Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Bulwer Lytton Submissions Due April 15th 

Be sure to get your bad writing in.

Here's mine.

"Touch my baby sister again, you two bit Romeo, and I'll kick you right where it hurts," she said testily.

Collaboration with E:

Even though he was well seasoned officer with over 20 years of experience, when Sgt. O’Riley arrived at the crime scene (forever to be known in crime annals as the Great Waffle House on Highway 105 Massacre) and saw all of the bodies scattered, smothered, diced and covered, he promptly chunked.

Sixteen post-modernist academics gathered around the table, on which some scones, jam and cream had been placed, just prior, by June, the tea-lady. There was a deadly silence. The sugar in the sugar bowl listened, afraid. The milk, in its cruet, quaked. The teaspoons did not rattle, although by any ordinary standards of fiction, they should have.

This is fiction?
When she thought about the past few hours, she remembered the way he grunted, groaned and snorted; the awful plaid of his skating shorts; just how delightful it was to smell him after he'd - singlehandedly! - scooted a piano up her steep Victorian stairs; but mainly her memory was noisome: with all that garlic he ate, she'd never have to worry about vampires again.
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