Tuesday, 20 August 2013

Bad cover art - Take 6


Look at this, smelling of fish and shit.  We assume he's going to attempt to clear that gap and to be honest, I hope the creature above is hungry enough to save the poor bastard the indignity of surviving the drop.
We've gone full circle (twice) and from this 'angle', the designer in question needs to be tortured.  Not just once, twice but instead, 'thrice'.
If it's not Jackie Chan, it's Bruce Lee.  If it's not Bruce Lee, it's Jackie Chan.  Hang a minute, who the fuck is this supposed to be?  Should the little shit here be embarrassed?  Not really, as it's not his fault...
I just wanna drink the night away, and I don't want a single bottle to stray.
Don't (hiccough) neck the fucking (hiccough) lot, leave some for me you greedy BITCH.  Ah fuck it, what do I care, I'm off to bed.
What's right, what's left, what's wrong, what's good, what the FUCK is going on?
We assume the distressed woman has suffered at the hands of that pint-sized freak which makes this situation all the more uncomfortable.
Everybody's got to love the bones off this design.  In its miserable defence, a B-Movie collection has the right to look awful, but come on, this fucking awful?
We need this like another World War.  Yes, this is indeed a nightmare, a truly horrifying debacle which sucks serenity, doubles delirium and exceeds the expectation of how attractive a loaded sawed-off can look...
Another day and another take on the now common zomcom.  While this equals standard bilge, it deserves a special close-up on an unintentional smile by a stock actress.  Okay, you can't really see the daft bint here but fear not, help is at hand.
See what I mean?  Who or what is she smiling at and more to the point, who's the asshole in the hat behind her?  I know, he was the perfect substitute for toilet roll.
I present the edge that you so yearn to be pushed over has just been brought a little bit closer.  I say old chap, lend me your Turkish helmet so a willing volunteer can butt me several times in the stomach.
Many hands make light work of any situation.  In this case, those hands smear bullshit with unbridled perversity.
Hey Charlie, give us a peek at those melons.  Sure Fred, what about you Len, do those raspberry ripples tickle your trousers?  Does a bear shit in your garden, this blanks out those tired and broken boobs back home.  Mickey decides to keep emotions under his hat until that private urge screams and shouts, and freaks us all out.
It's coming for you..!  It's out to kill you..!  It's out to destroy your soul..!
At the time of Street Fighter II mania, this sorry piece of maggot shit appeared every fucking where.  How the artist managed to secure the right to pollute is something we'll never know.
A broken down and clapped out robot with rheumatism rightfully cements its place of historical importance.  Any reaction other than complete horror and disgust deserves to have a closer look down the end of his rusty six shooter and perfect timing, the trigger is about to be squeezed.
I want the asshole responsible.  I crave to make him suffer, suffer, and suffer some more before I drain his lifeforce with a straw.  INSOLENT BASTARDS.
Three emotions, three dickheads and three expressions that one can't even begin to imagine and/or understand as to what they represent.  Yep, let's not bother or even guess because I don't want any accidents with gardening implements.
Awesome!  The guy is forever trapped within an emergency siren and I hope for his sake that the condemned did not suffer from agoraphobia.
I'm gonna get down, tonight.  I'm wanna make Jabbertalky a word to remember.  I intend to chat shit, tonight.  Jabbertalky will be repeated forever.
What's your name?  Jabbertalky.  Where do you live?  Jabbertalky.  Occupation?  Jabbertalky.  Turn ons?  Jabbertalky.  Is there a reason for answering Jabbertalky to every question?  Jabbertalky.  Do you want to die?  Jabbertalky.
No volcano could erupt enough expletives to even begin to describe this descent into depravity.  It's a fucking nightmare of catastrophic proportions and could Phalanx have a contender?  Shit, did I really say that?  Yes, I think I did.
Medusa will turn you to stone, whereas this will ruin your life.
This fantastically fanged spherical object is on a mission and there's no turning back.  I've no idea of its destination but as long as it's somewhere near hell, that's fine with me.
Careful there diet dodger, you may drop a chip, fizz your soda and wallow in the same sludge and corruption that the designer happily hallucinates. 
This pathetic mountain of goat droppings confirms that skipping a generation does not inspire quality or confidence.
This beastly brute and associate boy blunder prove these factors of imagination are more mature than the asshole who put pen to paper
Grrrrrr, roar and phwoar.  These fingerless gloves that sparkle and twinkle mean a feeble and improbable brick wall proves to be a mere inconvenience.  This selfish slurry persuaded Mr. Baseball Bat together with best mate Rusty Nail to cancel all their appointments.
This is littered with marks and is the perfect excuse to exclaim whatever type of horrific curse imaginable upon thee.
This dragon at least has a right idea by belching a trademark weapon but what does that mindless clothes shy bitch expect to achieve by firing an electrical stream into the heavens? Oi, the danger lies below, not above.  Oops, I'm glad it's too late. 
If he's zapping the designer, all is forgiven.  If not, drinking gallons of morphine may go some way to temporarily block out the pain of a blow torch and crowbar.
The will to live the life I love is literally lost.  With a cover like this, you know that life is bad. With an expression like that, you know that this is..... SHIT.  YEAH, YEAH, YEAH.
Michael beater?  Jason killer?  Slasher shit strewn from the most decrepit of herds wearing second hand incontinence nappies?  Confirmed.
Botics and bullshit didn't go hand in hand, until now.
The hand of elemental malevolence has been concealed for centuries but due to fatal curiosity, unspeakable evil is finally unleashed.
Raiders of the Lost Ark?  The Lament Configuration?  The Excrement Inherent Cuboid?  Without a solicitor, I couldn't possibly comment on such a merry bunch of bollocks.
What the fuck do you about this?  Could this have stole from what sorry solitude was seen earlier or is it the other way around?  Everybody clap your hands, reverse your shit and complete the routine.  Or if you want, why not heap praise on a trilogy of perverted parasites who are attempting to secure a threesome with festering females.

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