And you're
sure that if I follow all the steps that I'll end up with a chronic illness? Because I don't want some fucking curable shit.
She may be misguided, but if using seagull wings as earmuffs is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
Next time use Comic Sans to lend an even weightier feel to the cover.
The illustrator's out sick, huh? Well, just draw what you can and then fog filter the hell out of it.
Fucking Overton with his damn perfect view. Right at that luscious ass.
But surely something this size will hold at most one book.
It's the girth that counts, right?

This title works as both a diet book and a warning to necrophiliac cannibals.

Is this all it takes to publish a book these days? An announcement of an uninteresting fact? "Sammy Hagar takes out the garbage." "Fabio is out of toilet paper." "Paris Hilton ate a zucchini."

Cracker Jack prizes just fucking suck these days, huh?

Please read before cracking open the skull.

Yes, take me on an odyssey with your Trojan, Dirk Pitt! Yes! Yes! Ram me with your long, thrusting bow! Let lightning strike twice! Let the waves of pleasure crash again and again!
(One entendre too many? Damn.)