Bantam, $6.50, ISBN 0-553-58255-0
Contemporary Erotica, 2002
Three women and three men all want to have sex in Blonde Heat. This is a contemporary romp, by the way. Not that it matters, the setting, characters, or motivations, because there’s not much of any here.
I don’t even know the character’s names, come to think of it. Susan Johnson gives them names and some one-note backgrounds (the sheriff, the schoolteacher, the hockey star, some lake guide person, the sexually adventurous one, the rich snooty one) as if they are mere annoying itches in her groin that she must scratch before getting down to business.
And the business?
Porn Show au Monotone, brought to you by Susan Johnson.
First, Big Dong and Ms Clinical (I don’t remember their names, no, and I don’t care) come into a room and UH-UH-UH. Exit.
Then comes Hairy Wang and Ms Desultory, AH-AH-AH. Was it good for you too?
Next, Hard Kong and Ms Perfunctory, OH-OH-OH. I have to use toothpicks to keep my eyelids open.
Big Dong and Ms Clinical are at it again. OW-OW-OW. Now get out, you two, here comes Hairy Wang and Ms Desultory (yawn) EH-EH-EH, Hard Kong and Ms Perfunctory come on over and AY-AY-AY.
It’s not even funny. I’m actually furious, because this book is so badly written in a fuck-you-I-don’t-care carelessness that it is so easy to imagine that the author cranking out this 280-paged large font toilet-paper-stringed-together nonsense just to make the deadline. I paid $6.50 for this amateurish showcase of bad porn, I really feel cheated and angry. At least the bad porn written by over-enthusiastic prepubescents, where abuse of exclamation marks, ellipses, and all conceivable superlatives for huge size run amok, well, at least those porn pieces are free on the Web and good for a laugh or two.
What’s Susan Johnson’s excuse? If writing has become such a chore that all she can do is to excrete use-free, clinical, and excruciatingly boring plot-free, character-free, context-free, use-free time wasters like Blonde Heat, she should just hang up her laptop and stop charging her fans money for her crap.
To add ultra-volatile sulfuric acid salt on my wounds, this book ends at this amazing high note that will make 12-year old aspiring bad porn writers everywhere look good:
She sighed.
Sometimes the nicest things happen to you when you least expect it.
Oops.
Like that. Hmmm… And that. Ahhhh …
Someday, she’d really have to send Brock a thank-you note…
That’s the end. I kid you not. It’s a good thing Susan Johnson has a publishing contract as an excuse for this crap. If she posted Blonde Heat on the alt.sex list, she’d be laughed out of town. Yes, it’s that bad. If you wanna buy this book, hey, it’s your money, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Anyone with any ideas as to how I can get my two hours of my life and my $6.50 back?
