Bad writing is everywhere. Almost all of is unintentional. Lack of talent or language mastery seems to be the common causes. Sometimes though, we can’t help ourselves. That’s where the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest makes an entrance.
When you can’t resist the siren song of plunging into the depths of mediocrity, go bad. I mean REALLY bad.
Here’s what I’ve been working on for an Xmas party challenge and to submit to the contest:
(You may want to save these to read on a dark and stormy night)
The Top, er, Bottom 10 by Glen
1. Her pulchritude and my total studliness fanned the flames of romance on Tinder and when we met, the beauteous arsonist seated across from me lit a five-alarm fire in my heart.
2. “Kelp me!,” he exclaimed before we dumped a wheelbarrow’s worth of seaweed on him, but little did we know the man suffered from both a lisp and allergies to salt water flora.
3. After quaffing gin repeatedly the night before, my tongue felt like a piece of felt left in the blazing sun of the Sonoran Desert that a rattlesnake had felt OK to shit upon.
4. While the trapeze artists swung above us in pendular motion, much like a pendulum, the ringmaster gesticulated his arms in a grand gesture and then pointed to a funny clown he called “Fun Pants” who was actually sans pants and we saw his, how can I put this, “fun parts.”
5. The scary monster slowly paced inch by inch to the crippled paraplegic woman who retreated inch by inch in her creaky, squeeky and decrepit wheelchair.
6. It was a case of mistaken identity, like when someone thinks you’re someone else, if you catch my drift.
7. “I’m totally lit AF,” he intoned as his manicured coiffure caught fire and he danced away: “It’s all good!”
8. On a gray day outside the Toucan Club, the grizzled jazz musician dropped his maroon saxophone case and fished vigorously in his brown overcoat pocket for a silver needle and black tar heroin, but instead came up with a wad of S&H Green Stamps which gave him the blues.
9. This was the day that I learned the basic fundamentals of living a life irregardless of redundantly repeated events presented before me.
10. To win the hand of Andromeda, the girl, not the galaxy, Perseus, who was actually a fisherman by trade, had to cut off and decapitate Medusa’s snake-covered head and present it to the gods who would probably totally dig it.
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