Today, some of us wasted their time by nearly having an asthma attack from laughing so hard at romance novels. I saw some terrible things, but nothing quite as terrible as this.
Another couple flicks of my knight’s supple wrists, and I find myself naked and thrown headfirst over the wooden bench, my ass sticking straight up in the air. Gorgeous Knight, fully clothed, spreads my butt cheeks wide, whips his giant cock out of his breeches, and takes me from behind.
We continue to fuck doggy-style over the bench for several minutes. . . . I buck up against him hard mid-thrust, tipping him off balance. Once he’s lost his footing, I pull myself off his cock – my cunt makes a disappointed queeb sound as we separate…I come two more times when I spin myself around and around on his cock like a top, and take the last few strokes down from the rear.
Yes, I laughed. I am also twelve years old. YOUR POINT?
Some of the other “F Reviews” are also priceless, but that one took the cake. I fully blame Ticcara for my near-death earlier this afternoon when she showed me that site and, specifically, that book review. A fit of laughter and water do not mix well.
Among other things, I stumbled across the following collection of romance similes and metaphors. Including, but not limited to:
…then he kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn.
His manhood stood at full attention, stiff and stony like the vice president.
The latter was clearly written BOE (before Obama era). And now I need the brain bleach because I should not even be thinking about the lovely Joe Biden like that. I feel violated and dirty.
And because everyone loves mocking romance novels, I came across the Bad Romance Novel Generator. BEHOLD THE GLORY:
The climate was snowy in Gotham City. Amidst this repulsive scenery smiled the trivial Dr. Evil. Elsewhere, in Gotham City, the birds were gasping haphazardly. Raquel had the most illustriously illustriously gnome-like spleen of all, and all the town bled profusely at her death-defying fortune. Moreover, she was cruelly skilled in professional singing.
Presently, Igor entered the Singing Berserked Timberwolf Pub in search of some cotton balls. To his surprise, he found the illustriously suicidal Senora Zapato instead. Their suicidal eyes met, and he instantly forgot all about his lubricated desire for a watermelon. He flinched, and it was then that she knew he wanted her like a ham & cheese sandwich dancing suggestively. She slapped him cruelly. Then he licked her like a throbbing praying mantis. With hedonistic skill, she strangled his spleen. He tackled her sweetly, and she responded by jumping suggestively. He fantasized gayly and yearned to attack Raquel with an axe. He caressed her suggestively, and she responded by singing gayly. He belched ruthlessly and yearned to swim. Not to be outdone, he became discombobulated and wrang her sweetly on her eyes. She smiled at him sweetly, and told him that he made love like a poodle. Finally, after a marvelous climax, he fantasized and tackled her eyes like a suicidal berserked timberwolf beneath a sultry sky.
Suddenly, Igor burst into the room, and, finding his wife amidst a most saber-rattling, adulterous situation, softly killed them both with a lot of cheese. In time, the saber-rattling legend of the two lovers faded unwittingly into the gnome-like ebb-and-flow of the supermarket, lost among the lubricated appeal of the Great Pyramid of Cheops.