was even a photo of his body being carried out in a long black bag.
Just then, I feel a pair of eyes on me and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“It’s okay, Dad. I understand.”
There’s one left.
So—why am I crying uncontrollably? Is that why Michael isn’t at work?
“Where else would he be?”
What’s with the camera?
Who’s Michael talking to?
Then he absolutely blows my mind.
God is in the details.
Then, something does.
The pathetic truth is—anything is possible right now.
Michael has a gun pressed to his forehead.
“You and I have a lot of acting to do, Kristin.”
Make that one dead.
Don’t think, just shoot.
And instantly I realize—that makes three bodies.
Let go of the gun.
“Exactly,” comes a voice I recognize.
“I’m doing all the talking here—and this is your day, Kristin.”
But then—don’t think, just shoot—she takes my picture.
And I’m screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming…
“She’s alive! This woman is alive! She just winked at me.”

Thanks, Stephanie!

So, JaBBiC readers, what's your favorite last line? Mine is, "Don't think, just shoot." Covers just about everything.