Leisure, $5.99, ISBN 0-8439-4955-4
Historical Romance, 2002
Heaven Sent my tight sexy butt. This book is a plague from the lowest infernal hell, more like. The Devil’s bible chronicling the fall of the Western romance genre. Matilda Rose Applebee will burn in the pit reserved for criminally braindead heroines. Burn, dumbass, burn!
Matty is a Western heroine, and she wastes no time dressing up in some boy’s outfit and holding a gun in a way that sends pure terror in the heart of every sane person. A chimpanzee playing with a loaded revolver is like Florence Nightingale with the lamp compared to this Matty. She screeches, shrieks, and rampages her way like a badly programmed Robo-Dumbo Super-Terminator She-Ra Destroyer automaton gone berserk, waving her gun, her eyes no doubt wild and filled with insane hysteria (only we call it “spunk and independence” in romance novels like this one, of course), as she tries to find the man who impregnated her sister.
She insists that it’s undercover Pinkerton’s Agent Cooper T Davis. He says no, but she’s the baboon with the gun, so he has to obey. After all, Pinkerton’s Agents are all sissies. Along the way, armed robbers surround them, and our retarded heroine goes all “Haaaaa!” and waves her gun at them.
Not that she wants to kill them, see? Because killing is like, so wrong, so – “AAAH! HELP ME!”
It’s the start of a never ending pattern of insane tomfoolery. She charges headlong like some loco bull, he has to rescue her, she will reward him with a petulant pout-stomp-stomp session, and I wish I am some super robot myself. Because if I’m a super robot, I will take my middle finger and skewer it right through the book from front cover to end cover, spearing that stupid waste of paper and lifting it up with my Super Middle Finger in a triumphant pose.
Eat that, Xena!