Tuesday, November 08, 2005

NAS(TY)CAR

Beloved ladies and gentlemen, I give you NASCAR Romance novels:

She was five foot six of spandex-wrapped,thigh-high-boots-wearing, bustier-clad woman. And she wasn't happy...Bob's chubby-cheeked face remained blank. It was one thing she despised about him. No, envied, this ability he had to remain unruffled no matter what the circumstances. He was like one of those mimes you saw in the park, able to keep a straight face even as some dog doodooed on his leg...
Cece tottered over to Bob's desk, not caring that her breasts all but fell out as she leaned over the papers strewn on it. "Look, Bob, I've had a really bad day. Some man offered me a hundred bucks if I'd let him sniff my underwear.Another asked me to do a threesome. An evangelist talked my ear off for an hour because he was convinced he could save my soul. To say I'm in no mood for this would be an understatement. My feet hurt, I have a rub spot on the back of my knee and I'm convinced a bird pooped in my hair...

Verily, the mind doth boggle.

3 Comments:

At 9:00 AM, Blogger Scott Roche said...

And someone got paid decent money to write that crap.

 
At 10:19 AM, Blogger Jabawacefti said...

"Crap? I say nay, nay, and nay again. Get thee to thy fainting couch, while I retrieve the smelling salts," he muttered while he surveyed the woman's heaving breasts, as they were all but falling out of the tight leather bustier, while portraying an unruffled look of a man with doodoo on his face.

I think NASCAR erotica may just be my thing.

 
At 11:29 AM, Blogger codemorse said...

I know it's mine. Any book that throws in "dog doo doo" and "bird poop" within three paragraphs of each other is my kind of sexy.

Did you know that the woman who birthed this Pynchon-esque masterpiece writes from home, full-time? Yes, she's that successful.

 

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