Attention all of my followers. Yes, I realize nobody is following me yet, and I also realize that I am writing to myself. Anyway, here is my new cover. Romance Novel releasing on Kindle soon. Unfortunately, I was forced to cut a deal with model, Flabio, and allow him to be on my cover. A friend of mine was so kind as to point out that his man-boobs aren't symmetrical. In Flabio's defense, he has thyroid disease, so please give him a break.
In case you're wondering what Romance Novel is about, it's an off color parody combining The Twilight saga, Brokeback Mountain, Australia, James Bond, fatherless baby, historical, mystery, suspense, western, unwed millionairre, erotica and medical romances.
Below is a scene from Romance Novel - PJ:
Long flaxen hair blowing in the artificial breeze, the bronze-skinned model flexed his bulging biceps while crushing the voluptuous blonde to his chest. Crying out, she surrendered her body to his mercy.
He was a man in his prime; a god among mortals. Women desired him, men envied him. Who cared that he wasn't as rich or as successful as his Italian cousin by a similar name? The time had come for a new king of romance.
"Hey, Flabio." The pock-faced, aging photographer with a bad comb-over, called from behind a wide-angle camera lens. "Could you look a little more angry?" he whined with a totally unattractive, nasaly pitch. "Maybe pull back your fist like you're gonna pummel her?"
A look of indignation and shock crossed Flabio's dark eyes as he jutted his prominent chin. "But we are lovers!" he snapped in a thick, yet superficial, Italian accent.
The photographer rolled his eyes. "This is a domestic violence ad, not a cover for a romance novel. Maybe you could pretend like you're strangling her." He motioned to Flabio's puffy pirate shirt, with pearl buttons and double-stitched seams. "Unbutton your shirt and let your beer gut show."
Flabio's square jaw dropped before he narrowed his gaze at the photographer. He shoved the girl with such force, she nearly fell over. He ripped his shirt off, revealing a distended abdomen and two fleshy man-boobs. Palming his fist, he stalked the girl.
With wide eyes and trembling limbs, she squawked like a deranged chicken, running circles around the studio.
"That's good," the photographer moaned. "Rough and dirty."
* * *
"Gus, you are Flabio's agent." Standing in the center of an otherwise vacant parking lot, the model barked into the receiver of his Blackberry as he leaned against the driver's side door of a cherry red, '84 Rabbit convertible. He struggled with the front of his pirate shirt, trying in vain to get button-less seams to magically seal over his fat belly. "Why you not return Flabio's calls?"
"I was busy with other clients," the disinterested voice slurred on the other end.
"Flabio is tired of crappy shoots!" As he thrust a fist into the air, the stitches of his shirtsleeve ripped open, revealing sagging triceps that wiggled like Jell-o. "He wants to be after man on Slimfast ad, not before!"
"Be happy you're getting paid," Gus groaned.
Flabio pursed his lips together and blew an exasperated breath, spittle flying from his mouth with the noise of his face fart. With an outstretched arm, he turned the receiver toward him as if the phone was Gus's head. "How Flabio can be real man pretending to be plumber or constipated?"
"Look," Gus echoed. "The romance industry isn't looking for men of your build."
Jutting his chin, Flabio puffed out his man-boobs while sucking in his gut. "Flabio have body of Atlas!"
For a moment, the receiver was silent, before a mixed sound of grumbling and cursing was heard on the other line. "Maybe if you lost a few pounds."
"How dare you!" He choked the little phone with both hands. "Flabio has bad thyroid."
"Face it!" Gus yelled. "You're just too fat for romance!"
"Fat? Flabio not fat! You fired!" Throwing the phone to the ground, Flabio repeatedly stomped on it.
After his rage had run its course, he scooped up the remnants of his phone while sobbing like a baby.
Jerking open the car door, he attempted to look angry while squeezing his large body into the compact front seat. "Flabio will show him," he growled while clutching the steering wheel with whitened knuckles. "Flabio will show all romance bastards! Think they can turn up their noses at Flabio!"
After several failed attempts, the car battery finally turned over and he tore out of the parking lot at a break-neck speed of five miles per hour. Ominous music slowly filtered in from the background as the Rabbit veered down a darkened alleyway. Though the car had become obscured in shadow, the reader could still hear Flabio's maddening, maniacal laugh, indicating that he was plotting something nefarious and foul, because every romance needs a villian, so the hero can save the girl and get laid.