Bad Writing Game--Win Some GOLD!

[deer of the dawn]

I'll do it. Deadline is Friday! Do your worst!!!!

[sgt.null]

I'll do it. Deadline is Friday! Do your worst!!!!

ummmm - you need to give us the rules... a scenerio, a theme, etc...

[deer of the dawn]

All righty then: the theme is Action Scenes!!

Rules:
Opening sentence or paragraph for a novel or story, as bad as you can do it. Post them here.
Every user can enter 2 separate entries, if they like
Contest ends 1 October
Prizes: 1000 tokens to the best worst entry

[Ananda]

"You'll never take me alive," Baby Luscious screamed as he raised his gun in the molassas thick air, his dark hair shining like so many strands of licorice waving together in some secret language that only candy store owners could know. As quickly as a malted milk ball melts in ones mouth, he took his aim at his mortal foe, Churl Waspish, and squeezed the trigger hard. Instantly, the atmosphere lit up red as if someone had taken several hundred raspberry flavoured hard candies strung together in a wall and shone a 1000 watt light through them from the muzzle of his gun. Churl dove for cover like an english fish fillet goes for vinegar, but it was too late, he was hit! A spray of crimson blasted from his vapourous form as if a bottle of chinese sweet and sour sauce had been hurled at a wall. As tentatively as a one runs a finger across the vanilla frosting of a red silk cake, Baby Luscious approached his fallen foe who was squirming on the ground, his rump in agony. Baby wanted to say so many things to the bitter man writhing beneath him, but he remained silent, savouring his sweet revenge for he had gotten him in the end.

[deer of the dawn]

That will be a tough act to follow, folks, Ananda is setting the bad bar very, very low!!!

[dANdeLION]

It was the best of times, it wasn't the worst of times. Actually, it was a pretty good time. As I pondered my good fortune, I heard a loud 'crack!', someone shouted out "duck, you fool!"', and I was knocked down to the ground. I looked up to see a scantily-clad blonde, about 5' 7", 115 pounds, gorgeous. Using my sultriest voice, I said 'huh?', to which she replied "Duck, duck! Didn't you hear the quack?" I said "oh! I thought it was a 'crack'" Anyway, I found a five dollar bill on the ground, what a great day!

[Ananda]

That was fun

[sgt.null]

the flyers

Vertical structures are used by others. And in fly the swift flyers. Chimneys have day flyers, in use of roosts. Found as they are, standing in flight. Mexican birds wing swift, however young. These flyers rise, flying in entirely new chimneys. Swift flyers are hollowed back. They find vertical copulating mosquitoes breeding. Chimneys are very special for the young. These hundred day pairs specialize in Chimneys. Their feet set as flyers, breeding on perches. Flying in private pairs to the mountains. To structures around. The young, historically, fly around. They are found united. Breeding pairs are swift even on their own. They cannot be swift and private. Chimneys are where they fly, for their homes are built for flights. In Mexico hundreds travel for survival. And flyers, unfortunately, are built for flying. They are almost always on their perches. Falling, they are now in chimneys used to raise them. Chimneys are where they are, together and breeding. Birds fly to the tower. Hundreds fall. But their structures are beneficial for survival. In the States you find them, winging vertical. In the Gulf they almost always fall. In towers around they breed. Swiftly they catch insects. In chimneys they find specialized mosquitoes. What cannot be found, they fly after. In hollow forests each relies on required specialized flight path. Others take wing, as a third build perches in winter chimneys. They are made for flyers in chimneys. And you unfortunately cannot find the flyers.

[deer of the dawn]

Ummm... Action Scenes, null. Not science articles in engrish.

[sgt.null]

Ummm... Action Scenes, null. Not science articles in engrish.

flying - they are all flying. verb is action.

[Vraith]

The funny feeling in his bones tickled him into action. He suddenly knew. The terrorist nitrous oxide bomb [that is, the bomb made from nitrous oxide that belonged to and was planted by the terrorists, not that nitrous oxide bomb were terrorists...the were just hysterical post-punk artists. Oh, they weren't suffering from hysteria, they just made people laugh at their music. Not AT exactly, the music was good. laugh because it was funny. In the good way] would ignite the night, sparking a Laugh Riot. Obeying the funny feeling [not the haha funny funny feeling, the something's wrong one], Jeremiah Cruze cruised the streets [driving up and down, not trying to pick them up] in his Jerry-rigged Police Cruiser [the kind of car, not something designed for cruising cops], not pussy-footing around in his search for Willow, and rounding the corner he came upon her in her usual spot. [of course not came upon in....well, lets just say he saw her. Umm...not with a saw, with his eyes. I mean, his eyes were sharp, naturally, but he didn't cut her with them. Although he might have if he could have...just that using his vision he spotted her [in the sense one means when looking for something and then seeing it, not in the sense of "applying spots to," nor in the sense of pointing her out as a target for snipers or artillery, though with the Laugh Riot coming [in the sense of "about to happen,"] that might have been a pretty good idea, if by pretty one means "fairly" or "reasonably likely to succeed" and not "pleasing to the aesthetic sense of attractive or erotic"...although considering Jeremiah's violent nature, erotic probably applies, as does attractive]]]

[sgt.null]

so is the contest closed for the week?

[deer of the dawn]

Sorry, I had no internet for a few days. I took great pleasure in all the entries, but Vraith's was definitely the most painfully funny to read. So the prize goes to him!! Congratulations, Your Badwritingness!!

[Ananda]

Congrats!

[Vraith]

Glad you liked it, DotD. I'm pondering what the next challenge should be...I'll get something up soon, and maybe bump the prize up for that extra frisson to encourage Sarge.

[Vraith]

OK, I think [hope?] I have a fun one here. Many [probably TOO many] books have a poem or excerpt from a poem before the start, or sections, or chapters.
So write your best worst intro-poem/excerpt, and 1 or 2 sentences of the book/section it introduces.
You may do parodies of actual ones, but quote the original please so I can judge fairly if I don't recognize it.
2 entries if you like.
I will award prizes for 1/3rd of entries...so only a first place if 3 entries, 1st and second if 6, etc.
Deadline next monday [the 10th].

[sgt.null]

sounds like fun!

[Ananda]

Vraith, you mean how Anne Rice will have a bit of a poem from her late husband before a chapter start? So, we write a poem or excerpt from a poem and a few sentence?

[Ananda]

Well, I just decided that this was probably it. I am doing a jobb that I hate this week, so any reason to take an afternoon break was welcome.

---


Chapter 15: The choosing

Moose in my apple garden
eat my fruits oh you knower of fruits
drink the drunk of your fullness
but beware the farmer and his cat
his cat's pet gun and his tamed knife
so full of life and laughter for blood
beware my moose of the drunken fields
beware my moose for apples are red
just as your blood is red

-translated from Inga Annika Ingasdotters Fate of drunken moose

Introspection poured from her like an exsanguination nozzle that has been clamped in place to spill the fluids of the recently deceased in the funerary parlour of her mind. The doll stood on the shelf with vacant eyes of blackened glass and considered her as all things with no consideration must do. People didn't pass by under her window on this night. The orchards were still as she took up the knife and considered her lack of meaning.

[deer of the dawn]

Nice, Ananda.

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

-- William Ernest Henley, Invictus

Captain Gaius Déstin stood at the helm, the salt breeze ruffling his tawny, wavy, shoulder length hair with good ends over his tanned and rugged shoulders that bulged with muscular manliness as he gripped the oaken wheel of the H.M.S. Invincible. His thick brows knotted over his hawk-like nose, his gaze like an eagle's from his amazing gray eyes, that were deep and gray as the wanton waves over which the Invincible plunged, rising and falling rhythmically with the surging swells, her prow thrusting into the parting ocean’s embrace, which rose and sighed like an ardent lover at his advance. Then he saw it: The highest wave of all, the breathless, passionate, mounting climax of the storm. His lips parted over sparkling, perfect teeth in a grimace of anticipation.
“Let it come!” he cried.