I’ve put in about a dozen entries this year. I’ve gotten acknowledgements for all but the last two. It might be that entries are pouring in as the deadline approaches.
The words poured from Nancy, her fingers flying over the keyboard, line after line of purple and thrilling prose appearing on the screen and causing her excitement to rise to a fever pitch during which time she briefly considered hitting the “save” icon but decided not to as it it would have stopped the flow of prolix and hilarious witticisms and then, just as she reached the climax of her Bulwer-Lytton entry, the computer made a sorta funny little hissing noise followed by a clunking sound and the screen went blank and Nancy, with a sob of dismay, fell forward in despair realizing that the bloody thing had crashed again.
No, I’m sorry, Jim me boyo, that’s a very good opening line, in a Vonnegut-esque way.
I’ve cooked up another batch. Come and get 'em!
The sun flashed dramatically over Commander Smith’s shoulder, who wondered idly, as he stepped out onto the ruddy soil at the base of the spectacularly tall Olympus Mons, thus becoming the first human to set foot on Mars, whether he had properly filed his taxes.
Once upon a time, in a land of wretched villains and valiant yet somewhat inept heroes, of unspeakable horrors oft sung about by shabby minstrels in seedy taverns, of beauty so searing as to cook a 12 oz. porterhouse to perfection, there lived an old man of no particular note who died peacefully in his sleep.
Just sent in these 4. What do you fine folks think?
As Tex lay dying of extreme peritonitis in the warm Wyoming sun his thoughts turned to the idea, and how bad it had been, to allow himself to both become romantically attracted to his horse, and to allow it to be the top in their brief and ultimately fatal love affair.
The starship traveled on at close to light speed, it’s sensors scanning ahead and behind to look for any threat to it’s crews safety, unaware that that same crew was smeared across the bulkheads like so much multi-colored jam due to both poor planning and a cheaply purchased inertial dampener.
The prime ministers regrets at signing legislation banning trans-fats were, oddly, more troubling to him at this last moment, than the chain of decisions that has culminated in the rosy false dawn of nuclear bombs going off around him, permanently searing his forlorn outline into the concrete of his government issue bomb shelter
Steve work up early, as he always did, and stumbled to the bathroom, as usual, flipping the light on and assuming his traditional position in front of the stained and bemildewed porcelain toilet before his nerves woke him much more abruptly than usual due to the urine trickling down his leg from his new and unexpected vagina.
The “new and unexpected vagina” one is hilarious
It is funny on **so many ** levels, not least of which is the level that betrays a bewildering and almost touching ignorance of the female anatomy! :dubious:
Here’s mine. I spraining something composing it, though.
Lydia looked up. Far and deep into the cobalt burning sky, she gazed deeply, her immature countenance peering piercingly up, up, up, dreaming of a far distant future, a place somewhere in the fullness of time, where possibly, just maybe, it could happen that, one might hope, she could attain her fondest, most delicious dream: redolent of the most ultimately abjured pining of youthful desire, squeezing upwards in a persistently present and pertinent plume of pungent desire, surging skyward, high into the cobalt burning sky, her innermost wish soared into the firmament; oh, that she could fly.
Oh, dear Og, I made another. Sorry:
"Jesus wept." That phrase never really meant much to Rex, until he realized with a shock that he himself had wept–once or twice or thrice since his life had burgeoned into manhood–especially since that bully stole his shiny new toy race car. Then he pouted.
Knorf, the entries have to be all one horrible sentence. Maybe replace the periods with semicolons?
Oops! I R teh nub.
Here are revisions, herewith submitted unto ridicule:
Lydia looked up: far and deep into the cobalt burning sky, she gazed deeply, her immature countenance peering piercingly up, up, up, dreaming of a far distant future, a place somewhere in the fullness of time, where possibly, just maybe, it could happen that, one might hope, she could attain her fondest, most delicious dream: redolent of the most ultimately abjured pining of youthful desire, squeezing upwards in a persistently present and pertinent plume of pungent desire, surging skyward, high into the cobalt burning sky, her innermost wish soared into the firmament; oh, that she could fly.
"Jesus wept": that phrase never really meant much to Rex, until he realized with a shock that he himself had wept–once or twice or thrice since his life had burgeoned into manhood–especially since that bully stole his shiny new toy race car, whereupon he pouted.
I’ve received cheeky, insolent acknowledgments for all of mine so far. Good to know they keep in the spirit of the thing.
I’ve now received two of three. He’s working backward through the vast midden heap of submissions.
In my defense, it’s SUPPOSED to be horrible. I’m going for subtle?
That, and from most mens’ viewpoint, it all pretty much comes out of the same place (roughly). Unless they’re dopers. We know better.
I do personally appreciate these fine awful sentences myself, but I will pass along a piece of advice from a friend who gave me feedback on some of my entries.
The sentence I wrote that brought this feedback about regarded “entering bowels” – that is, the bowels of a cave.
Please note that this is not any form of official advice from the contest people, but I found it fundamentally sensible and modified my sentence to avoid any suggestion that the main character was entering someone’s bowels.
But for the life of me, I can’t think of any way you can really modify either of these to chill out a conservative newpaper editor. And whether you win with these or not, I’m certainly gateful that you shared them with us. 
I’ve come up with another entry, and another formula – an alphabetic order sentence.
**A blond Cockney dude, ever funky, got held in jail kinda long, many nights, over
personal quirks related somehow to Uncle Vanya’s wonky xylophonic yellow zither. **
I’ve received an acknowledgment, too, but it wasn’t cheeky or insolent. I think.
Either he really liked it, or I’ve been massively whoooooooshed.
Guess I’ll have to come up with some more, but I tell you, it is very, very hard to write badly when your life’s work is to write well.
At least yours was moderately friendly.
I’ve received both those acknowledgements, word for word.
snaps fingers It’s probably randomly assigned, too. So much for the moment of … you can’t really call that glory, can you?