McAnally's (The Community Pub) > Author Craft

Show the Best of your Worst Writing

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Josh:
As blgarver suggested, this can be a spot where you can show off your most ludicrous, overcooked writing samples in the tradition of the Bulwer-Lytton contest. The samples are supposed to be parodies that represent the opening sentences of an imaginary novel.

I'm afraid there's no prize for this, except for, perhaps, a paper bag to put over your head to hide from the shame of such awful writing. Though if anyone wants to offer up a prize, go for it.

Have fun!

blgarver:
Yay!  Okay, I'll go first.

******************

It was fall, and my road led to Beaver.
The city of Beaver, that is, for the Celebratory Festival of Plentitude.  I traveled alone in the failing daylight, whistling a mighty tune I’d created during a bath several days before.  I planned to play the song at the Beaver Festival, if I had it finished in time. 
Though it was cool, I wore only my white shirt that billowed in the scenty autumn breeze, and my pair of green leather pants that accentuated the bulge of my package.  I was to deliver my package to a maiden with a big, pure heart and with ample chest to accommodate it.
In my travels, I’d given it to many a fair, pure maiden, all angels out of heaven.  Indeed, I remember every one, though I have lost exact count and have forgotten all their names.  They were all lovely, but none were able to handle my package.
So I continued my quest, spreading good cheer and STDs all along the way.  Yes, my soothing and tranquil diddies are well known in the tri-kingdom area.  I was born with gifted fingers, and until I was ten I used them to invade the private areas of ladies all over town.  But it seemed Fate had a higher purpose for my talent, something bigger than pilfering the wardrobes of rich women.  A decade after my birth I stopped snatching purses and picked up the lute.

**************************

BLG

Dikaion:
This topic and this contest have intrigued me... I find I must contribute:

______

She scuttled across the heavy shag carpet, procuring a scathing rug burn along her knees and palms, snagging one of her lime green Minolo Blahnik sandals on the foot of the too-ornate iron-wrought coffee table, abandoning her pink Prada purse to gain precious speed, and finally tipping face first into the sea of rust-colored shag, humiliation apparent in her tomato-red complexion, her lipstick smudged, her long strawberry blonde hair tangled but still glossy and full. 
______

That was a lot harder than I thought it'd be.

Josh:
Well, I guess I should add to my own non-contest contest.

--------------Begin Awful Writing

His skin stretched over his face so tightly that he looked like a newly risen vampire about to launch into the night on bat wings in search of fair maidens upon which he might cast his mesmeric gaze before plunging elongated canines into their quivering, pale skin, causing much heavings of bosoms and eyes rolled back in ecstasy, because really, how could someone as cadaverously ugly as him get anywhere near a fair maiden without hypnotic powers in the first place?

--------------End Awful Writing

I hope it's a good sign that writing this made it feel like gears were grinding in my head. I expected smoke to come out of my nostrils at one point.

blgarver:
Can we post more than one horrid piece?  Cause this is just too much fun.

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