I have previously admitted to binge reading romance novels and, thankfully, the last binge seems to be holding me for awhile.
This post from the Smart Bitches reminds me of why sometimes romance novels can be so horrifically amusing. The agony brought on by the vile wreck balances with the amusement that someone actually publishes the tripe. I like to keep track of how many bad metaphors and discriptors of *ahem* body parts *cough* one author can fit into a book. Sometimes the creativity and volume amaze me to the brink of lightheadedness.
Of course, I am the one reading it, but I usually get the really bad stuff from the library or Half Price books. You should never pay full price for poo.
–Jane, stays the heck away from Harlequins