Saturday, November 04, 2006

FooDaddy's Cheesy Love


Given that I work for the library system, as I’ve mentioned too many times before, I have unfettered access to a wide array of literary bilge. This usually manifests itself in the form of those little 3” by 5” paperbacks with pictures on the cover of rebellious shirtless men pressing their manly selves up against swoony women in poofy, low-cut dresses.

“Oh, Bartholomew! You’re so sweaty!”
“That’s my love, dear lady.”
“My chest doth heave!”
“What?”

The Romance Novel. If I had to judge by weight, about 10 percent of my job is devoted to routing these little abominations. As if you couldn’t already tell, I think the Romance genre, uh, doesn’t need to exist, to put it nicely. Out of simple curiosity (and to pick up swooning tips) I’ve flipped a few of them open and taken a peek. This served two purposes: To reduce my faith in the intelligence of humankind, and to give me something to make fun of on the Blog.

To be perfectly honest, this post is mostly an excuse to show you time-wasters this particularly hilarious back-cover picture I found at work. I added the quotation balloons.

So, without further ado, The FooDaddy Romance Novel!

Scruffy Love
By The FooDaddy

Buck Studson was a rebel cowboy with a lot of muscles and no chest hair. He didn’t like children, until he met the pretty lady with the poofy dress who lived at the orphanage down the road. Cassidy Swoony had been single for too long, and it was starting to make her very angry.

“Because of my strong desire for to be swept off my feets, I swat you mercilessly, Little Rodney!” she said, chasing Little Rodney about the orphanage with a rolled up issue of Cosmopolitan magazine.

“You need a man with no chest hair and a cowboy hat!” said Rodney, dodging into the bathroom and running the bolt.

“Foul wastrel!” sighed Cassidy, and ran headlong into the door. She bounced off the wood veneer, and into the arms of…

“Buck,” said Buck, for that was his name, pointing to his hairless chest. “I’m here to adopt a child. I want one to help me take care of my giant romantic log cabin in the mountains, and to keep my flock of studly horses from getting fat by riding them all about the romantic mountains. How about that one?” Buck pointed vaguely in the direction of a pile of adorable children.

“My my, what a handsome stranger he is! My bosom heaves and thrives! I wish I, very attractive woman with great hair who is somehow inexplicably also very lonely, could put my painful past behind me and strew myself into this man’s heavily muscled wrists! I bet he likes ice cream too.” Cassidy thought out loud.

“What?” Buck squinted at Cassidy.

“Did I say that out loud? Foolish me!” she said, blushing.

“You’re turning red,” said Buck slyly. “Do you want to have sex?”

“Certainly!” said Cassidy, and swooned, thumping into Buck’s studly deerskin trenchcoat.

“Gross!” said Little Rodney from the bathroom.

So there you have it. That could very well be the first installment, and if I feel like it, I’ll write more later. I’ve been mocking the Romance Novel out loud for years now, and I’ve found that it’s fun to do it in print!

“That’s lame,” said Little Rodney.

17 comments:

The Stupid Blogger said...

FooDaddy, it's no wonder that many of the writers who actually tap out this flotsam use pen names. Imagine walking down the street and having people say,

"Hey, there goes the author of "Night of the Lonely, But Very Manly, Cowboy."

Also, have you noticed that the men on these covers are usually:

1. Highlanders,
2. Cowboys,
3. Firemen, or
4. Arab Princes?

I've never seen a romance novel with the picture of a driver or a sorter (or a writer, for that matter) on the cover, so if anything happens to The Spouse or The Girlfriend, you and I may be in for bad times.

The Stupid Blogger said...

And yet, these books are incredibly popular, as you mentioned. Hmmmm.

The Stupid Blogger said...

And many times, they also have better hair than the women over whom they are obviously master.

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Stupey, if anything happens to The Spouse or The Girlfriend you MAY be in for very bad times or you may end up discovering scruffy man-love. Sounds gross now, but you've never spent any time in prison is my guess.

The Stupid Blogger said...

I was merely being modest. I actually have to carry around a cattle prod to keep the women off me.

The Drive-by Blogger said...

Great stuff FooDaddy, I hope there's more to come. That picture raises some questions though:

What'd wrong with shirtless dude's back? Did the artist run out of flesh tone and hoped no one would notce?

Why does Miss poofy dress seem to have a sword attached to her ankle?

And finally, what the hell kind of drug induced landscape are they in?

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Drive By,

You are obviously not a K-Mart certified, "B" Class artist.

The sword is a metaphorical phallus and her leg is merely tangled with it. It is painted in to create the salacious expectation of trouble-free, guilt-free ravishment of Miss Poofy.

The stuff on the Randy Knight's back is just shadow. Any artist in velveteen would know that. I'll bet you're one of them people what has gone to the Louvre and sipped on Merloh and nibbled on fine Camembear cheese. I'll bet you think you know something about art just because you've been in the Cistern Chapel.

Well, let me tell you about something here. My president is Charleton Heston. I like Cheez Whiz and Pabst Blue Ribbon. I think that my painting of Rambo done up in black velveteen is just fine.

The Drive-by Blogger said...

I humbly thank you Mr.Pickel Weasel, I stand corrected and enlightened...or it might just be lightheaded...from all the Merloh and Camembear.

My regards to your preisdent Charleston Chew. I am off to buy some of this velveteen you speak of...it sounds delicious.

Paul "FooDaddy" Brand said...

"Little did Cassidy know, her father, the infamous ex male dancer known only as Delicious Velveteen was in town. And he did not approve of his daughter's helpful and orphan-saving ways."

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

Little did she know indeed, since this form of literature relies on keeping the characters as stupid as possible, just like this blog! ..hmmm...

Gad, this kind of lit's like a gooey traffic accident-- it's impossible not to look.

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Hey, Crackpipe, I mean...Cracked Pop,

I'm not smart enough to identity the precise insult in your words, but I know it's in there! (and I'm not happy about it)

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

It's the role you were born to play, baby! Which is to say, abandon all human dignity, ye who author here.

Gonna have me a grilled Velveteena-on-toast sammitch now. Gonna watch the spectacle that is our national pride, The Mittelscherz Elections.

Forsooth, I canst notst turneth my head aweigh!

himself said...

Sorry, that should've been Mittelschmerz.

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Hey, I can call it the Cistern Chapel, so you can it Mittelscherz if you wish.

You should also use the words "ye" and "to wit" more.

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

When the mittels is a-schmerzin',
And push comes to shove,
I surely feel a cravin' for that Scruffy Love.
Look out! [jawdropping bottleneck guitar solo]

Scruffy, scruffy, scruffy, scruffy,
Scruffy Love.
I surely gots a cravin' for that Scruffy Love.

[Who is he singing to? And how does he make his uvula do that?]

Stanback He's Gonna Sing Summore said...

Scraffy Scriffy Scroofy Screefy Scruffy Love,

Ah Cane Gidda Nuffadat Scruffy Love.

Paul "FooDaddy" Brand said...

I said a-beep bop bo! Fo sho!