What do you get when you cross a gremlin, a pizzeria, and a 1950s housewife in fishnets?
Apparently, you get Gremlin for a Groom, a book that dares to answer the question no one was asking: What if your grandfather’s stolen WWII fairy hammer led to a cursed cross-species marriage atop a mozzarella-stained flying carpet?
The Cover: Mid-Century Mayhem
The visual journey begins with our happy couple–if by “happy” we mean “deeply confused and in the process of slipping on a magic flatbread.” The woman, dressed like she just stepped out of a “Better Homes & Gardens” meatloaf spread, holds hands with Screwy, a gremlin(?) sporting goat hooves, a Bluetooth headset, and the dead-eyed stare of a man who just remembered he left the oven on.
They’re floating on what appears to be either a mid-air charcuterie board or a cursed calzone. The background evokes a Lisa Frank acid trip at an atomic-age diner. Sparkles? Check. Mutant paisleys? Double check.
The fonts are less of a design choice and more of a design argument. “Gremlin” is written like a Halloween-themed WordArt preset, “Groom!” comes from a kindergarten craft blog, and the author’s name floats quietly below, trying to distance itself from the crime scene.
The Plot, Allegedly:
Angelina, a pizzeria owner, inherits a “fairy mallet” from her grandfather—because obviously. Cue Screwy the Gremlin, who shows up furious, horny, and legally wed to her through obscure magical legislation. Together, they travel into the fairy realm, where marriage counseling consists of gelatin salads, vintage aprons, and probably emotionally manipulative leprechauns.
The book markets itself as a multi-pepper romance, which I assume refers both to spice levels and gastrointestinal effects from riding dairy-based magic rugs.
Final Verdict:
If you’ve ever dreamed of an erotic blend of The Jetsons, Jersey Shore, and The Brothers Grimm, this is your lucky day. For everyone else, this cover belongs in the Horrible Covers archives, right between Pierced and Passed Around and The Can Sack Ghost.
Because nothing says “epic romance” like a gremlin in Vans trying to seduce a housewife over a melted slice of fantasy dysfunction.