Chamblee54

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest 2017 Part Two

Posted in Uncategorized by chamblee54 on August 10, 2017


Here is part two of the chamblee54 2017 coverage of The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. This is an annual contest celebrating bad writing. Part one was published on tuesday. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”. These images are from “… a collection of images of downtown Atlanta streets that were taken before the viaduct construction of 1927 – 1929. Later, some of the covered streets became part of Underground Atlanta.”

Fifteen mute commuters, jammed together in anxious anticipation of release, like expectant spermatozoa suddenly thwarted by an elevator suspended in its shaft, its cables soot-slicked, tense, and tired, yet no one stirred until Fern realized the last sound she might ever know was the Muzak thrum of Manilow’s greatest hits, and she snapped. — Julie Gautreau, Knoxville, Tennessee

Legs apart and hands on hips, Winston stood triumphant as the gel-bonded strands of a thinning comb-over danced in the wind like an arachnid doing the Hokey Pokey. — Peter M., Tianjin, China

Having just celebrated the union of nuptial bliss with my dearest Viola not six hours before in the lush, green, verdant gardens at Saint Benedict’s Cathedral, I watched the rise and swell of her white, wedding-dress-clad chest as she lay inert—still looking like an unconscious angel descended from the heavenly firmament, even while clutching an empty bottle of Thunderbird, and passed out behind the trash bin of our local liquor store, where our story begins. — Edward Covolo, Menlo Park, California

Rock Hanson, his huge fists bunched and ready for action, stared balefully at the Good Humor man who had let his girlfriend Jannette board the van to ring his bells.
Edward Buhrer, Camden, New Jersey

Dean had everything she’d dreamed the perfect boy would have: hair as soft as a baby bunny’s, dimples like the marks you could make pressing your thumb into unbaked cookie dough, eyes as beautiful as a thousand Thomas Kinkade paintings, and the smile of the male lead in an early Olsen-twins comedy, plus he smelled pretty good, too. — Sarah Cannavo, Maple Shade, New Jersey

As he was carried from the triclinium past the vomitorium to the privy and stared down the abyss rank with fumes from the legendary Cloaca Maxima, Sponge Bob instantly regretted his wish to time travel to Ancient Rome, for the collective sponge was to them what a used Sears catalogue would become for our more recent forebears. — Edward Mulholland, Atchison, Kansas

Lois was essentially a tragic case, with her penchant for duck-hunting gamekeepers who inevitably departed with a feather in their cap, whilst she was left feeling down and picking up the bill.
Anita Bowden, Manchester, England

The complex, nefarious plan hatched by the MacDougall family of Pine Woods (family motto: Auld Lang Pine), was best summed up by Jones as, “A cunning plan hatched by a punning clan.”
Sarita Hough, Blacksburg, Virginia

Regrettably it was neither a dark nor stormy night, and as Jennifer Perkins tried to bury her husband’s bleeding body she was only too aware that the full moon and listless night air was making her clandestine movements very visible from both the A303 highway and the chicken farm less than 200m away. — Martin Barrett, Arrowtown, New Zealand

All the signs were there beginning with the long black dresses, the shoulder-length straight hair, the ridiculously tall pointed hat, and the sixty-three-hundred- dollar plastic surgery bill for lengthening her nose and adding a wart, but, until she sold the Mercedes and placed a broom on the floor on her side of the garage, Daren just hadn’t put it together. — Tom McGowan, Zephyr Cove, Nevada

Margie’s disappointment was acute Tuesday morning when she read the sign scotch-taped to the window that said the taxidermist was closed for the month of August because she had a cooler full of squirrel carcasses in the back of the Mercedes and she was running out of ice.
Dorothy Harbeck, Fair Haven, New Jersey

During sex, Carl, the adult son of a funeral home director, always insisted that his wife lie motionless with eyes closed, and while this always brought back memories of his teenage years, Carl still wished that Yankee Candles made a scent that smelled like embalming fluid.
Randy Blanton, Murfreesboro, Tennessee

Phoebe, age 15, very much regretted not having a little sister or brother, but reflecting on the embarrassing moment of earlier that morning when she had walked into her parent’s bedroom at a most inopportune time, she thought Ben Franklin’s list woefully incomplete, for there most certainly were things, besides laws and sausages, that you might like, but you definitely did not want to see being made. — Herbert Krimmel, Los Angeles, California

She walked into my office and brayed, “I want you to put a tail on my husband.”
Steve Lynch, Tuscon, Arizona

The warehouse was completely empty except for the mutilated corpse wearing a tuxedo covered with bloodstains, and a Mortimer Snerd dummy lying nearby on the floor, and Detective McIntosh knew Snerd wouldn’t talk. — Doug Purdy, Roseville, California

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