For your (and my) amusement, here are the top ten search engine terms used to find my blog:

1. “speedo mullet” - Finally knocked “Monkey Fuck Woman” down to third place!
2. “beach mullet”
3. “Monkey Fuck Woman”
4. “Monkey Fuck Lady”
5. “Fabio”
6. “book questionnaire”
7. “under her skin susan mallery”
8. “2009 wet indian sexy” – WTF???
9. “Romance Review” – Finally!
10. “Book Review”

It really makes me wonder what I blog about!

Back by popular demand – and because I added the Apture plug in and can now show clips directly on my blog –  here’s the one of Fabio being whacked by a goose. Note how he’s surrounded by girls in virginal white. See how he tosses his flowing tresses during the interview. And what’s with the red cape at the start of the clip? Is he channeling Superdude?

And now for the important questions in life: has Matthew McConaughey had hair implants?

Let me just preface this by saying how much I hate Matthew McConaughey. He’s sleazy and arrogant. I’m probably the only heterosexual woman in the world who would pay the guy to keep his darn shirt ON!

So I was just thrilled to discover this mugshot from 1999. Yep, that’s right. This picture was taken ten years ago. Check out the dude’s receding hairline:

And for a more recent photo of McConaughey and his Baby Momma:

So what happened to his hair, or lack thereof? Did he extend his strenuous daily workouts to include scalp exercises? And why is he wearing a shirt in the mugshot? I thought he had an allergy to fabric.

Do you find Matthew McConaughey sexy? Are there any other celebs who gross you out?

Because enquiring minds need to know…

Fabio Lanzoni – the famous romance cover model from the 90′s – was interviewed by Jay Rayner in The Observer last month. Here’s an extract:

There are a whole bunch of striking things to take in on meeting Fabio Lanzoni for the first time: the four huge Rottweilers that are likely to press their faces up against the window of your car as you arrive, a riot of sabre tooth and floppy pink tongue; the 200-odd motorbikes, and the shimmering, penila bonnets of the supercars parked out front of his ranch-style mansion; the hilltop aspect of the house itself.

But none is as mesmerising, as completely awe-inspiring, as Fabio’s tits. I had heard tell of them before, of course, had even studied photographs of them. They are practically on the Californian tourist trail. But nothing prepared me for the thrill of meeting them in person. They are monumental, as if two of the uprights from Stonehenge have been half-inched from the Wiltshire landscape and stuffed down the front of the gym-workout top he is wearing when he bounds down the curving drive to meet me. I swiftly become intrigued by how they move, how they stretch and shift, these two super-powered plates of prime male breast meat.

If he were a woman, of course, this would be a disgraceful admission. You can’t just stare at breasts like this. But with Fabio – like Madonna and Sting he is, to the American public, a man with only a first name – focusing on his chest seems entirely reasonable. Sure, there’s the breeze-block square jaw, and the glossy, sunlit curtain of shiny hair, and the tree-trunk arms. But it is that chest that defines him, that has propelled him through a career as broad as the distance between his nipples (sorry; I’m clearly obsessed). He has been a model, has graced the covers of thousands of romance novels and has even put his name to a few of them. He has run a fashion company, made headlines for scrapping with George Clooney and, famously, once killed a goose with just the bridge of his nose (it flew into him during the maiden voyage of a new rollercoaster he was endorsing. Could have happened to anyone).

But now he has reached a landmark. Fabio, a man entirely defined by his looks, is turning 50 and I’ve come out to his home, deep in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles to find out how he and his pectoral muscles are coping.

To read the whole interview, click here.

Fabio was in the news again a couple of weeks later for spectacularly crashing a borrowed Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorino, reportedly worth over $400,000.  Following the April 12^th crash, a representative for World Class Driving – the company which owns the vehicle – made the following statement:

“We are not very proud of the fact that Fabio wrecked our car.”

Dude, you don’t say.

Thank you so much to Katiebabs for giving me the laugh of the week with this book cover!  Is that thing sporting an Afro-Mullet? And is that a chest wig?  Oh, the horror!

Once I’d stopped peeing my pants, I got to thinking of all the truly heinous covers currently residing on my very own bookshelves. While they can’t possible compete with The Pussy Eater (what cover can?), here are a few amusing ones to cheer up your Monday morning.

Seriously, is the guy dead??? He looks kind of corpse-like to me. Shouldn’t she at least attempt CPR?

Check out the bumpy bulge.

Aargh! Wonderbra alert! And the original cover was really nice…

Oooh, it’s Fabio! Or should I say, Fellatio? This is the instep to Johanna Lindsey’s Keeper of the Heart.

Brave the Wild Wind, one of my favourite romances of all time.  Fabio & an unknown brunette getting down to business in sewage. Is she swooning in lust, or has she been overcome by the sulphur fumes?

More Fabio. Are his boobs bigger than hers?

And for those of you who want boobs like Fabio, here’s what you’ve got to do.

And upon request: here’s the link to a YouTube clip of the Fabulous Fabio getting attacked by a goose!

Hope you have a great week!