Skip to comments.Roaring sea tale takes worst writing honors
Posted on 06/30/2009 6:49:55 AM PDT by JoeProBono
SAN JOSE, Calif. - A shambling sentence about sea fellows who bellow took top honors in an annual contest celebrating bad writing. David McKenzie, a 55-year-old Washington man, won grand prize in San Jose State University's 27th Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest with this:
"Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin' off Nantucket Sound from the nor' east and the dogs are howlin' for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the "Ellie May," a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin' and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests."
I’ll never win because I like dots.....so long sentences look short....but I’ve never lost a thought....because it’s buried somewhere between the dots...and takes a little bit of deciphering....but you get the point.
Now that one is indeed deserving of honors!
It occurs to me that some members of FR should submit their musings, as posted here, to this contest.
I’m convinced that if there is a prose category, some of Obama’s speeches could win. All his speeches seem to belike this: “The claim that, somehow, the requirements of national security are somehow inconsistent with our ideals is, in my view, a false dicotomy that reflects the worn out thinking of bygone eras”
Why don’t these awards go to news media “journalists”?
The worst writing I’ve ever seen comes from those “experts”!
There she stood, in the doorway, wallowing in self pity like a hog often wallows in mud, while I sat on my new blue couch, unmoved, serene on the cushions with their reversible covers, when the thought came to me that if our positions were reversed, much like those cushions, I would be standing in the doorway while she sat on the couch.
parsy, who is still sleepy
and it reminded him of the time he'd covered his car's check engine light with black electrical tape, but a faint orange glow still shone around the edges.
And sometimes I fall of my chair.
01110011 01100001 01111001 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101001 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101 00101110
Not that looks ever really matter but Rochelle LaTwinia Erb was quite possibly the second most beautiful woman in Bend Specificity— one of those splendid, whimsical, paradises found in old South Dakota within shouting distance and a half of that old stony visage mountain titled Rushmore—; however, the express reserve title of most beautiful woman in Bend Specificity was, without serious doubt, the cigar chomping former Master Sargeant of the 21st Infantry Regiment of the 31st Battalion of the 7th Army, Ms. Mac Beater, retired....
As the King of Pop, defiantly shot his left, gold lame’d gloved hand into the air, and with his right hand grabbed his crotch and pulled downward with a sharp tug, naturally the pitch of his singing voice shot upward, and the thought came to him that these sudden jolts of pain he experienced could be alleviated with a good, potent shot of Demarol, so that he could have his cake and eat it, too.
parsy, who is nodding
“Hot throbbing member” bump...
“The night was sultry.”
“The night was sultry.”
Dot’s all write.
We get both of your points two.
It was a dark and stormy night, because, well, it was night and that is usually dark, in fact, most of the time, unless you are in the Arctic in midsummer, it is dark at night, in which case dark is the operative word for the night; and as for stormy, yes the weather patterns over the city, predicted by weathermen who are not normally accurate, but in this case extremely so, indicated that this would be one of the stormiest nights on record, so in fact it WAS a dark and story night.
That’s some more shabby ritin
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