Bulwer Lytton Part Two

Posted in Library of Congress, Undogegorized, Writing Contest by chamblee54 on September 2, 2018

The good always wins out when you observe matters from a distance, gasped Detective Inspector Fred Pickle, dangling from a meathook in a disused Balham slaughterhouse, but it didn’t, really, not for him, nor yet for the guy on clean-up. John Holmes, St. Petersburg, FL

It was a dark and stormy night: the wind whistled like an old man with drugstore teeth trying to teach his grandkids to say, “She sells sea shells by the sea shore,” causing the little shavers to wonder why Peepaw was suddenly talking like Daffy Duck, whether he’d just had a stroke, and if any of them was in the will. Mark Schweizer, Tryon NC

Under a lurid dawn sun, the Usher Property was less baleful than it had been during the past evening’s abode-splitting weather event, and my practiced realtor’s eye – have I not mentioned my profession already? – recognized development potential once the tarn was drained and fissure remediated, perhaps to build an outlet of shopping at which consumers would dawdle, aghast at the scale of discount savings. Brian Brus, Oklahoma City, OK

Although widely despised by his own kind, Kazimir Kilcescu was a hero to a few uninhibited vampires who adopted his “baby talk and Ugg boots” method of victim selection which, when applied correctly, largely eliminated the blood-curdling screams that otherwise left them the choice between letting their swooning prey go scot-free or choking down two liters of curdled O-pos.
Drew Herman, Port Angeles, WA

The summer afternoon was so fierce, Italy pulled off its boot, to wiggle toes in the cool blue sea, as hot Contessa Ravioli slid off her pantyhose. Don Hansbrough, Seattle, WA

He was a bold man, thought Arial Calibri, the typesetter’s daughter, but he wouldn’t recognize a superscript if it was underlined, believed that “strikethrough” was a baseball term, thought italics were people from Italy, and that sans serif was a Caribbean island. Sara Hough, Blacksburg, VA

Even in the noisy gloom of the Oyster’s Pearl, the most frequented bar in town, Sergeant Pete Harrison spotted her the moment she walked in–the young, tall blonde in a tight red dress that clung to her the way those stringy bits stick to a banana after you peel it.
Sylvi Warshaver-Stein, New York, NY

Unlike the effete bun-coiffed duennas back at the English Department, she was just the kind of unassuming dame you liked to find holding down a stool and nursing a smoke at the end of the bar — no more likely to decline a drink than a noun, casual when it came to conjugation, and disposed to end a sentence with a proposition. G. Andrew Lundberg, Los Angeles, CA

Priscilla was a persnickety, perspicacious, and petulant old prude, with a parsimonious purse brought on by pernicious poverty, prone to pettiness, and with an air of pusillanimous if not precarious ways, all proving that the worst things in life are pure pride of place and a pretense of presumptuousness brought on by pouting at the people who preferred prune juice over pilsner.
Linda J. Ashmore, Lynnwood, WA

Pictures today are from The Library of Congress. Part one was published Friday.

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  1. Bulwer Lytton Part Three | Chamblee54 said, on September 4, 2018 at 5:54 am

    […] Phillip Davies, Cardiff, Wales Pictures are from The Library of Congress. Parts one and two are […]

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