Original Bad Prose or Stories!

[*Anya*]

SoNotHer and I enjoyed the Bad Bar Lines so much, we talked about starting a thread with our own, original prose or stories.

It can be a take off on Bad Hemingway or Dark and Stormy night or whatever you would like. My first attempt is very, very bad and I hope you enjoy it!

[*Anya*]

It was a dark and stormy night...the wind blew cold and then it blew as hot as a sandstorm across the desert in Morocco or the hot breath of her former lover that always seemed to smell as though she bathed in a vat of onions.

She didn't know if she should put on a heavier coat or take off her dress. It was very confusing to her and it did not take too much to trouble her mind or to wrinkle her brow...though having just had her latest series of Botox injections; it was not exactly a brow wrinkle.

She almost looked as she did the one time a rabid bat flew into her tiny, one-room apartment and startled her so much that she dropped a pot of spaghetti sauce and it appeared just like it was fresh, dripping blood splashed up to the ceiling on her yellowed, kitchen wall, right next to the stove, heavy with grease that she never washed off because grease made her sick.

Her BFF told her what had happened to her when the unlicensed plastic surgeon injected her with Botox. It appeared he *"Spocked" her! She shrugged off that thought because thinking about it upset her and upsetting thoughts would only beget more wrinkles. It was a vicious circle really and a circle of hell as vivid to her as Dante's 7th.

She decided she would take off her dress to cool off. It was a lovely shade of purple that she had bought at a thrift shop because it had a wide, black leather belt that went perfectly with her red patent leather tennis shoes that she picked out because they helped her sprint like a tornado when she last ran with the bulls on a trip to Spain the summer her father married for the 3rd time.

Much better she thought. I am now comfortable. Her smooth and untroubled forehead, though relaxed from the injections, smoothed out further and life was good.

*” As in brows that go up at the ends like Spock.

[SoNotHer]

OMG

This is laugh out loud stuff, A/G!

I love it and the gauntlet has indeed been thrown down.

Time to get cooking....

:canoworms:

[SoNotHer]

Beulah had long suffered the fact that her attempts to capture the coveted “Perfect Peaks” award for the 'gazooms that garnered the longest and most genuine gawking' were for naught, especially when Tussy LaMare was in the running and threatening to fire candy corn from a whirly gig mounted to her devils dumplings, if she lost. Nevertheless and consequently, her sense of good sportsmanship challenged to its absolute limit, Beulah decided that this year, “Second Best Breasts” was simply not good enough.[/SIZE]

[*Anya*]

Beulah had long suffered the fact that her attempts to capture the coveted “Perfect Peaks” award for the 'gazooms that garnered the longest and most genuine gawking' were for naught, especially when Tussy LaMare was in the running and threatening to fire candy corn from a whirly gig mounted to her devils dumplings, if she lost. Nevertheless and consequently, her sense of good sportsmanship challenged to its absolute limit, Beulah decided that this year, “Second Best Breasts” was simply not good enough.[/SIZE]

Oh my sister! LOL:):)

OK, I will work on a shortie, a one paragraph one but doubt I can top yours for a sheer, sheer wonderful use of words and turn of phrase!

But, I will try!

[SoNotHer]

Eagerly awaiting the next entry, A/G :hangloose:

Laissez les mal mots rollez!

[Elijah]

*snickers @ devils dumplings


Beulah had long suffered the fact that her attempts to capture the coveted “Perfect Peaks” award for the 'gazooms that garnered the longest and most genuine gawking' were for naught, especially when Tussy LaMare was in the running and threatening to fire candy corn from a whirly gig mounted to her devils dumplings, if she lost. Nevertheless and consequently, her sense of good sportsmanship challenged to its absolute limit, Beulah decided that this year, “Second Best Breasts” was simply not good enough.[/SIZE]

[Cin]

Not sure exactly what works in here but I think this fits the bill for very bad prose:

I had been waiting for this moment for all eternity and would have waited for a thousand forevers if it came to that and consider myself fortunate for the speed of it all and now that it was here I planned to slow down time and make it last that eternity that I had waited so patiently for and as my sword of plenty entered her vacuum of need I wondered just how long forever could be.

[Truly Scrumptious]

I actually entered the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest (the yearly challenge to compose the opening sentence of the worst of all possible novels) twice:

“Say you’ll marry me”, pleaded the furnace repair man as he gazed down at Big Thelma who beamed up at him from bended knees, silently thanking her lucky stars that she’d forgotten to put her teeth in.

“That’s life” she said to everyone in general and no one in particular as she sucked back the last of her bourbon & branch and thoughtfully twirled a strand of her moustache through her fingers.

[*Anya*]

She loved her eyes, though one was blue and other, a shade of Harlequin green that at one angle almost appeared yellow, so she always tried to remember to turn her head to the right when people looked at her, so then that eye did appear more green but it hurt her neck to always tilt her head at an 80 degree angle and it was still a problem because people never quite knew if they should look into her green eye or her blue, so instead they tried to look at her nose but since it had been fractured and never properly set, her nose tilted to the left and it was so confusing, people would turn around and walk away, rather than have to deal with such a vexing situation.

[Truly Scrumptious]

Her lower lip quivered and her creamy bosom heaved in time with her hopes as they rose and fell while she waited delicately perched on the edge of what could be a dream but might break her heart depending on whether or not she heard the words “will you accept this rose?”

[Cin]

I Wanna Write Bad Things With You.

Some might say it had ended before it began. That it never had a chance. That it went sour like bad wine. You might think the bad taste in my mouth would have stopped me. But it didn’t. I could never read the writing on the wall, being illiterate and all. Maybe if I had learned to read; or maybe if I had been more interested in wine tasting lessons. If I was just a little smarter, I could have understood an end when I saw one. Maybe when you slashed my tires it should have ended. But instead I just bought more tires. Maybe when you shot my dog I could have stopped it then. But I didn’t. I cleaned up the mess and buried my pooch, my tears washing away the blood and dirt from my face. Maybe that should have been the end. Well it was for Rover. But I was always the dumber animal between the two of us. Maybe when you ran me down with your car that should have ended it. But I always hated to read things into stuff, especially since I can’t read. And after all I am prone to over analyzing. I was still trying to figure out what you were trying to tell me when you jumped off that building smashing yourself to a bloody pulp against the concrete below. Perhaps if you hadn’t ended it, I could have figured out what you were trying to say.

[Truly Scrumptious]

He liked to call her his little bunny, because she was small and very soft, but also called her “honey bunny” or sometimes “bunny face” because of the way her nose crinkled when she was struggling with a decision about something important like chocolate or vanilla, or sometimes “bunny wabbit” when he was feeling particularly tender and which, quite frankly, she adored. She called him Sam because that was his name and because she wanted to be the only one with cute nicknames and also because she just wasn’t that creative and couldn’t come up with anything other than “honey Sam” or “Sam face” or “Sam wabbit”, which just didn’t sound right to her.

[WomenMoveMe]

As he sat there, listening to her voice, screeching at him, he wondered why exactly it was he could hear her? Surely this was a voice intended only for canines! He looked around the small kitchen as she railed on and on about the new Walmart and what a blessing from heaven it truly was.

He began to daydream about the different ways he could stifle that Godawful voice. For a quick moment he thought of just doing her in with the cast iron skillet, but he was hungry and did not want to waste the perfectly good meal that lay therein. He considered sticking her head in the electric can-opener and letting that thing take a spin or two. Yeah, the can-opener! That was the way to go! Nah, while he thought it great fun to imagine, he couldn't kill her. Who would make his dinner? Who would make sure he wore clean, mended clothes? Who would feed the animals, the children, the endless procession of Jesus people that came a-prayin' most every day? Besides, he was a lazy man lacking in the motivation to brush his teeth, much less make the effort it would take to put a hurtin' on her.

He sat looking at the woman who had cared for him for 35 years, trying to tune out the shrieking instrument that was her voice. Finally it dawned on him, it was so easy he was surprised he had not thought of it long ago. Taking a brussel sprout in each hand he shoved them in to his ears. Silence!! It was glorious silence. It was then he, the man who would not deign to move were a train racing toward him, slowly rose from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. He picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the grocery list.....busal poots lauts uv busal poots.

[*Anya*]

I am sitting crying at work, trying to stifle my laughter and associated tears, for the simple reason; I am at work. I should not have even looked because here is one more masterpiece of supremely clever, bad writing! I tip my hat to you, WMM, as well as to the other writers.

Who knew we had such talent among us. To paraphrase OliverTwist..."Please...may I have more, please?"

As he sat there, listening to her voice, screeching at him, he wondered why exactly it was he could hear her? Surely this was a voice intended only for canines! He looked around the small kitchen as she railed on and on about the new Walmart and what a blessing from heaven it truly was.

He began to daydream about the different ways he could stifle that Godawful voice. For a quick moment he thought of just doing her in with the cast iron skillet, but he was hungry and did not want to waste the perfectly good meal that lay therein. He considered sticking her head in the electric can-opener and letting that thing take a spin or two. Yeah, the can-opener! That was the way to go! Nah, while he thought it great fun to imagine, he couldn't kill her. Who would make his dinner? Who would make sure he wore clean, mended clothes? Who would feed the animals, the children, the endless procession of Jesus people that came a-prayin' most every day? Besides, he was a lazy man lacking in the motivation to brush his teeth, much less make the effort it would take to put a hurtin' on her.

He sat looking at the woman who had cared for him for 35 years, trying to tune out the shrieking instrument that was her voice. Finally it dawned on him, it was so easy he was surprised he had not thought of it long ago. Taking a brussel sprout in each hand he shoved them in to his ears. Silence!! It was glorious silence. It was then he, the man who would not deign to move were a train racing toward him, slowly rose from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. He picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the grocery list.....busal poots lauts uv busal poots.

[WomenMoveMe]

Thank you Anya!! Although...I am debating as to whether I am happy about my ability to write badly!


Thinking....................................


Okay...I am happy!

[SoNotHer]

Ask, Anya, and you shall receive (and you can't send it back to the kitchen - oh no!)

__________________________________________________ _______________

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Mindy Sue Ellen Bob was fixing something that wasn’t exactly stew and wasn’t exactly meatloaf. It jiggled like a squishy meatloaf lump but at about the point of tinely penetration it collapsed like an overloaded baby diaper. Of course no one was looking for a textural experience with Mindy Sue Ellen Bob’s cooking. Most folks were looking to eat whatever she spooned or timorously forked over with just one hope - to disengage all senses and ingest the amorphous amoeba-like mass in a kind-of-out-body gastric osmotic trance.

For the cowpokes and dudes of Ranch Dressing Ranch, pulling this off wasn’t always a smooth ride in the kiddy rodeo.

[*Anya*]

She loved how he appeared so stately and distinguished, with just a touch of gray at his temples.

She thought he looked like a TV star in a mens deodorant commercial; with the snow and the wind blowing at a nearly gale-force, through his beautiful hair, which she clocked, by her stop-watch, at 60- miles per hour.

Unfortunately, he was too proud to chase it, as it blew down the street, as though it were a tumbleweed on steroids.

[SoNotHer]

Laughed out loud at "tumbleweed on steroids."

So glad I was drinking something at the time!

She loved how he appeared so stately and distinguished, with just a touch of gray at his temples.

She thought he looked like a TV star in a mens deodorant commercial; with the snow and the wind blowing at a nearly gale-force, through his beautiful hair, which she clocked, by her stop-watch, at 60- miles per hour.

Unfortunately, he was too proud to chase it, as it blew down the street, as though it were a tumbleweed on steroids.

[WomenMoveMe]

Such fun these stories are!!

[*Anya*]

Stop, you are killing me!! Hopefully, I won't lose my job for laughing my ass off today at all of these gems-

Another classic, SNH!!


Ask, Anya, and you shall receive (and you can't send it back to the kitchen - oh no!)

__________________________________________________ _______________

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Mindy Sue Ellen Bob was fixing something that wasn’t exactly stew and wasn’t exactly meatloaf. It jiggled like a squishy meatloaf lump but at about the point of tinely penetration it collapsed like an overloaded baby diaper. Of course no one was looking for a textural experience with Mindy Sue Ellen Bob’s cooking. Most folks were looking to eat whatever she spooned or timorously forked over with just one hope - to disengage all senses and ingest the amorphous amoeba-like mass in a kind-of-out-body gastric osmotic trance.

For the cowpokes and dudes of Ranch Dressing Ranch, pulling this off wasn’t always a smooth ride in the kiddy rodeo.

[Cin]

Abundant, absurd and awful alliteration

Lucy Little’s lavish lively locks and long lean limbs leave lovers longing to lick lips like luscious lollipops, lurching lollyping lipreaders love a languid, labored and lusty lingering at the lady’s lovely lumpy labia leading to loopy Lucy’s love of labiomancy.

[WomenMoveMe]

The diner was closing. Dotty loudly smacked her gum as she loaded Eddy One Eye up with the remaining three day old doughnuts and shooshed him out the door. It was yet another slow day at 'Hanks' Good Eats, Bait Shop, and VCR Repair'. One would think with three so very complimentary businesses under one roof that business would be booming. As Dotty pulled the front door shut she glanced up at the sign that touted the promise of one-stop shopping. She tried to remember if ever all the bulbs had worked at one time or had it always been simply a vessel where good bulbs went to die?

Dotty stood looking at the sign that now read "H nk Eat Bait n CRep" . No wonder every day was a slow day at "Hank's".

[*Anya*]

Someone @ work just asked me if I was OK when I went into the B/R, after looking at my teary eyes and reddened face, which makes me look as though I fell ill with a high fever and the flu.

There must be something wrong with me, the Psychiatric RN, that I find these so hysterical that I can't stop laughing, even now.

WMM, Hank's is awesome and MT- the lumpy labia about put me on the floor!

OMFG- all of you are so good at being bad and yes, that is high praise. Not just anyone can write badly, quite so well:)

You all made my 1st day back at work after 4-days off, so much better!

[SoNotHer]

Somewhere between 1996 and 1998, or maybe it was 1997 and 1999, or perhaps 1995 and a half and two or three years after that, Olla decided that every 70s song was a kind of instruction manual made for her. Somewhere between 2002 and 2004, or perhaps 2003 and, what might be more accurately described as “later,” Olla then decided she wasn’t actually a brick house and that letting it all hang out while she wore a “Lady Marmalade” name tag and she shook her grove thing and burned the mother down did not get her any closer to wanting to boogie oogie oogie like a dancing queen.

And how hard should she look for three more like herself to take a free ride in a tuneful time warp in the four-part B flat a capella of a bohemian rhapsody? Nevertheless, moreover and consequently, she did have a residual fondness for leaving her cake out in the rain and had thought more than about calling Rocket Man and packing her polyester pumps and riding the soul train to Funkytown. Or maybe Hotel California. But most likely the Y.M.C.A.

[WomenMoveMe]

“You are NOT sticking that thing in me!!”. She was almost hysterical now. “It is so…BIG. Why does it have to be so…BIG”? He was usually a calm man. He couldn’t remember getting worked up about much of anything, but he was all worked up now. Why did she have to be so difficult? Why could she not see this would be good for her, for the both of them? “Now listen woman, this is a part of life, and you will take it and be happy about it! It will make you feel good. I promise.” He tried to hide his disappointment. For weeks they had been having the same argument. Why didn’t she just shut up and let him stick it in her? She was almost in tears now. “It’s so long, it looks like it will hurt.” He tried to regain a bit of his usual composure. “It will only hurt the first time. You’ll see”. She pushed him away. “Nope, not gonna happen”. That was it. He was tired of playing games. He was putting it in and she would just have to get used to it. He moved closer. He was going to have to move fast if he was going to get it in there. And with one quick motion, he thrust the insulin needle into her hip.

[Cin]

Arlo couldn’t imagine how hy had lived before Poppy. It was as though hys life began when Poppy smiled. Hy remembered how she had smiled at hym the day hys buddy had introduced hym. Hy remembered how ecstatic hy was just knowing her name. Before Poppy, hy had simply wandered aimlessly through hys life, going through the motions of living. Now, Arlo could attest to being completely present. Hy couldn’t wait for the next minute to begin while still being able to live totally, completely in the moment. A trick that was as difficult as it was impossible. Hys body ached, hys soul ached, hys heart ached, hys entire being ached and it wasn’t the flu. No, it was love. The love Arlo had found in this deep meaningful connection with the woman of hys dreams. A woman who was, coincidently, not only beautiful beyond measure, but was also as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. Everything Arlo had ever wanted was embodied there in Poppy. Hy looked up and glanced toward hys soul mate as she sat calmly, regally across the room. She was everything hy would ever need and everything hy could ever want, she was all the things hy had dreamed of in a partner. She was all things to hym. It never ceased to amaze hym how she could be exactly who hy wanted her to be, how everything hy ever dreamed was exactly who she was. Now if only hy could only find a way to get to know her. Then they could begin planning the wedding.

[Truly Scrumptious]

She knew that tomcat wasn’t right in the head the day he showed up on her doorstep all mangy and hissing and carrying a dirty rag in his mouth like it was some kind of precious doll baby, but she invited him in and poured him a bowl of cream because in some way he reminded her of her momma who also wasn’t right in the head and was now serving time (and serving herself up too, to hear her tell it) for going all postal like after that “incident” down at the refinery, but she knew it wasn’t the cat’s fault and after all we all have our crosses to bear, her cross in particular being made out of clay and pipe cleaners momma had fashioned in prison arts & crafts class and which weighed about 10 pounds but which she wore around her neck dutifully even though she was developing quite a stoop.

[*Anya*]

Susan reflected deeply on her life, stretching back as far as infancy, though everyone told her that she could not possibly remember back that far but she knew that she could and that everyone else was wrong about that and she laughed-a sound somewhere between a phlegm-filled, 30-year smoker and that of the organ-grinder that had mysteriously appeared on her street last week, complete with a monkey in a jaunty red-satin hat, wearing jodhpurs with bright orange suspenders, that matched her coat and she reflected on her life and thought that was good, very good, the best it ever had been; excellent as a matter of fact.

She thoughtfully stared out of the dual-paned windows that she had installed last winter to keep out the cold and to lower her heating bill, watching the white crystals of frost cling to the edges of the panes and the little rivulets of water that almost appeared the same as the diamond-sparkling jewels of the tears she had shed the other day, as she buttoned up her orange, mohair coat, that looked something like Fluffy, her long-deceased cat that she had loved so much and had been crying over and she wondered if she had gotten the coat because it did remind her of all of those nights that Fluffy cuddled her in her down-filled bed, complete with down-filled duvet, down pillows and down feather bed, when she was missing her long-lost lover that used to cuddle her in bed before she was replaced by Fluffy but she reasoned, there was nothing she could do about either of them and she could always sleep with her coat, if she got really lonely.

She picked up her prized Bic pen and began to chew on the well-chewed end, as she usually did when thinking hard about something-which was her custom but also because thinking was difficult for her but she did her very best and with a deeply furrowed brow, she began to pen her missive. She kept her coat on because it comforted her and helped her to think better.

[SoNotHer]

Thank you all!


_0eINGyJHz8

[Hollylane]

She wasn’t really very angry, though her scrunched face and pursed lips resembling something akin to a dried prune, or possibly a saladito in their constant dryness from lack of moisture, may have said otherwise to the passing stranger with the whites of their eyes showing in amazement at the fact that with this strained look that she had not yet imploded on the spot or simply had a bowel movement on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.

[Cin]

Thank you all!


_0eINGyJHz8

That was hilarious. I couldn't help cracking up and then I felt mean. Just like those guys. The woman anchor did not find it amusing at all.

[Hollylane]

She licked the sour sweet taste of lime from her slack lips and frowned in consternation that she had not remembered to drink the tequila and only performed the first part and last part of the process of lick it, slam it, suck it. Perhaps this type of forgetfulness was also the reason her lover’s face had looked so confused when she forgot to remove her jeans and ended up wide eyed and floundering with her tongue stuck in the zipper.

With this as food for her few and fleeting thoughts, she lightly fingered the ripped up part of her tongue that ached from the bitter experience of metal teeth and that now stung from the lime and salt combo, minus the pain killing properties of the tequila that still sat on the bar in silent mourning for the part of her brain that seemed to be missing, and for the sad loss of the last remaining brain cell that used to sing out daily in a forlorn voice "I can see for miles and miles".

[SoNotHer]

Inventing and selling the clap on/clap off cock wasn’t all the knee-jerk-slapping, panty-twisting good time people thought it was. Since the failure of his “Dirty Dick Tricks” sex magic set, Ott wanted to make sure he thought long and hard in the excogitation phase of his new, convenient love missile. And he knew that the marketing deployment of this phallic phenomenon had to be equal to the promise of this easy, pleasy cock rocket’s red glare. No, this time, QVC and “As seen on TV” ads wouldn’t due. In fact, nothing less than a helicopter drop of flying pamphelted plastic penises would.

[Truly Scrumptious]

If she’d been paying more attention, she might have noticed the ginger tabby before she backed up over him flattening him into what looked like burnt toast covered in marmalade (and when it turned out that his name had indeed been Marmalade, she’d remark on the irony, smiling at the word irony because it made her think of ironing which of course made her think of flat, unwrinkled things and Marmalade was indeed flat though not unwrinkled) but instead she’d been thinking about what a great day it had been, which was a huge relief because she was wearing her new boots that she loved but that she was almost convinced were bad luck on account of something bad happening each of the three previous times she’d worn them and while she didn’t want to give them up, she knew that sometimes one just had to let go and believe in fate which thankfully she knew was now smiling upon her right up until she got distracted by the old lady running out of the house screaming “Marmalade, oh Marmalade”, and she took her foot off the brake, backed up inadvertently, and heard a giant splat.

[Cin]

The first sentence of the book written about the female serial killer who came to be known as The KupKake Killer:

Snot ran down and blended with the dirt already encrusted on her fat face as she tried to sneak out of the classroom without being seen as the other kids, the charming, sweet and sweet smelling, well and cleanly dressed, towheaded blue eyed darlings, screamed and yelled their good-byes and happy holidays to teacher on their way out the door as Christmas vacation was starting today, but she knew nobody especially, well especially anybody, wanted a happy holiday hug from her smelly fat self, so she took her cupcake from the party and headed for the door when the most annoying, most beautiful, most well liked, most popular, meanest, cruelest, most hurtful girl in the school dropped her cupcake right in front of her, her personal tormentor’s gooey goody was right there in her path; she picked up her foot and brought it down on the cupcake smashing it to sticky smithereens, immediately she felt a hard slap across her face and the tight angry words from teacher “I saw what you did”, reverberated in her ears, “now you give Emily your cupcake right now” the words you certainly don’t need it you horrid fat cow left unsaid, but all the more louder for that, and meekly she handed her cupcake to the crying Emily whose mouth turned up into a sneer that stabbed home the truth of it all, the sneer brought clarity and explained sensibly, I hope you get this, I hope you remember this lesson, you can’t beat me, you can’t win against me, I am beautiful and popular, the world smiles when I smile and no one will ever choose your side you ugly dirty fat loser.

[WomenMoveMe]

Trixie Muldoon was madder than a three-legged pufferfish at a bingo hall. Ever since she had applied for lead pole-dancer at “Poonanny’s” and told to hit the bricks, she was obsessed with what had gone wrong.

So what if her wrinkled face looked like a map to a vacation spot where no one wanted to go. So what if her once perky 44DD’s were now 68 Longs. So what if she had slid down the pole eight inches before her lagging labia joined the rest of her. No, she didn’t think that was what did her in. She racked her brain. She thought she had prepared so well. She had worn her favorite leopard skin thigh high boots, her tiger stripe daisy dukes, and a gold lame` poncho. Her three-tone hair, that transitioned from a sorta mandarin orange at the ends to a kinda tangerinish-salmon in the middle to a blondish-gray at the crown, had never been closer to God as it was that day. She knew she had indeed been a vision. And even being a three pack-a-day smoker for more than 35 years, she was proud to have danced for a whole fifteen seconds before crashing to the floor in a wheezing heap that would have been rivaled only by a grand mal seizure. At least she didn't wet herself this time. No, it was none of those things that had caused her failure. She knew she had looked good and been supremely prepared. She just didn’t get it. It couldn’t be that she was 73 years old could it? Yep...that was it…damn ageists!

[*Anya*]

Inventing and selling the clap on/clap off cock wasn’t all the knee-jerk-slapping, panty-twisting good time people thought it was. Since the failure of his “Dirty Dick Tricks” sex magic set, Ott wanted to make sure he thought long and hard in the excogitation phase of his new, convenient love missile. And he knew that the marketing deployment of this phallic phenomenon had to be equal to the promise of this easy, pleasy cock rocket’s red glare. No, this time, QVC and “As seen on TV” ads wouldn’t due. In fact, nothing less than a helicopter drop of flying pamphelted plastic penises would.

Hey! I want a clap on/clap off cock!

Oh, never mind, I would probably get carpal tunnel syndrome from repetitive clapping!

Great idea, btw:)

Another gem, SNH!

[Cin]

Her name was Mary, but everyone in the small town she lived in called her Big Mamie. It wasn’t cause she was a big woman, although she was that, and it wasn’t cause she had big bazookas, although hers were easily triple D, and it wasn’t cause she had a big brain cause unfortunately Mary would be lucky to find her ass with both hands, but said ass, by the way, was the reason she was called Big Mamie. Her boyfriend since high school, Ricky Roy Taylor, had named her behind the Big Mamie. And he wasn’t shy about telling how he loved to fuck the Big Mamie until she howled and honked like a goose in heat. She hated how he talked about her bottom like it was a separate entity but she loved the attention he paid to the Big Mamie. Still she was getting older now and wanted more respect. She deserved to be treated better. If Ricky Roy expected her to marry him he needed to stop calling her ass the Big Mamie. But when she let him know how much it bothered her, he would just laugh and grab her big bottom and say he loved the Big Mamie as much as he loved god and country and all he ever felt for that beautiful bottom was love and respect. And if Mary doubted it for even a minute she could just see how much he loved and respected the Big Mamie by how his pecker jumped straight up and saluted every time she moved her bottom in his direction. Now Mary had an idea that she wasn’t going to get anywhere just asking, she needed to use psychology on Ricky Roy. She had to come at him from an equal position. She needed a bargaining chip that would make it in Ricky Roy’s best interest to stop with the Big Mamie crap. Not stop with Big Mamie, just stop with calling it that in public. So the very next time the opportunity presented itself, which turned out to be the very next day, when Ricky Roy was rubbing up and down on the Big Mamie, Mary turned around and grabbed Ricky Roy’s pecker and gave it a healthy tug. “Why I just love your beautiful penis, Ricky Roy, it is the most special pecker ever. I love it more than god or country and from now on I’m going to call it Little Dick.” That was the last we ever heard of the Big Mamie around town and it wasn’t long before she was just plain Mary.

[Hollylane]

He really didn’t know what had gone wrong, though something was amiss, like finding the last tortilla chip loaded with cheese and it has a long gray hair from your granny stuck in it that you discover only as it is hanging out of your mouth and pulling on your lip when you start to crunch with what you thought would be triumph.

Yes, it was true, no denying it now, his relationship was just starting to crumple, not unlike the way his mother’s face looked when she pulled into the driveway to find Dad smiling while waving cheerily as he grabbed his new gal’s ass for the whole damn trailer park to see. He remembered that day clearly, because his mother told the story often, but only when she had a cigarette hanging from her lips, bourbon in one hand, and the other between her legs scratching and looking for all the world like the elderly version of Peg Bundy with her hot pink pants and bright orange lipstick. Returning from his psychedelic trip down memory lane, after deciding that his birth must have been a miracle, or for Dad, some kind of waking nightmare, he decided that he’d better call his pal, Jerry Springer, for more relationship advice.

[Cin]

He really didn’t know what had gone wrong, though something was amiss, like finding the last tortilla chip loaded with cheese and it has a long gray hair from your granny stuck in it that you discover only as it is hanging out of your mouth and pulling on your lip when you start to crunch with what you thought would be triumph.


This is beautiful. Classic. I love it. (the whole thing of course) but special mention for this awesome paragraph.

[SoNotHer]

I'll look forward to seeing your beautifully bad jewels when I get back next week from helping one of the very bad writers here celebrate a special birthday.

Write on!

[Cin]

Bless Her Little Pointed Head

She couldn’t believe she’d blown it like that. They say everything happens for a reason but she couldn’t see what that reason might be, still ours is not to reason why. But what was the rest of that? Ours is just to do and die? Well that's not very helpful. Ours is just to do or die? Ya,that was it. She supposed most would pick do rather then die. Well, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Hmm. But if everything happens for a reason and you failed yet then you succeed doesn’t that go against your not succeeding the first time because everything happened for a reason. She was getting confused and she couldn’t think of an axiom to explain it all for her. She never felt comfortable when she didn’t have an accepted adage to help her understand. Well, every day’s a brand new day isn’t it? Hey!! That’s the answer. Everything resets every twenty-four hours. So she would just bide her time and try again tomorrow. After all tomorrow is another day.

[Truly Scrumptious]

Lou-Anne believed in the power of positive thinking. She was a “glass is half full” kind of gal, oh yes she was. She wore her rose coloured glasses even in the dark, and could find a silver lining in the darkest, stormiest of clouds. When her husband snored loud enough to wake the dead in bed beside her, (not that the dead were in bed beside her, you understand. But the cemetery was not far away, and Lou-Anne thought if anything could wake those souls up, it would be Jeb’s snoring.) she said it was wonderful that she didn’t need an alarm clock, and that people overestimated their need for sleep anyway. The day the roof began to leak, she said it was nature’s way of providing her with a humidifier. When that leak became a substantial hole, she said she’d always wanted a skylight. When the deer started eating her sweet williams, she was secretly flattered that it was her flowers that had been chosen rather than her next door neighbour Vera’s very ugly, scrawny geraniums. When she burned the cookies she made for the bake sale, she cheerfully got out a wire hanger, her glue gun, a little glitter paint and some pipe cleaners, and made wind chimes. (The fact that when the wind blew, those wind chimes chimed against each other and broke into pieces was kind of a bonus, because it turned out that squirrels like burnt cookies, and she liked squirrels, even though Jeb called them “rodents with good PR.”) Even when Tiffani over at the Kut ‘n Kurl left Lou-Anne’s permanent solution on much too long while she was arguing with her boyfriend, Lou-Anne saw the bright side. She said she’d never need another perm for as long as she lived, and was going straight over to Kmart to buy herself something sparkly with all the money she’d save.

Yes, Lou-Anne was a “glass is half full” kind of gal, right up until the day Jeb came home from work and said that he didn’t care if it was Tuesday, he didn’t want meat loaf. Now, maybe it was because the cable had been out that day and Lou-Anne couldn’t watch her stories, or maybe she thought he was criticizing her meat loaf, (he wasn’t) but something inside Lou-Anne snapped and try as she did, she could find no positive spin, and she started to cry. She cried and cried and cried some more, until her face was as crumpled as the soggy tissues Jeb helplessly handed her, and that she threw on the floor. She started hiccupping horrible gasps similar to the sounds a mouse might make when the trap closed on him, sort of a mixture of terror and surprise. And still she kept crying.

The night they took Lou-Anne away was dark (because of course it was night) and hot and sticky (and truthfully, a bit stinky because of the abundant fertilizer) and with no hint of a breeze and was all in all the kind of night that could only dream of being a dark and stormy night with rain coming down in torrents, but the only thing coming down in torrents were big buckets of tears because it seemed Lou-Anne had been crying forever.

[WomenMoveMe]

It was sorta like that time she was almost at the end of her six hour trip and realized she had forgotten the bag she had packed with everything she would need to meet the woman she had been talking to for five days before she and the woman decided to find out if they were meant to be together by meeting up for a real life meeting because she was nervous and that is why she had not remembered to put the bag in the car because she thought that maybe this woman had everything she had looked for for so long, you know? She was tall which was good because she was tall and her back was starting to go out on her and bending over for kisses was not quite the joy it had once been and she was very funny every time they talked on Skype which was everyday since they first talked and funny was a good thing because she wasn't very funny and one of them needed to be the funny one. She was smart and had a real job that was not picking up road kill like her last girlfriend who was not really smart enough to do much of anything else and even though her girlfriend had been very pretty and pretty people can usually get a pretty good job just because people like to have them around to look at them, her last girlfriend could never hold those jobs because let’s face it she had just been really dumb and pretty will only get you so far. It was sorta like that, but not really.

[Hollylane]

Whatever it said, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Not even one of the two perfectly good ones she had left on her right hand after the lawn mower incident, that wasn’t truly her fault, because due to the labels being worn off by weather, she thought the the start button was the primer button and so she didn’t have any guilt about filing that claim. Anyway, she was having trouble reading the letter from the claims department with the one perfectly good eye she had left after the incident with the super glue tube that was not really her fault because it didn’t say specifically it could not be used for false lashes and the settlement for that accident was not making the words any easier to read.

[Hollylane]

Smoke gets in their eyes….

She entered the room, but only after awkwardly tripping over the door sill in her black negligee and in her high heeled black shoes she stumbled to the bed and lifted a leg to place one foot on the footboard and tried to strike a pose that she’d seen her favorite porn star making on the stained cover of her favorite raunchy movie, but if you'd been there, it would have looked more like she was about to urinate on the bedpost. She looked down at his slumbering, no, slobbering form, and wished not for the first time that he was really more like Ron Jeremy, or at least had his neck, back and chest hair. She sloshed her martini as she fished out the olive and plopped it into his belly button. Or was it his man cave? Man cave, cave man, didn’t really make a difference as she cracked her knuckles before applying one hand in a sharp sting to his protruding belly, waking him so quickly that he slapped her glass out her hand and his explosive flatulence ignited the romantic cock shaped candle on the bedside table which set flame to the fringe of the gold tasseled curtains that framed the velvet picture on the wall behind the headboard of the King in all his sequined glory. No sex was actually had that night, but later when the fire department was unable to extinguish the flames they declared the scene an untamable hunk of burning love and put away their long hoses in despair.

[Truly Scrumptious]

In My Defence

And the last thing that I needed first thing in the morning
Was to hear about the time you had last night
If you go digging through the fields of my heart without warning
You won’t be digging up a pretty sight
And the closest that I’ve come to wishing for a gun
Was when you woke me up to say goodnight
And I knew that I would leave you then, I knew your life would have to end
So I stabbed you several times with all my might.

[SoNotHer]

The Thing

She wondered about those pantyhose.

And then she just wondered about those.

She forked around some peas, as she was won't to do.

And then she just got stuck in a pea or two, or some,

which was only briefly assuaged by thoughts of these.

Still,

she knew the dreaded mother-of-all-mind muddle was coming.

Yes, it was familiar strange to her on nights like these -

nights destined to be lost to the pout-inducing deflation

of unclear pronoun references.

[Hollylane]

What she wasn’t saying is that she really thought that despite her best efforts at entertainment, there wasn’t really anything left between them after the moment when she made the alarming faux pas of saying that she really liked the scent in the bathroom when she would use it after her in the morning when she had finished performing that morning three s’s(shitting, showering and shaving), but without specifying that it was the after the shower smell that she truly enjoyed.

[SoNotHer]

http://www.scotsman.com/webimage/1.2057843.1326583571!image/1027827070.jpg_gen/derivatives/landscape_595/1027827070.jpg

Auchentoshan, the whisky firm behind the move to celebrate an alternative Burns Night, said that the celebration of William Topaz McGonagall will be 'an alternative evening of whisky, terrible poetry, haggis and general mayhem.' Picture: Hulton Archive/Getty

15 January 2012

HE HAS long been cast as a bit of a joke figure and is routinely described as the worst poet in the history of the English language. But the name of William Topaz McGonagall is set to be celebrated at pubs across Scotland later this month on a night more traditionally associated with a rather more illustrious writer of verse.

Fans of the eccentric Dundonian wordsmith will gather on Burns Night to toast the man they believe should be regarded as Scotland’s other national poet. In a move set to upset poetry purists everywhere, fans of McGonagall will take part in “alternative” Burns suppers, where dessert will be served first and there will be no renditions of the Address to a Haggis. Instead, diners will perform a selection of pieces from McGonagall’s own extensive and much-maligned canon. The brainchild of whisky firm Auchentoshan, the McGonagall suppers will take place at pubs across the UK, with venues being encouraged to serve a menu that starts with the traditional Scottish dessert of cranachan, before moving on to a main course of haggis and a starter of flaked salmon over oatcakes.

Brand manager Hannah Fisher said: “Auchentoshan likes to do things differently and, just like us, McGonagall liked to challenge perceptions. It therefore seems apt that we host a series of dinners that takes an interesting twist on one of Scotland’s most revered celebrations. “It will be an alternative evening of whisky, terrible poetry, haggis and general mayhem.” (Wow. Booking tickets for 2013 now.)

Among the venues taking part in the celebrations are the Hyde Out bar in Edinburgh, as well as three English venues in Darlington, Durham and London. McGonagall enthusiast Chris Hunt, who runs the website McGonagall Online, welcomed the idea of celebrating the poet on 25 January. He said: “I think this is a brilliant idea. “I’ve been to quite a few Burns suppers where I’ve tried to sneak in a bit of McGonagall – it’s nice to cover both extremes of Scottish poetic output in one evening.”

Asked if the poet deserved his reputation as the worst Scotland had ever produced, he said. “Yes. He’s pretty much the bottom of the bottom in terms of quality, but his poems are entertaining. “We’re still buying them 100 years after his death, so he must have done something right.” Born in Edinburgh in 1825, McGonagall wrote about 200 poems, including the infamous Tay Bridge Disaster –often described as the worst poem in British literary history.

Recounting the tragic events of 1879 in which the Tay Rail Bridge collapsed as a train passed over it, the poems begins:

“Beautiful railway bridge of the silv’ry Tay
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last sabbath day of 1879
Which shall be remembered for a very long time.”

[SoNotHer]

I hand her kneepads,

And tap down her head, turn on

the Hi Fi... 'Nuff said.

[Truly Scrumptious]

The thing about sex in the shower


The soap drops, I slip
Risky business yes, but then
Clean up is a breeze

[Cin]

I like haiku. Sort of. I don't know much about them though. They're a bit intimidating for someone who can't even tell you what they want for dinner in 500 words or less.

[Truly Scrumptious]

It’s very simple
Five syllables then seven
And five once again

[Cin]

It’s very simple
Five syllables then seven
And five once again

Yes I get it. I just can't think that succinctly or that tightly.

[Hollylane]

I used my finger
Now under my fingernail
Crusty ones linger

[Hollylane]

It wasn’t real hard
Kind of like a long noodle
Not dishwasher safe

:|

[*Anya*]

The Lake Union Seattle Beat First Annual Bad Haiku Contest

April, 2011

We were inundated with hundreds of entries for this contest and most of them were very bad! In fact, we’d like to congratulate Seattle on having so many truly terrible poets. In addition to the very, very bad we received many gross submissions, and, sadly, some good stuff we couldn’t use.

The following are the 10 runners-up climaxing with the worst Haiku we had the pleasure of reading.

Most men like melons

Especially ripe and juicy

Hands off those are mine

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jews atone for sins

Once a year, on Yom Kippur

Beats confessional
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soft pink Elephant

You are my OCD dream

Touch touch touch touch touch

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Young man, young woman

He asks, she asks, his hands

Move apart, show size

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I do not like poems

I just want fifty dollars

Show me the money

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Big Mac mouthful

A loud belly rumbling

Oh crap no toilet paper

~~~~~~~~~~

Oh hipster fixie

Skidding thru stops helmetless

Pants tight, German bag

~~~~~~~~~~~

I like my women

The way I like my coffee

In large quantities
~~~~~~~~~

Haiku are three line

Poems that no one who speaks

English can write well

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loud, shrieking voices

Shattering of glass vases

Time for a spanking

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner! Worst Haiku 2011

Slippery pasta

Broccoli, pepper, garlic

We ate, we had gas

[SoNotHer]

Oh, Anya, those are delightfully bad. These two really made me laugh -


Soft pink Elephant

You are my OCD dream

Touch touch touch touch touch



I like my women

The way I like my coffee

In large quantities

[Hollylane]

Thank you Anya!

Being the juvenile that I am at times, I loved the Melons, Toilet Paper and the Gas ones, but my favorite was the one ending in "Move apart, show size". :D

[Hollylane]

I don’t really need
Much tender attention now
I just plug it in

[Truly Scrumptious]

Sarah Burke is gone
Hope heaven has some snow for
An angel on skis

[Hollylane]

Being bullied blows
Until karma kicks someone
In deserving ass

:)

[Truly Scrumptious]

Credit default swaps
Means now instead of Visa
I’ll pay with AmEx

[Hollylane]

Bought a used mattress
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Fumigation
The bedbug horror.

[*Anya*]

Bought a used mattress
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Fumigation
The bedbug horror.



Ok, now get out of my head!!

I just spent a weekend in a hotel (! :bedfuck: ) and when I got home, had to unpack everything in the garage, put it all in the wash and leave my suitcase in the garage (for next time) encased in a plastic bag.

No it was not a fleabag and was a nice hotel but I keep reading about the bedbug epidemic and it freaks me out.

I now return you to your usual programming....

(public service, among other things, announcement)

[SoNotHer]

TS gives this a thumbs up, and Hollylane is right. This needs to be shared here as well. As usual, Fry and Laurie nail "bad poetry":

Zx_YY_frOvQ

“Mr. Drip tells me that it’s one of the most mature and exciting poems he’s received in some time. Don’t suck your thumb boy.”

“’Inked ravens of despair crawl holes in the ass of the world’s mind.’ What kind of title for a poem is that?"

“Scrotal threats unhorse a question of flowers.”

“I asked for answers and got a head of heroine instead.”

“When time fell wanking to the floor…”

“My body disgusts, damp grease wafts sweat balls from sweat balls and thigh fungus.”

“Unhappy bubbles of anal wind popping and winking in the mortal bath”

“If this is poetry, then every lavatory wall in England is an anthology.”

[Hollylane]

I drank the Patron
I licked the lime and the salt
But still got shivers

[WomenMoveMe]

Never tried Haiku...therefore...writing bad Haiku should be a snap!

She sits idly by
never to let herself live
what's a girl to do

[SoNotHer]

From -

http://theverybadpoet.blogspot.com/2010/06/how-to-write-bad-poetry-in-19-easy.html



1. Iambic Pentameter can go f%#@ itself

2. Always use clunky words you don’t really know (e.g. incorrigible & verisimilitude)

3. Try to fit a knock-knock joke in whenever possible

4. If you must Haiku, please clean up after yourself

5. Irony isn’t dead but it has been hit on the head with a frying pan

6. Inappropriate rhyming will always save you (e.g. moose and Jews)

7. The good news is no one else knows what e.g. stands for either

8. If you run into writer's block, try writing in a foreign language you don’t speak. It's de rigueur

9. If you write a ‘concrete’ poem, try to use actual concrete or cement

10. If you accidentally use ‘alliteration’ simply type the letter A for the
duration of the poem. This gives it much more meaning.

[SoNotHer]

11. Contrary to popular belief, people really do want to know what you had for breakfast as long as it’s in verse form

12. If you’re worried about meaning in your poem, don’t. We’ll all be dead soon enough

13. When making a ‘list’ poem, be sure add toilet paper to it. No one likes to drip dry or use your clean hand towels next to the sink

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IvgQGy7NbFY/TBrU6eykmfI/AAAAAAAAAKA/mZJSghai6M8/s1600/public-restroom.jpg

14. Poems to imaginary childhood friends will most likely win you a Pulitzer

15. Don’t worry about your ‘audience.' They don’t give a crap about you either

16. The best poems are the ones you plagiarize (see previous blog entry)

17. It helps if you were dropped on your head as a child

18. Things you should know as a poet: Along with Leaves Of Grass, Walt Whitman also wrote several Motown hits for Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

19. If you've been looking for your ‘voice’ as a poet and can't find it, there’s a good chance someone stole it on purpose

[Hollylane]

Two words, three words, tops
Really full conversation?
Should we grunt instead?

[Truly Scrumptious]

Oh yes, grunt away
Conversation hurts my brain
Please skim the surface

[Hollylane]

So there I was. My tongue touching the bottom of my glass, and using it to stir the cherry around the bottom and looking seductive as all hell at the object of my desire. She was leaning up against the juke box, one hand on her crotch the other tipping her cowboy hat at me. Swoon. Her bulging biceps were hanging down over her elbows, and I just wanted to swing on her arm like Jane confusing Tarzan for a swinging vine. But I played it cool with my tongue still teasing that cherry at the bottom of that glass. Who could resist this tongue flirtation? I was hot that night, and I did end up leaving with her. It only excited me all the more when I woke up the next morning hog tied in the garage with the door up, with the neighbor’s boy staring at me in admiration, and her phone number written in lipstick on my naked ass cheek. Thank god for the full length mirror I had marked for the garage sale, ‘cause anyone who respects a gal like that, I’m gonna ask out to bingo right away.

[Hollylane]

Plunger is missing.
Toilet is overflowing.
What’s that on my sock?

[Truly Scrumptious]

Early morning rush
There's orange peel in my shoe
And where are my keys

[Hollylane]

You may be from Mars
Maybe I am from Venus
So what? I’m still gay.

[Hollylane]

So I took this trip. No, not the kind I did last year, with the peyote, the desert, and the bald guy in a tutu. It was an actual trip. Down to San Diego, and that was where I had the most notable experience of my life. Right there among the sweaty brown bodies, buried beer bottles, slimy seaweed, and with sand in my crack because I forgot the $5 towel I bought from the gift shop on the corner down near Mission Beach. Or was it Mission Bay? I don’t know it was one of those tourist places and there was some water and people on roller blades and then there was the guy that nearly ran me down with his rented beach comber while wearing flip-flops and no underwear under his ridiculously short tropical pastel shorts, but I digress.

So again, down in San Diego, near a body of water, I ran into Lola. Lola was the catalyst to life changing events. Lola was standing there in her front yard with the pink flamingo and wearing a bright green sarong, while I was frantically attempting to pick my ass crack free of sand at the sidewalk shower, and she said “honey, can I help you with that? I got a 20ft hose with your name on it”. I looked up in surprise and relief and said, “Hell yes, I can’t walk another step without chafing my cheeks!”

So, Lola, she smiles and grabs the long green garden hose and drags it out onto the sidewalk, and it was at that moment that it occurred to me that my plane ticket was for Alaska. I guess that explains why I was standing on the sidewalk near a body of water in my underpants and thinking that it was unseasonably warm for Anchorage at this time of year. Doesn’t it?

[*Anya*]

Plunger is missing.
Toilet is overflowing.
What’s that on my sock?


Classic Holly! Love it!

All of you are are such talented writers! I love to read each of of you and all your "works".

I know I have been MIA.

I simply must pick my head up off the nightstand and set it back on my shoulders and let the neurotransmittors begin to flow in order for those synapses to once again begin to fire.

(How is that for a long run-on sentence? By George, I might be ready to write badly again).

:)

[adorable]

The awkward pelican dives
from so far up there
from somewhere
close to the moon
wings spread
straight down
with purpose
determination
and such blazing speed
like a comet falls into the sea
watching him
(I am)
with childlike wonder and awe
(I am)
afraid his little neck will break
at the moment of actual impact
For such an aching hunger
dive, he must
he is not brave
his life simply depends on it
Rising back up from the sea
he longs to feel
just a little something
in his throat
that will justify
risking everything for
one more time

[*Anya*]

Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words:

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn" and is said to have called it his best work.

Here are some from some favorite authors & auteurs.

Knowing all of you, I would bet that each of you could equal or surpass them.

Mine-no classic but tells a tale:

Failed orgasm. Electricity out. Batteries instead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vacuum collision. Orbits diverge. Farewell, love.
- David Brin

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.
- Joss Whedon

Automobile warranty expires. So does engine.
- Stan Lee

Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time
- Alan Moore

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
- Margaret Atwood

His penis snapped off; he’s pregnant!
- Rudy Rucker

From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
- Gregory Maguire

Internet “wakes up?” Ridicu -
no carrier.
- Charles Stross

With bloody hands, I say good-bye.
- Frank Miller

Wasted day. Wasted life. Dessert, please.
- Steven Meretzky

“Cellar?” “Gate to, uh … hell, actually.”
- Ronald D. Moore

Epitaph: Foolish humans, never escaped Earth.
- Vernor Vinge

It cost too much, staying human.
- Bruce Sterling

We kissed. She melted. Mop please!
- James Patrick Kelly

It’s behind you! Hurry before it
- Rockne S. O’Bannon

I’m your future, child. Don’t cry.
- Stephen Baxter

Lie detector eyeglasses perfected: Civilization collapses.
- Richard Powers

I’m dead. I’ve missed you. Kiss … ?
- Neil Gaiman

The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.
- Orson Scott Card

Kirby had never eaten toes before.
- Kevin Smith

Rained, rained, rained, and never stopped.
- Howard Waldrop

To save humankind he died again.
- Ben Bova

We went solar; sun went nova.
- Ken MacLeod

Husband, transgenic mistress; wife: “You cow!”
- Paul Di Filippo

“I couldn’t believe she’d shoot me.”
- Howard Chaykin

Don’t marry her. Buy a house.
- Stephen R. Donaldson

[Hollylane]

Ran with scissors. Result: Impromptu haircut.

[*Anya*]

Ran with scissors. Result: Impromptu haircut.

Fantastic as usual!! Lol:)

[Truly Scrumptious]

Puppy, open gate - crash. Children cry.

[Cin]

Life lived, coffin lowered, no mourners.

[Cin]

Serial Killer Haiku

Evolution is
progressing from cutting pets
to the girl next door

[Hollylane]

Allergic to lemon, she died sour.

[Cin]

Allergic to lemon, she died sour.

Now this is funny...and good. Or should I say bad?

[chai~]

bwahahahhahahah! NICE!

[chai~]

you're all blah blah blah
and I'm like what the f*ck now?
my glazed look ignored

[Hollylane]

you're all blah blah blah
and I'm like what the f*ck now?
my glazed look ignored

Wow Chai...I love it! It's bad...and so satisfying...

[The JD]

"Damn! Dropped the toothpaste," he crestfallenly declared.

[chai~]

Wow Chai...I love it! It's bad...and so satisfying...

*curtsey*
well thank you so much!

[Hollylane]

"Damn! Dropped the toothpaste," he crestfallenly declared.

"Crestfallenly"

That was priceless...Ha...ha...ha!

[chai~]

Suddenly, she quickly yet slowly opened the car window, inhaling...then exhaling, then inhaling........then exhaling again, the crisp but freakishly muggy foggy air that covered the light fading into bright blue sky.

The random livestock meandering somewhat haphazardly directly accross the paved and gravelly road, boardered on both sides by deep and shallow ditches, were over grown, jacked up on steroids and looking for a fight.

Between the smell of farmer's fields, sidewalk commando livestock and a "new car scent" air freshener hanging from the cigarette lighter knob of her 1978 Gremlin, she knew she was home!

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v329/ashera1/myostatin_bull1.jpg

[Hollylane]

Plugging it in, she knew joy.

[WomenMoveMe]

Wrote her number in lipstick. Smeared.

In my dreams, she never left.

Stay calm. Act natural. Evening officer.

Flat tire. No jack. Bob's towing?

[*Anya*]

Empty heart
Now lives
Pumping again.


:heartbeat:

[*Anya*]

Tears fall

Wet face

Dry soul

[*Anya*]

Empty house echos
New family, much laughter
now home once again

[chai~]

Empty house echos
New family, much laughter
now home once again

much too nice to be in the "bad" section!

[Hollylane]

Watching the pro game
But can't make the yapping stop
Mute is not working...

[The JD]

Mechanical hums
followed by bump bump bump bump.
Roomba trapped again.

[WomenMoveMe]

I wake, reluctant
Too cold to get out of bed
but I have to pee

Haikus are easy
but sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

Life is like a river
it winds and wends, ever flows
Should I give a dam?

[chai~]

Mechanical hums
followed by bump bump bump bump.
Roomba trapped again.

oh my gawd!!! This made me snort my coffee!!! Bravo!

[chai~]

cat across keyboard
belly typing looks like this
she ignores spell check



defrgthyjukil;

[*Anya*]

cat across keyboard
belly typing looks like this
she ignores spell check

defrgthyjukil;

Chai! This is great!

So happy to see you and JD join us:)

Yes, I realize that most of the recent additions (story in 6-words or less, haiku) strayed from the original intent of the thread.

All of the writing is still off-beat and quirky, so I feel it still fits in with the original intent: a place to write strictly for fun!

Feel free to write whatever you damn well please and I will continue to enjoy, as well as marvel, over the cleverness that I find in each one of you and your writing abilities:)

[chai~]

Chai! This is great!

So happy to see you and JD join us:)

Yes, I realize that most of the recent additions (story in 6-words or less, haiku) strayed from the original intent of the thread.

All of the writing is still off-beat and quirky, so I feel it still fits in with the original intent: a place to write strictly for fun!

Feel free to write whatever you damn well please and I will continue to enjoy, as well as marvel, over the cleverness that I find in each one of you and your writing abilities:)

*reading the title of the thread again*

Oh yeah, I guess it did stray!!!!

Quirky is good though!

Let the silliness commence!!

Great thread by the way!!!!

[Hollylane]

Taking the trash out
Stomp, shake, ouch! Dance Dance Dancing
Yikes! Ants near dumpster

[Hollylane]

The wind is blowing
Blue tarp in the neighbor’s yard
Time for more roof tires

[Truly Scrumptious]

(Disclaimer: this article is from The Onion)


DURHAM, NC--A study released Monday by Duke University's Center For The American Family confirmed what many child-development experts have asserted for years: Children whose parents are divorced are twice as likely to compose bad poetry as those whose parents are married.

"Because of the terrible trauma divorce can inflict, we're seeing a correlation between kids from broken homes and embarrassing, god-awful verse," said Dr. Ruth Wyler-Feldman, director of the Center For The American Family. "Devastated by the break-up of the family unit, these children are responding with poems awash in bathos, forced rhymes and mixed metaphors comparing their souls to rainstorms."

According to Wyler-Feldman, parental separation most often manifests itself in atrocious poems about isolation and anger.

"Just listen to the words of Ashley Bedrosian, a Pensacola, FL, 14-year-old whose parents split up last May after 17 years of marriage: 'The pain comes down like a harlequin's tears / From my room I can hear my parents screaming / What once was one heart now beats as two / From this nightmare I cannot awake, for I am not dreaming.'"

"Obviously, Ashley is bitter and heartbroken over her parents' divorce," Wyler-Feldman said. "And that's tragic, because what comes out of that bitterness and heartbreak is some of the worst poetry you'll ever hear."

The two-year study found that the rhyming of "despise" with "my eyes," as well as references to Trent Reznor and horses running wild and/or free, occur with 65 percent greater frequency in poems by children of divorced parents than in those by children from stable two-parent homes.

http://www.bryanspage.com/poetry.gif

The Duke researchers also found a strong correlation between the nature of a particular divorce and quality of poetry. In 90 percent of divorces categorized as "amicable," the breakup results in rhyming poems, usually with irritating, "sing-songish" A-B-A-B rhyme schemes. The more acrimonious the split, however, the greater the odds of a child turning to other, more wretch-inducing poetic forms: Eighty-five percent of contested divorces end in free verse, the study found, and three in four divorces involving custody battles end in haiku.

"These children of divorce are really hurting," noted therapist Dr. Eli Wasserbaum said. "But not nearly as much as those of us forced to read this drivel."

Wasserbaum urged America's troubled couples to split up while their children are still very young. "If you have children who are, say, between the ages of three and nine, and you suspect you might not want to spend the rest of your life with your spouse, I would urge you to get divorced now," he said. "At least that way, your kids have a fighting chance to heal emotionally before they reach their prime poetry-writing teenage years, and we can all be spared reading about a beautiful rose that withers and dies because no sunlight ever fell upon it."

"The bottom line is, America's kids could be channeling their anger over the 'loss' of a parent into moving verse, but they're churning out melodramatic crap instead," said Dirk Fransette, director of the Young Writers' Workshop, a Brookline, MA, writing program for 13- to 18-year-olds. "If I have to read one more poem about a lighthouse, I am going to carve out my eyeballs."

The study has provoked strong reactions among young people nationwide. "You just don't understand," said Ethan Cameron, 14, of Salem, OR. Cameron, whose parents recently split up, self-publishes a literary website called Visitation Rites. Among the high-school freshman's poems: "Detention Of The Soul," "My Trenchcoat" and "Bruised."

"Saying that all our poetry is bad, well, it just isn't fair," said 15-year-old Melody Jeffords of Knoxville, TN, whose parents divorced when she was 13. "My parents and teachers just don't understand my pain. Or, as my new poem 'Trust' puts it: 'Who can you trust / With thoughts inside your head?/ You can't trust anyone / Unless they're already dead.'"

Wyler-Feldman said that while the Duke study has shed a great deal of light on the link between divorce and bad poetry, there is still much to be learned.

"So much is still unknown. For example, why so much thunder and lightning imagery? Why so many references to The Crow? And why the recent rise in short stories ending with alarm clocks ringing, revealing the entire story to be a dream? We must answer these crucial questions before we can ever hope to find a cure."

[Hollylane]

Morbid Flowers

Flowers arrived on Valentine's Day
Little pretty things, alive like zombies
After the snip, snip, snip, snipping
The aspirin in the water, is the embalming fluid.
The long cardboard delivery box, their coffin.

[Hollylane]

The train to nowhere arrived unscheduled...

[*Anya*]

It was alive when
she was here, now she is gone
Feels dead once again
**************************

Had to put my butch
on the airplane to no. CA
One more time, hate it

:(

[Hollylane]

What isn’t, couldn’t
And what is, will always be
Are you confused yet?

[PrivateeroftheDeep]

When darkness calls
No one to answer the ring
The Sun is still shining
Could this be Spring?

[Hollylane]

Story in 6 words or less...

It was not, yet it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a storm, roof gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Haiku

Drama was her life
But her stories a big flop
Still, violin plays...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peanut butter scoop
Stuck to the roof of my mouth
Might add spoon of jam

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A fly speck on life
Microscopic insect poop
Doesn't change my truth

[The JD]

Sniff, and sniff again.
Is it popcorn or fritos?
Odor de Dog Feet.

[Hollylane]

05/04/12

Dear Brian,

And I say again, there was nothing in the water. I chose to be here, in this time, this place and in this sweat stained booth eating these metallic tasting tacos. Artificial cheese on my tacos de sesos...is still better than the Velveeta cheese you fed me.

I want a redo, because I wasn't prepared when you were pouring the cervezas down my throat for what followed. I don't have to make sense to you, I understand me just fine. This letter is about you and not the tacos.

Cheers, I'm going back to the bar,

Senorita Drinko De Mayo

[SoNotHer]

Bad Love Poem #652

Last Cinco de Mayo,
we didn't need no
supermoon shining on us
for me to pop your pinata
and then pass my Corona,
(after a stellar coronal mass ejection),
and quench your lips dry from tortilla chips
and cock.

This Cinco de Mayo
you got yourself burritoed
by another who you said
liked the way you salsa
more than me.

Happy freakin' Stinko de Bye-bye-o to you.

[*Anya*]

Pain, always here now
Sharp, stabbing, aching, constant
Please leave me: goodbye

[Hollylane]

I missed our bad writing...I think we should all post badly more often. I have to get more practice using poor grammar and punctuation. It is important that I am successful at this. ;) Have I mentioned that dark humor and quirky minds are awesome?

[Truly Scrumptious]

She left her shoes in front of the sign that said “keep off the black rocks” and chuckled a little as she climbed on them defiantly because after all, someone who’d been bitten by both an emu and a dolphin on the same day could hardly be deterred by such humdrum warnings as “sudden high waves” or “potential drowning hazard”.

[Truly Scrumptious]

Attention all bad writers: The deadline for the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is June 30, and winners will be announced in early July.

What does it take to enter? Just write the opening sentence to the worst possible novel!

Last year’s overall winner (there are category winners too) was Sue Frodie, with this sentence:

“Cheryl’s mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories.”

Lovely use of metaphors, don’t you think?


Entries should be sent to: srice@pacbell.net
Details here: http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/

[SoNotHer]

Thank you for this, Miss Tick. We definitely have some contenders in this thread. ;)

Attention all bad writers: The deadline for the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is June 30, and winners will be announced in early July.

What does it take to enter? Just write the opening sentence to the worst possible novel!

Last year’s overall winner (there are category winners too) was Sue Frodie, with this sentence:

“Cheryl’s mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories.”

Lovely use of metaphors, don’t you think?


Entries should be sent to: srice@pacbell.net
Details here: http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/

[Hollylane]

The town had been cursed, with a curse that would never go away and could never be chased off. There was an unknown reason for the curse, and no apparent cure for the curse that could not be cured. It was a complete conundrum that perplexed the perpetually confused gals from LA when they arrived in a foreign town, in a foreign country, without a gas station or a pump house, just a dirt town in a dusty landscape, but somehow in this strange land they all spoke another language other than the foreign language of the country they lived in on foreign dirty soil. So, they really hadn't needed to learn to speak a second language, because their first language was the same as these foreigners who apparently were home schooled without any outside contact in a language of another foreign country, for no apparent reason that would make it all clear.

[SoNotHer]

Morning Love Song

"Bitch,
I know you
didn't forget
to put some
Jim Beam
in my coffee!"
a coffee mug shatters
and coffee splatters
down the snarled lip
of black velvet Elvis.

==================================================

Variation on William Carlos Williams

This is just to say
I've eaten everything
in the icebox
(belch)

[Truly Scrumptious]

Variation on the variation

This is just to say
You wouldn’t have known
How sweet or how cold
Those plums were
Had you not eaten them
Plus you finished all the milk
So no Cheerios instead
Forgive you, seriously?

[SoNotHer]

Great pick up and follow through - I'd be in a baton race with you any day, TS :-)

Variation on the variation

This is just to say
You wouldn’t have known
How sweet or how cold
Those plums were
Had you not eaten them
Plus you finished all the milk
So no Cheerios instead
Forgive you, seriously?

[Hollylane]

Morning Love Song

"Bitch,
I know you
didn't forget
to put some
Jim Beam
in my coffee!"
a coffee mug shatters
and coffee splatters
down the snarled lip
of black velvet Elvis.

==================================================

Variation on William Carlos Williams

This is just to say
I've eaten everything
in the icebox
(belch)

Oh jeez....These are effing hysterical....

Variation on the variation

This is just to say
You wouldn’t have known
How sweet or how cold
Those plums were
Had you not eaten them
Plus you finished all the milk
So no Cheerios instead
Forgive you, seriously?

Ha ha ha!

[Hollylane]

Who's smokin'?

It weren't long after
there were peals of loud laughter
I said thong, not bong. ;)

[Truly Scrumptious]

Variation #3

This is just to say
I slept with your friend
The one who sensed my hunger
And brought me breakfast in bed
Not cold plums, but
One perfect peach
Forgive me
It was delicious
Warm
Fuzzy
Soft
The juice running down my chin

[*Anya*]

Variation #3

This is just to say
I slept with your friend
The one who sensed my hunger
And brought me breakfast in bed
Not cold plums, but
One perfect peach
Forgive me
It was delicious
Warm
Fuzzy
Soft
The juice running down my chin

Just pure writing talent! Classic!

I enjoy everyone's writing so much!

Thanks Truly, SNH, MT and Holly! Please keep these gems coming:)

As the spirit moves you, of course;)

[Cin]

Overreact much?
I eat your plums
You fuck my friend
How is that equitable?
Well never mind she’s dead now
Committed suicide when
I pushed her off a roof
I’m sensing peaches and plums
Have lost their meaning for you
Perhaps a suicide watch is in order
I will show you overreaction.

[Truly Scrumptious]

This is just to say
You’re a fucking idiot
“Peach” was a metaphor
Is that too big a word for you?
I could have said bearded clam
Whisker biscuit
Sticky bun
Butter boat
Crotch cobbler
Twat waffle
Pink taco
Fur burger
You don’t scare me
I got lotsa time
And you got lotsa friends

[Cin]

This is just to say
You’re a fucking idiot
“Peach” was a metaphor
Is that too big a word for you?
I could have said bearded clam
Whisker biscuit
Sticky bun
Butter boat
Crotch cobbler
Twat waffle
Pink taco
Fur burger
You don’t scare me
I got lotsa time
And you got lotsa friends

Now that’s funny. I almost choked on the delicious fruit smoothie (sans plums or peaches) you made for breakfast. You win baby you're better at this than me.

[Hollylane]

The two of you rocked my brain this morning. I was laughing so hard I choked on my coffee!

[Cin]

On her way home Emma was running her therapy session over and over in her head. Her counselor, Madison, says nobody can hurt you unless you let them. Emma couldn’t reconcile that bit of news with her life experience up to this point. She didn’t want to be difficult or resistant to therapy or anything like that yet how could she swallow something filled with more holes than your average slice of swiss cheese. And this wasn’t the first time this woman named after the capital of Wisconsin had told her something that made about as much sense as leaving your cat to watch over your tropical fish.

Just a few weeks ago Madison had told Emma it was up to her to clean up the house if it bothered her that it was dirty and that she couldn’t expect her husband, Dillon, to put his glass in the sink unless he wanted to. If it upset Emma to have glasses about the house she was responsible for cleaning them up. That just didn’t seem fair to Emma. Madison explained further that it worked both ways and that Dillon also couldn’t expect Emma to pick up after him or even herself unless Emma wanted to.

Well that just made even less sense. Were they supposed to live in a pigsty with nobody cleaning up nothing unless they felt like it? Who feels like cleaning? Madison had gone on to explain that it is important not to have expectations of others unless there has been a previous arrangement or contract of some kind. Well thought Emma, didn’t we say I do? Isn’t that a contract? Doesn’t that imply somebody is going to clean something at some point?

If Emma accepted what Madison was saying then everything is all about who blinks first. Just leave shit all around and never clean nothing until one of us can’t stand it. Well that was just about the stupidest thing Emma ever heard because for sure it wasn’t going to be Dillon who couldn’t stand it. Yes, but Madison explained, that perhaps it will be Dillon who remarks about the state of the home. And then Emma could explain to him that if he doesn’t like it he needs to clean it himself.

Well something like that had happened this past week and Emma had tried to explain this to Dillon. But Dillon had no interest in listening to this therapy mumbo jumbo as he called it and told Emma she was a filthy pig, a lousy homemaker and a poor excuse for a wife. When Emma relayed what had happen this past week to Madison saying how much Dillon’s words had hurt her, Madison further explained how others can only hurt us if we let them. And how we create the reality we want for ourselves. Madison went on to say that what happens to each person is pretty much what each person makes happen. Emma left Madison’s office completely perplexed that day. This counseling stuff just made no sense.

As Emma arrived home she noticed Dillon’s truck in the driveway. When she walked through the door that entered into her somewhat less than pristine kitchen Emma was instantly aware of a distinct odor. That smells like shit she thought. She looked around and noticed there was manure all over the floor and the walls. She walked into the living room and found her husband smearing what appeared to be shit of some kind over the hardwood floors. “What are you doing”, she screamed at Dillon. “I’m just trying to make it more comfortable for you cause apparently you like living in shit”, explained Dillon.

Emma turned and walked into the bedroom as Dillon continued smearing shit everywhere. She picked up Dillon’s baseball bat that was leaning against the wall and stalked back into the living room. Before Dillon could even see what Emma had planned she smashed him over the head and he crumpled in a heap on the floor. “Well, how about that”, smiled Emma, “who would have thought Dillon wanted me to smash him upside the head.”

[Hollylane]

On her way home Emma was running her therapy session over and over in her head. Her counselor, Madison, says nobody can hurt you unless you let them. Emma couldn’t reconcile that bit of news with her life experience up to this point. She didn’t want to be difficult or resistant to therapy or anything like that yet how could she swallow something filled with more holes than your average slice of swiss cheese. And this wasn’t the first time this woman named after the capital of Wisconsin had told her something that made about as much sense as leaving your cat to watch over your tropical fish.

Just a few weeks ago Madison had told Emma it was up to her to clean up the house if it bothered her that it was dirty and that she couldn’t expect her husband, Dillon, to put his glass in the sink unless he wanted to. If it upset Emma to have glasses about the house she was responsible for cleaning them up. That just didn’t seem fair to Emma. Madison explained further that it worked both ways and that Dillon also couldn’t expect Emma to pick up after him or even herself unless Emma wanted to.

Well that just made even less sense. Were they supposed to live in a pigsty with nobody cleaning up nothing unless they felt like it? Who feels like cleaning? Madison had gone on to explain that it is important not to have expectations of others unless there has been a previous arrangement or contract of some kind. Well thought Emma, didn’t we say I do? Isn’t that a contract? Doesn’t that imply somebody is going to clean something at some point?

If Emma accepted what Madison was saying then everything is all about who blinks first. Just leave shit all around and never clean nothing until one of us can’t stand it. Well that was just about the stupidest thing Emma ever heard because for sure it wasn’t going to be Dillon who couldn’t stand it. Yes, but Madison explained, that perhaps it will be Dillon who remarks about the state of the home. And then Emma could explain to him that if he doesn’t like it he needs to clean it himself.

Well something like that had happened this past week and Emma had tried to explain this to Dillon. But Dillon had no interest in listening to this therapy mumbo jumbo as he called it and told Emma she was a filthy pig, a lousy homemaker and a poor excuse for a wife. When Emma relayed what had happen this past week to Madison saying how much Dillon’s words had hurt her, Madison further explained how others can only hurt us if we let them. And how we create the reality we want for ourselves. Madison went on to say that what happens to each person is pretty much what each person makes happen. Emma left Madison’s office completely perplexed that day. This counseling stuff just made no sense.

As Emma arrived home she noticed Dillon’s truck in the driveway. When she walked through the door that entered into her somewhat less than pristine kitchen Emma was instantly aware of a distinct odor. That smells like shit she thought. She looked around and noticed there was manure all over the floor and the walls. She walked into the living room and found her husband smearing what appeared to be shit of some kind over the hardwood floors. “What are you doing”, she screamed at Dillon. “I’m just trying to make it more comfortable for you cause apparently you like living in shit”, explained Dillon.

Emma turned and walked into the bedroom as Dillon continued smearing shit everywhere. She picked up Dillon’s baseball bat that was leaning against the wall and stalked back into the living room. Before Dillon could even see what Emma had planned she smashed him over the head and he crumpled in a heap on the floor. “Well, how about that”, smiled Emma, “who would have thought Dillon wanted me to smash him upside the head.”

Oh dear...I can't stop laughing, and I have an umbilical hernia...This is not going to end well...I just know it...:|

[Hollylane]

:|


Oops, a hernia...
Guts spilled, no zombies present.
Menudo sound good?


:|

[*Anya*]

:|


Oops, a hernia...
Guts spilled, no zombies present.
Menudo sound good?


:|

LOl!!

One of your absolute best haiku!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perfection achieved
Hernia not funny, ouch
Yum, menudo, yum

[Cin]

:|


Oops, a hernia...
Guts spilled, no zombies present.
Menudo sound good?


:|

I have got to make more time to check the planet. I almost missed this. Hilarious Haiku. Menudo indeed!

[Cin]

Oh dear...I can't stop laughing, and I have an umbilical hernia...This is not going to end well...I just know it...:|

Stop laughing. Right now.

Oh dear, too late.

Too little too late; a day late and a dollar short. The story of my life summed up right there.

I'm sorry, it seems I've taken your misfortune and make it about me.


I had a client who was so good at this she made it an art form. Here's one particularly amusing example:

Dawn: "Something terrible happened to me at the grocery store yesterday."

Me: "What happened?"

Dawn: "I was standing in line to cash out and the guy in front of me punched the cashier in the face."

Me: :|

Me: "That must have been horrible for you. More so perhaps for the cashier?"

Dawn: "I was shaking all night. And I had to wait forever to pay for my groceries."

[Hollylane]

The bills went unpaid
Yet, when the lights did go out
They were still surprised

:|

[*Anya*]

Heart ripped out, arteries
Hanging by a thread
Blood pooling on the floor
Soul vacant, trust gone
Sadness moved in
No room for anything else

http://i1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff434/anya_1/Snapbucket/D8B5DCCA-1.jpg

[*Anya*]

Never mind.

[*Anya*]

Tears now drying fast
Accepting reality
Head removed from vice



*
n
vice
(Engineering / Tools) an appliance for holding an object while work is done upon it, usually having a pair of jaws

[Hollylane]

Gogyohka:
• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words


I bet we can have some fun with this...:)

Example:

Sole commander of my ship

with the flow

I go

and the pen

is my alter-ego.

by Ruth Berdah-Canet

[Hollylane]

I tried to write a good Gogyohka...but this happened instead:

Near the shoreline
I will go
To be near the magnificence of Mother
Where the pounding of waves
Reminds, that like patterns in sand, most slates wipe clean
Though some,
May require the power of repetitive rinsing…

[Hollylane]

Somehow, this puts my lack of creativity today into perspective...

Droppings?

So, it’s was morning again
The coffee brewed
While the songbirds sang
And there was hope for a revelation
But nothing other than bird shit arrived.

[*Anya*]

The beach, whether it be bay or ocean

I can breathe freely and at peace

The sadness lifts and my spirit soars

I will remember always and forever

When I was loved

:rrose:

[*Anya*]

This is my shorter version trying to use Gogyohka principles. It is difficult!

~The beach

sets my spirit

Soaring and free

Remembering when

You loved me~
_________________________


Gogyohka

• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words

[*Anya*]

It's been
4 weeks
28 days
672 hours
40, 320 minutes
I still breathe

[Hollylane]

Bad Gogyohka...

Paper thin walls
fail to insulate
as screams grow louder
the wall banging goes unnoticed
one should try turning up the TV

[*Anya*]

Before and after

Joy at finding love
Wonder at the feeling
Touching your soul, finding it open and receptive
We were in the same place
My head on your chest
Listening to your heart beat
Reading your thoughts, feelings, hopes,
love and need for me in print
Pouring out of you
Hearing your ache for me
Missing me
Wanting me
Saying you wanted to grow old with me
Then
I allowed myself to believe, really believe
Loved you unconditionally
Openly
Totally
Completely
With my whole heart, soul & body
Allowed myself to feel my need for you
Now and always
Shared that with you
Shed tears
Missed you so
Still believed we were in the same place
Only to find
A minefield of words
My hope and dreams for the future
Now gone
Still trying to understand
How it became
Before and after

[*Anya*]

No more looking back
Instead, looking ahead now
New butch very cute!

:moonstars:

[*Anya*]

Enough heartache and pain
Time for healing and forgiveness
Honor the love that was
Even though it is no more

[lusciouskiwi]

I wrote this sometime last month but don't remember when exactly. Hopefully it's not too bad.


I can see you
standing over there
a reflection passing
thousands of miles away
a breath
a pause
eyes a gaze
my way
but you can't see me
loneliness that's like
fingernails down a
blackboard
I see you
a shimmer
a breath on my neck
I want to plunge my hands
into your skin
to drown
in the scent of you
like the softest cotton teeshirt
that you've had for years
my hands on your back
I feel like a cat in
heat
from you
that you
for me
fill me

[*Anya*]

Two forward, one back
Trying to move on today
Back is the hardest

[Hollylane]

https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/156708_562133997149391_2122203506_n.jpg

[Cin]

Gogyohka:
• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words


I bet we can have some fun with this...:)


I missed this
must have been on hiatus
sounds interesting
never too late for a good idea
I'll give it a shot.



The waves fall like joy
taste like tears
feel like life
I need more
than a memory

[Hollylane]

I just read through this thread again, and I want to say that I truly miss writing and reading in here. It still makes me laugh my ass off. Thank you for the memories...

[*Anya*]

I just read through this thread again, and I want to say that I truly miss writing and reading in here. It still makes me laugh my ass off. Thank you for the memories...

Holly!!

I've missed you!!

How about some of your excellent bad writing?!

Please?!

[*Anya*]

The 2013 Contest Winner:

She strutted into my office wearing a dress that clung to her like Saran Wrap to a sloppily butchered pork knuckle, bone and sinew jutting and lurching asymmetrically beneath its folds, the tightness exaggerating the granularity of the suet and causing what little palatable meat there was to sweat, its transparency the thief of imagination.

— Chris Wieloch, Brookfield, WI

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2013win.html

[Hollylane]

There once was a really fine fellow,
who made my heart melt like....uh...jello!
I willingly gave up my heart
which some claim was really not smart
We moved forward without looking behind
And it all turned out simply divine.
Now we are completely entwined
and that fellow's smile still intoxicates like wine.

[*Anya*]

To encourage everyone (and myself as well) I am bumping the thread with the 2014 Contest Winners.

I hope that reading some of them, will inspire us to once again write some terrific and very original, bad prose or stories! We have some wonderful writing talent right here on the Planet!

:typewriter:

Winner

When the dead moose floated into view the famished crew cheered – this had to mean land! – but Captain Walgrove, flinty-eyed and clear headed thanks to the starvation cleanse in progress, gave fateful orders to remain on the original course and await the appearance of a second and confirming moose. — Elizabeth (Betsy) Dorfman, Bainbridge Island, WA

Elizabeth Dorfman of Bainbridge Island, WA, is the 32nd grand prize winner of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest thas entrants to compose bad opening sentences to imaginary novels and takes its name from the Victorian novelist George Edward Bulwer-Lytton, who began his Paul Clifford (1830) with “It was a dark and stormy night.“ Although Lytton did not originate the line, he exploited its familiarity to begin his novel, as have several other writers who followed him.

In keeping with the bignitude, high dignity, and general importance of the competition, the grand prize winner receives a pittance (about $150).

Grand Panjandrum’s Special Award

As he girded himself against the noxious, sulfurous fumes that belched from the chasm in preparation for descent into the bowels of the mountain where mighty pressure and unimaginable heat made rock run in syrupy rivers, Bob paused to consider the unlikely series of events that had led him to become the Great God Vulcan’s proctologist. — Stan Hunter Kranc, State College, PA

Winner: Adventure

“Listen, Control!” snarled Captain Dan McMurdo across the ether, “I’ve got one engine shut down, the other running on fumes, a seriously wounded co-pilot who won’t last the hour, fifty-three refugee orphans down the back, and a nun for a radio operator, so turn the goddam landing lights on goddam pronto – sorry, Sister.” — Gavin Dobson
Runner-Up:

As the foeman’s axe descended, Ragnar Thorvaldsson thought – quickly, but with uncannily prescient anachronism – that his paltry contribution to this raid would not be recorded in the great sagas, or even a minor tale, but at best he might be remembered centuries hence only as “third oarsman” in the Boys’ Own Book of Viking Adventure Stories. — Paul Dawson, Vancouver, BC, Canada
Dishonorable Mentions:

Finally after ninety-seven long days adrift Captain Pertwee was rescued, mercifully ending his miserable diet of rainwater and strips of sun dried Haddock which was actually far ghastlier than it sounded what with George Haddock being his former first mate. — Phillip Davies, Cardiff, U.K.

Winner: Children’s Literature

Justin was happy, like a clam at high tide, but abruptly ending his musings he recalled that he had every reason to be happy (in his own small way) because he was a quahog and it was the highest of tides, and he squirted with delight. — Mike Mayfield, Austin, TX

Winner: Crime

Hard-boiled private dick Harrison Bogart couldn’t tell if it was the third big glass of cheap whiskey he’d just finished, or the way the rain-moistened blouse clung so tightly to the perfect figure of the dame who just appeared panting in his office doorway, but he was certain of one thing … he had the hottest mother-in-law in the world. — Carl Turney, Bayswater, Victoria, Australia
Runner-Up

Hard-boiled private eye Smith Calloway had a sinking feeling as he walked into the chaotic crime scene, for there, as expected, was the body dressed in a monk’s habit; there was the stuffed cream-colored pony next to the crisp apple strudel; there was the doorbell, the set of sleigh bells, and even the schnitzel with noodles – all proclaiming that the Von Trappist Killer had struck again. — Joshua Long, Harrison

Winner: Purple Prose

He was a stolid man, prone to excessive and extended bursts of emotionlessness; but when Maurice loved, he loved with the passion of a dog itching its face against the grain of a firm pile carpet. — Stephen Sanford, Seattle, WA

Runner-Up:

The air-conditioner hummed like an over-sized bear eating a large salmon he’d fished out of the water and if you’ve never heard an over-sized bear eating a salmon, just imagine an air-conditioner humming and you’ll know. — Bobby
Tessel

The young lovers’ lips latched to each other not unlike the way in which two coital snails would, with much slime and suction, frothing as if someone had just poured salt on them. — Peter S. Bjorkman, Rocklin, CA

His ex-wife’s personality was like chocolate – not the smoky, tangy, exquisitely rich and full-bodied type, but the over-sweet, tooth-cracking, factory-processed, made-with-vegetable-oil kind that leaves one with diabetes and an aneurysm the size of a grape. — Shalom Chung, Hong Kong

Runner-Up:

It was a dark and stormy night, as it would be for the next 23 years on the world of Lo’soun, a lop-sided planet that rolls around its axis like one of those spinning tops kids have, and for the next 23 years the brave space colonists would have to live without light, warmth, or the screaming, car-sized cicadas that only come out in the summer. — Matthew Hannum, Glen Burnie, MD
Winner: Vile Puns

Pet detective Drake Leghorn ducked reporters at the entrance to the small hobby farm and headed down to the tiny pond where a lone goose was frantically calling for her mate and he wondered why – when so many come to look upon the graceful mating pair – why would someone want to take a gander?— Howie McLennon, Ottawa, ON, Canada
Runner-Up

Six months old, and already their love had picked up memories like lint, which, now that Maddie thought about it, was appropriate, since she and Brian met at the laundromat, when Maddie found herself hampered by a stubborn washing machine coin slot, but then snickered at the thought of being “hampered” while doing laundry, and then found herself explaining her snicker to the nearest laundromat patron, who turned out to be Brian and who, better yet, turned out to have a sense of humor even, well, dryer than her own. — Kirsten Wilson

It was cool but muggy – I was schvitzing like a mohel at his first bris – and one thing was for certain: that Rosetta Stone course in Yiddish was worth the gelt. — Kelben Graf, Milwaukie, OR

The beginning of an affair is like fresh bubble gum, pink and delicious; then the middle is like when you take out your chewed gum and play with it – kind of diverting but prone to getting cold and sticky – until finally you’re back in the unfunny cartoon wrapper headed for the love trash.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2014win.html

[*Anya*]

*Bump*

It's been a couple of years and we have some new folks.

With all of the pre and post election misery; how about using some of that inspiration to get those creative juices flowing again?

Give it your best shot for some original bad prose or stories!

As bad as you can make it!


In case you need more inspiration:

The 2016 winner:

Even from the hall, the overpowering stench told me the dingy caramel glow in his office would be from a ten-thousand-cigarette layer of nicotine baked on a naked bulb hanging from a frayed wire in the center of a likely cracked and water-stained ceiling, but I was broke, he was cheap, and I had to find her. —
William "Barry" Brockett, Tallahassee, FL

Runner-up:

Her grandmother had mopped her brow with the same antique kerchief for twenty years whilst working in the barley fields, and now Anastasia was to wear it on her wedding night knotted into a baggy loose panty; while her lover Anatoly would wear his father's ancient gray and tattered undershorts tied around his neck to honor the old village custom of marital odor-blending. — David S. Nelson, Falls Creek, VA


http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2016win.html

PS:

Thanks to Truly Scrumptious for the reminder!

[Kätzchen]

Thanks Anya for bumping this thread!

You're right, I miss bad writing stories and could use a good laugh, lol!

Last year's winner from Tallassee, Florida was terribly funny, but I could definitely relate to the part about "being broke, he was cheap, and I had to find her." And ....the color of the light bulb . LOL (or not).

[Kätzchen]

As he stood there, trying to figure out which tactic would get him the chance to say he was sorry for hanging up on her or not looking her in the eye while lying about what exactly he was up to, when recently claiming that he missed his ride or couldn't find a ride (neither excuse really was working), she skillfully placed the smartphone on speaker-phone, so he could hear the sound of a certain melody with clarity:

Silence Is Golden.


:bouquet:

[Medusa]

Bad Haikus ROCK!


Huge, wet, brown dog eyes
Beg the question of the day
Will there be cookies?

[*Anya*]

**Bumping*** because surely, we must still have some very, very, bad, it is SO good, writing waiting to come out, don't we?

That sentence was pretty bad...

I just gave you a little push.

[Kätzchen]

After years of being the healthy individual she had always been, Maggie suddenly found herself staring at the endless bottles of prescription medication on her kitchen table.

Maggie had just been released from the hospital the night before, after having an attack of the shits. In Maggie's mind, Maggie kept cursing the doctor who kept putting her on medication after medication, to get to the bottom of the continual problem of having to visit the toilet more than she ever did in her life, before the Wheel of Medication turned her life upside down.

Remembering her latest fiasco of having accidentally shit her panties at the doctors office and how the stool lab came back with an less than normal outcome, Maggie complained to her doctor that he was going to find himself in a shit load of trouble if he couldn't get her on the right medication to prevent having to take a shit every hour on the hour.

Unfortunately, much to Maggie's chagrin, the doctor said, "Oh, Maggie, you're just full of Shit!"

Staring at the doctor, Maggie replied: "You're too late, I'm not full of shit!"


................. ............. .............

(This story is based upon an real life experience. The names of both parties are kept anonymous for the sake of anonymity)

( :blush: :| :giggle: )

[Kätzchen]

I couldn't find the Bad Haiku thread, so I thought I'd post my bad haiku ditty here, today. It's about my dumb 'smart' phone and the litany of typos I see, after its too late to correct my typos. :blink: :| :blush: :giggle: :eyebat: :bow:

Ode to my Dumb "Smart" Phone

Every time my fingers type (7)
Correct words to say (5)
I see typos way too late (7)