If Rachel Gibson Can Do It, I Can Too!

I have in my possession a cache of novels by a romance author named Rachel Gibson. Her works mainly deal with a group of players for a fictional NHL team called the Seattle Chinooks. The writing is pretty terrible, as evidenced by this winning passage:

If not for a leg cramp, Chelsea would have had sex with Mark. Right there on top of the granite island. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about that. He hadn’t been the only one to lose his mind that afternoon in his kitchen. And just like there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would have done him, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that it would have been good.

Real good.

Scream at the top of her lungs, rock the gates of heaven, and beg him not to stop, good.

Nothing But Trouble, pg. 260

The main male characters are always rugged and manly, and have a dark past. The female characters are always perky, sexy and unable to resist the main male characters. Which I guess is the point.

The male and female leads hook up after pages and pages of will-they/won’t-they, and vow to have no-strings-attached sex. Of course, they fall in love because the sex is just so awesome or whatever. (In one of the books, the female lead was hired to be the main male’s caretaker. I guess caretaking includes taking care of the male lead’s penis. Who knew?)

Gibson also has this habit of namedropping real hockey players into her novels for . . . I don’t even know. A sense of verisimilitude? Usually, it comes off as completely random, like the Sidney Crosby mention she snuck into True Love and Other Disasters. It went something like Sid the Kid was 22 with a 13-year-old’s beard. The hunky male lead then called him “Cindy”. Brilliant writing there.

To be fair, though, she’s not as bad as Danielle Steele, whose books read more like summaries or story outlines than proper novels. Ahem.

Anyway. I got to thinking . . . I have some writing skill. What if I applied Rachel Gibson’s never-fail instabestseller formula to baseball? Who doesn’t want to read about a baseball player hooking up with a perky, adorable, sexy female character?

But instead of merely namedropping professional baseball players, why not make them the hunky male leads? HA HA, RACHEL GIBSON. I ONEUPPED YOU THERE.

Without further ado . . . I don’t even know what to call this.

Rated D for D-U-M-B. Do not read if you have a history of heart problems or a tenuous grasp on your sanity. This will shatter your soul.

Also, bad semi-porn.

Chastity-Heaven ran her hands over A-Rod’s glistening pecs, which he had kindly oiled up for her beforehand. “Oh my God, your pecs are amazing,” she exclaimed, stroking his chest. “Get in me now.”

A-Rod tossed her on his bed and pounced on top of her, all while ripping the bodice of her flimsy nightgown open with his teeth somehow. Do not question it; he is a man of many talents. “Your wish is my command, baby,” he said, as he let his big manly hands roam her trembling form.

“Oh, please, please,” Chastity-Heaven gasped underneath him, tossing her silky blonde tresses to and fro on her pillow. “Make love to me.”

A-Rod pushed up her nightgown and unzipped his pants to reveal his rock-hard member. “Touch my rock-hard member,” he said, breathily.

“What is it a member of,” Chastity-Heaven asked.

“Me, but it’s going to be a member of your pussy shortly.”

Chastity-Heaven quivered with joy and let out a rapturous sigh.

And then I had to stop before I gouged out my own eyeballs with my fingernails. You’re welcome.

I’m thinking of making Rachel Gibson’s books this blog’s mascot. I mean, Samara has Ugie and the Spazzosaurus. I have . . . terrible romance novels.

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