Chamblee54

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest 2015 Part Two

Posted in GSU photo archive, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on August 18, 2015

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Here is part two of the chamblee54 coverage of the 2015 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Number two might be more appropriate. Part one went up a few days ago. The explanation of what BLFC can be found at all three of those links. Pictures for this appalling waste of bandwidth are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.

Claire had more daddy issues than Boy’s Life magazine published in the late 1970s, but she was a perfect match for Donald, whose personality was vaguely sticky, like the outside of a squeezable honey container or anything handled by a three-year-old. — James Pokines, Boston, MA

Wilbur’s passionate kisses sent a warm shiver down Eugenia’s tender spine and made the coarse hair on her knuckles erect. — David Pepper, Torrance, CA

This is a story about love, but not just any kind of love like how you love the feeling of trading in a pair of soggy, old socks for fresh ones, or the taste of salty French fries dipped in a chocolate milkshake, I’m talking about the other kind of love. — Anna Sagstetter, Fort Wayne, IN

It was debatable what Felicity enjoyed most about the night – the delicious dinner, the marvelous movie, or the satisfying sex – but one thing was clear and that was that she hoped she wouldn’t be doing it alone again next time. — Randy Blanton, Murfreesboro, TN

Camilla was a strong, confident woman who ran a Fortune 500 company and made her own yogurt, but what she really longed for was a control-freak guy who would tap her phone, lock her in her room, and force her to listen to Gilbert Gottfried singing the national anthem.
Laura Ruth Loomis, Pittsburg, CA

Having eaten her fill of the town’s fils et filles, the French witch inspected her candy-encrusted house and decided she needed a grander lure to attract grander prey–perhaps she should build a homme depot. — Scott Britton, Boston, MA

Old Man Dracula forgot to put his teeth in one night, and so had to come home hungry, with a sort of “nothing dentured, nothing veined” look on his face.— Matthew Pfeifer Beaman IA

Spurs a-jangling, Black Bert sauntered to the bar and cried “this town ain’t big enough!”—then gulped a whisky, fingered his six-shooter, and belched—”so I say we annex Dry Gulch, thus increasing our tax base while simultaneously reducing fixed costs through economies of scale.”
Joel Phillips, West Trenton, NJ

“Pecos Mac” McCarthy index-fingered back the brim of his battered Stetson, squatted at the edge of the waterhole, cupped a handful of brackish water, squinted out over the shimmering alkali flats of the Badlands, and decided then and there that he had prit’ near had it with overwrought, hackneyed western imagery. — Joseph Pramuk, Napa, CA

Barnaby asked the counter girl for a pastrami sandwich on rye with heartbreak, onions, and ennui on it, wrapped to go in the soul of a sheep, to which she turned wearily and yelled, “Another number six!”— Jeff Coleburn, West Chester, PA

Stephanie did not intend to become an animal coroner when she went to veterinary school, but the workload was manageable and, for cats, she usually just had to check the “curiosity” box under “cause of death.”— Doug Purdy, Roseville, CA

Carlos stared in lust and amazement as she walked away, her spandex-covered body giving the impression of two well-oiled sumo wrestlers on stilts furiously going for the win.
Marlin Back, Columbus, IN

The Phylognites made love by intertwining their eyeball stalks, a most erotic sensation except occasionally when, due to inexperience or excessive ardor, their stalks became inextricably bound in what (unbeknownst to them) a species of obnoxious, quarrelsome little bipeds on an obscure planet circling a small star in the Milky Way might call a “bird’s nest.” — Wayne Carmichael, Tyler, TX

“You’re a dead man, O’ Flanagan,” said the mortuary supervisor to the corpse laid out before him, chuckling to himself at how comical that remark was, a sentiment not shared with the rest of the night shift who all secretly yearned for the day he retired, having heard the same joke on innumerable occasions with just the surname of the deceased changed. — Ted Downes, Cardiff, U.K.

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