In the world where Twilight‘s Bella Swan grew up to be a world-renowned research scientist that cured cancer, this book’s main character Myrna would be believable.



Upon meeting a group of famous yet strangely lonely and bodyguard-less rock stars, which would you choose?

One of these…

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…or this?

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Oh, yeah.

And that is truly just the very beginning.

The upside is that this book starts with a lot of sex. Unlike other novels I’ve read, I think this writer has actually gotten frisky on more than one occasion. It’s crude (cock goes here, pussy twitches there) but I can downshift my mind to caveman mode if necessary. The devil is in the details.

With apparently the pick of the litter, Myrna elects to take Puke Boy to her room for the night. Twenty-four hours later, she’s ramming her finger up his backdoor without consent, calling it “making love”, and he’s proposing marriage.

Whatever. It’s a fantasy, right?

I could even buy that, with a few shots of whiskey to help the make-believe go down.

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But there are too many other moronic elements that cannot be ignored.

Corruption of the Bro Code: A consistent theme is that the band doesn’t trust one another. The leader singer has poached several serious girlfriends from Brian, a.k.a Puke Boy. If this were really happening, there would be no band. Boys in bands are like brothers. There is a deep and abiding “don’t shit where you eat” rule. Fraternities, families, and even the Mob follow this very simple code of conduct.

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Entitlement: Within twenty-four hours of knocking boots with Puke Boy, Myrna is bossy enough to a) walk around the band’s suite butt naked; b) masturbate in front of the drummer; c) participate in a threesome; d) ram her finger up someone else’s rectum; e) call their fucking “making love”; f) consider marriage; g) demand all the other band boys leave the room so she and Be-Rye can fuck in the kitchen; and oh so much more.

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Any woman, any woman in the world who acted like that, from Heather Locklear when she was banging Tommy Lee down to one of Andrew Kiedis’ hot underage teenage girlfriends would get tossed out the door…and hear it locked behind her.

Bro-Man Ego Blow Jobs: As if the thick exposition about Puke Boy’s perfect ass, perfect riffs, perfect fingers, perfect cock, perfect abs aren’t enough, there are weird and awkward compliments from his band mates praising Puke Boy’s awesomeness.  Actual quotes: “Bryan is such a stud.” “Wow, Bryan is hot, Be-rye gets all the good pussy.”

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Men don’t say this. They DON’T.

And what kind of bargain basement losers are these musicians that there are NO other women but Myrna of the thousand-year old name wandering around this hotel suite? I know a band named Systematic that still gets tons of groupie sex thirteen years after they broke up. In their heyday, they waded hip-deep through women and picked three each.

I  know. I used to be one of them.

Myrna is supposedly 35 and Puke Boy is 28. However, this story reads more like she’s 17 and he’s 14. So if you’re fond of crude cum-too-soon teen sex, you’re going to love Backstage Pass.

Otherwise, just take a pass and pick something better.