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Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST,heric Date: 05 Jun 03 - 04:45 PM Kavanagh wasn't referring to the tart as clay, at all. The clay references only the mysterious dichotomy in human existence, the "art and soul" of living, symbiotically related to, but simultaneously to be sheltered safely from, all issues material to the corporeal dwelling. There is no tint of judgment or condescension whatsoever. Cluin ingeniously referred us to Donne, and Donne provides the clue: "Now all the parts built up, and knit by a lovely soul, now but a statue of clay, and now these limbs melted off, as if that clay were but snow;" In other words, Kavanagh had merely failed to protect his soul and his art, nothing more grave than that, but with devastating consequences. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 05 Jun 03 - 04:23 PM (Heavy RAP soundtrack batters the ear, as...) "ACTION LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE!" (SCREECH!!!! CRASH! BOOOOM!!!) "KEANU REEVES LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SEEN HIM BEFORE!" (split-second shot of expressionless face in sunglasses...ZZZZAPPP! BLAM!!!) "FIGHT SCENES LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE!" (except in the last 150 or so movies...) (BAD-DAM! BANG! POW!) "MATRIX RECANTED IS A MIND-BOGGLING ASSAULT ON THE SENSES..." (true...) "A DIZZYING FREEFALL INTO A BOTTOMLESS PIT OF VIOLENCE..." (and stupidity) "...THAT WILL LEAVE YOU BREATHLESS..." (if you don't give up and go outside to get some peace and quiet before it's over) "...AND BEGGING FOR MORE!!!" (...more good taste in movies...). "DON'T MISS THIS ONE ON THE BIG SCREEN!~ MATRIX RECANTED PUTS THE 'ACK!' IN ACTION!!!" (Heavy RAP soundtrack ends suddenly in mid-thump and screech, nailing you to your seat...get ready for next f**king obnoxious trailer to begin in about 1 millisecond from now...) Bleaugh! Want a lucrative career in bad writing AND bad music? Do scripts for Hollywood movie trailers. p.s. "Matrix Reloaded" is an overblown piece of garbage. Don't see it. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Geoff the Duck Date: 05 Jun 03 - 11:11 AM Well! Mudcat is back, and I still haven't caught up on this thread. I copied the page to my hard drive so that I could read it at leisure whilst the cat was down. Suddenly we are up and running again after about 4 days instead of the 10 Max promised. I should have had another 6 days to get to this posting - Oh blow! GtD. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: HuwG Date: 31 May 03 - 09:54 AM Hello, Godot. Nice to see you. Are you doing anything for the next couple of hours ? |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 30 May 03 - 11:33 PM John Hardly, that is GOOD writing. You is in the wrong thread, sucka!!! Or maybe you are just incapable of bad writing... - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: khandu Date: 30 May 03 - 10:58 PM Horace Wigley, the Public Latrine Inspector, ran naked through the lobby of the Bijou ("White Heat" was playing), shouting, "I am more like I am tonight than I was when I was like what I was like what I was before!" As the police carried him away, Constable Homer Buford remarked to the other officers about the tatoo of a naked midget wearing a top-hat on Horace's thumb... At the same moment, three blocks away, Linus McGivney stood in front of the local brothel screaming, "My God, the Women are spitting on my shoes!" Linus wore no shoes...only a top hat. At the same moment, Gene Andrews, the no-necked garage mechanic, awoke to find himself dead. There was a look of boredom on his face as though he had non-chalantly died bored. There was a top hat in the leather chair beside his bed... Thirty minutes later, God awakened from a deep slumber and asked the recently deceased Earl Pinbrook, "Where is my top hat?" k |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Uncle_DaveO Date: 30 May 03 - 09:01 PM Maybe I've got no taste, but I don't see that last one as bad writing. But then maybe I've got just a tad of prejudice on the subject discussed. Dave Oesterreich |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: John Hardly Date: 30 May 03 - 08:16 PM It's that wire that no one sees but draws us to the magician's hand. It's the true north that mysteriously keeps our needle pointing one way. One day we hear the jangle, the strum of an E chord, the tip-of-a-hat in a G run, or the one-man-band of a fingerstyle song and we're never the same. We wander through life with a different song in our mind. We notice everything guitar—-of course in sound on the radio and in recording-—but also the physical presence of the guitar. In the background scenery of a movie set, in a commercial on TV, we'll notice the guitars. If we walk into a strange place and there happens to be a guitar in the room, little else occupies our mind. It calls our attention like an overheard conversation that sounds more interesting than the one in which we're currently engaged. "Oh, excuse me. Did you say something?" Maybe it's the sound that hooks us first but almost simultaneously we're drawn to the guitar as a work of art. Curiously, in the horizontal position we view it as a practical tool to make our music. But we view it as art in the vertical—resting on its heel, that perfect balance, that anthropomorphic symmetry. Proof? --the guitar tester's dance-- you know the one. You've seen it and you've done it. Play a riff, a chord, a song, and as that final strum is cast…we pick it up, left hand still holding the neck, right hand on the end pin…and we do that graceful pirouette 'til we're face to face with the guitar and the sound it's making. Eyes take in the beauty from peg to bridge. Then the grin… …..Fred, meet Ginger. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Donuel Date: 30 May 03 - 07:59 PM Front row and center in the middle of Swan Lake I watched her arch her leg ever so effortlesly, like a dog at a hydrant. ...................... Three year old Dean says "I Buzz lightyear, to ifinity and beyond". If you interrupt his reality twist. he'll get mad. Its so cute. The warm wonderful world of pretend is a refuge even for grown up adults. And they get mad if you interrupt their reality. No matter what the facts are. Its so sad. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Geoff the Duck Date: 30 May 03 - 07:09 PM Been away for a day - trying to catch up with the thread. Lots of reading to do, so might take a couple of weeks before I get to the head of the queueueueueueueue! Blue Clicky to the William McGonagall poems BLICKY generally regarded s the worst poet ever (in the english language). Quack! Geoff the (tardy) Duck. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 30 May 03 - 12:24 PM Blake Madison? Hmmmm. Gotta look it up. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Peter T. Date: 30 May 03 - 12:19 PM Our various Blake Madison threads were perhaps the ne-plus-ultra of this kind of writing. yours, Peter T. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: MMario Date: 30 May 03 - 11:46 AM bad? or Ba-a-ad? or baa-aa-aa'd? The first is indicitive of negatory excellence in writing achievment; while the second is a term meaning the oppisete in street slang among selected groupings of particular ethnicity;especially urban youth. The tertiary term is most commonly found among scattered and usually isolated rements of population that derive from sheep-herding economic factors. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 30 May 03 - 11:42 AM Bloody MARVELOUS!!! I was wondering when we'd get a Mike Hammer type of thing...what would us gumshoes do without all these hardheaded dames who need a case solved by a hardheaded man that ain't afraid to use a gat or down a stiff drink even when he's starin' down the barrel of a smokin' .45? "Pour me another one, Jimmy. The night's only gettin' started." I think I'll put together an anthology of this stuff later, and wow the literary world. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Apache Date: 30 May 03 - 11:36 AM So was mine bad? |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: HuwG Date: 30 May 03 - 11:22 AM It had been a long night, the sort of long night that leaves you with Rosie the Riveter working on piece-rates inside of your skull, and a taste in your mouth like the garbage men held a wake there. It was the sort of long night that left me not wanting to do anything with the morning except wait for Rosie to knock off. So I didn't need a dame to knock on the door like the Mighty Mo firing an Veterans' Day salute and then sail in through the door and announce, "Sorry, your door was open. May I come in?". Especially I didn't need dames with a figure like hers, which was that of a pin-up, for Greenpeace. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Peter T. Date: 30 May 03 - 11:12 AM What do you mean, no Canadian funds accepted? This school is a fraud, in no way would Bill go for this, he is a true blue Canadian, living in L.A. and everything. "There is something going on here, I can feel it. Ever since we landed, I have had this sense that --" "That someone is watching us?" "No, more like someone -- or some THING is playing us, like we were musical instruments. Don't you think it is odd that we just happened to start arguing, right at the moment when --" "Captain, sorry to interrupt, but I'm getting strange readings --" "I knew we should have banned that Open Poetry night on Deck 5!!" |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: MMario Date: 30 May 03 - 11:04 AM Do you aspire to great feats of literary endeavor in the writing of prose, poetry, poems, plays, books, ad copy or other written material of a literary nature? WSSOBA* now offers a subsidiary course in the techniques and technicalities of inspired and inspiring writing of language in addition to our traditional courses. The WSSOBW**, the newest offshoot of the tree of knowledge and wisdom emmanating from the godlike inspiration of our founder patron will uplift and raise you to new heights of elucidation. Send $75*** to the number on your screen NOW! Don't ...miss... the chance of a ...lifetime! *William Shatner School of Bad Acting |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Apache Date: 30 May 03 - 10:53 AM Am I God? For many years I have wondered if I am God. I think I am but many people don't. Never mind. I believe that I am God because I can perform miricales, I can turn tractors into fields, I can pull a rabbit out of a hat (if I can stuff the little bastard in there first). I'm bigger than Jesus and you all know it, so worship me. NB: This is not supposed to be me being big headed, it's an example of bad writing. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 30 May 03 - 10:43 AM Cluin - We are aiming for BAD writing here, but not total literary incoherence, okay? There is a difference. Study William Shatner's acting in the original Star Trek series for pointers. The idea is to still make sense, but to do it in a way that is overstated, cliche-ridden, clumsy, melodramatic, and so on... Bad writing is not achieved by stringing together nonsequiters and by spelling badly. No, indeed. Bad writing is achieved by people who think they are doing GREAT writing! You must convince yourself that you are writing the most overwhelmingly great prose that has ever been committed to the blank page...and then write, man, write! And let the World decide afterward whether or not it is truly BAD writing. It takes confidence and determination to do this. Just ask William Shatner. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 30 May 03 - 10:35 AM Ha! Ha! Ha! Christ, how can our attempts at bad writing match that? There are a couple of really memorable quotes in there... "How can I guess when I don't know what it was?" Right........ And if you want to know what a REAL hamburger is, whaddya do? Go to McDonald's, right? Right........ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Yak! Yak! Gasp! Snarf! - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Peter T. Date: 30 May 03 - 08:38 AM This thread is definitely getting warmer.... (Actual conversation overheard this morning in a breakfast diner, transcribed in passing): "So we get there, and we are walking down the street, and I think, like, wouldn't it be great to get a cup of coffee. Guess." "I don't know. $5.00?" "$5.25. I couldn't believe it. And my husband had, what do you call it, you know, something latte, and guess --" "How can I guess when I don't know what it was?" "You know, anyway, it was $7.00. We decided right then that we were probably going to starve to death. Then later, at the hotel, I had a burger and fries, well, not really, you couldn't call it a real burger, they can't make them there, isn't that strange, you would think with all the McDonald's everywhere, they would have learned. $20.00. $20." "Wow." (and so on). yours, Peter T. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Liz the Squeak Date: 30 May 03 - 05:40 AM Cluin dear, time to take your medication..... LTS |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: alison Date: 30 May 03 - 02:23 AM the scary thing is that I understood every word.... rapturous applause for Cluin......lol slainte alison |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Cluin Date: 30 May 03 - 01:40 AM Call me Ishmael. Yadda yadda yadda homina homina homina yackity smackity. Hurbily burbily fleebity flewtery fly. Riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. Skinna ma rinky dinky dink; skinna marinky doo. Soo soo soodeeo? Hoocheemama! You should not have come back, Obi Wan. Rubby dub dub wid lub inna tub. John Grady poured himself another coffee. All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe. Dung nung nung nung gung. Damn your eyes, man! They outgrabe, I say! Sassinfrassa takahashi lhasa apso franistan. His male name is "Begotten, Perfect Mind", and his female name is "All-wise Begettress Sophia." Hoowah! Sim sim salabim... Rosanne Kobar! Onchess nobsis; innob keesis. "Jonny! Hadji! Keep your heads down, boys!" The inky dinky spider went up the water spout. Zooey tie filbertson? Shit poo shitty and a pow pow pow! Shilfy falferton co tun rotunda. I am thy father's spirit; doom'd for a certain term to walk the night. Gackiter rack ta mackita sack chack flackeroo. Zo jann cull sigganee intel gone zinfandel tanelorn. All things, O monks, are on fire. Whoop tee doo! Ga haha yee hay hey heya hey. Punchbuggy; no punchbacks. !Kung sleepers weepers keepers, jeepers creepers; where'd you get them peepers? Norn tahree feelabung ta zoo? "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado." Waha hoo! Everybody wang chung tonight. Bada boom bada bing. "Fortunately, ah keep mah feathahs numbered for jus' sech an emergenseh." Rave on, John Donne and Fart smartly, cheeky tart. So chulba nin gin filton and swinker sigh gunsel tin town gulf. And now the Wasichus had made another treaty to take away from us about half the land we had left. And crow man kye ton vilgin mo creaser. Wilby nun till vygin shnowzola. Vigil strange I kept on the field one night. Meeker tan vow, sun hee way. Hee keek neeker sife tannaroo. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, comsect quis nostrud exercitation ullam corp squidbite to the uterus, my drolly roxut o' the flolumberry eyes. He and Egil walked inside, taking half of Arinbjörn's men with them and leaving the rest outside the door. Grilst hintin vowd? Nygin fleaful, so gwulthin hay!! How rotten for Daphne! Humma gumma naw go hillabay geetch... Wheep hoo! Come to think of it, how rotten for me, too. Snawdilg int kywin lubbadub. Sheedle fydle ingye nildirt giesin viddle. Meen? Togar. So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly. Nine sidle downer tin corson zeet boyd, zo chilgar vere dey. Nam liber tempor cum soluta nobis. Tem est poribud autem right in the yump gwilger whenever he reached down for his miezenfliger. "Ah, Luthien Gilthananiel! So marveluminous are your wunkterflaggers in the felluginous glow from my electromandibular chugwugger. Please perform again in all splendifular maxitrunction, the Dance of the Seventeen Flexofellation Variations (as choreoscripted so proglaciously by Lady Shloopp herself, no less) whilst I twerdle and smulg in ranxtorous glee above thee." Alas, go tilken cab as the shuzzger manker swann'd pilfanye tossward mockertly. So fible fwink go lankus dink. He was her man, but he was doin' her wrong. Coeful dreens did spank the wallabing in ankertuss swads. You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. And then the jostankers flolloped costallition thuds in profusion. Sammon finer dropped in the killer whale tank, greamlinning velsmirchedly. Oh, the golglomming! I blew the candle out and left the cabin. Soupin meener somun highwire. Ha! Spunca dinga danga ringa rangaroo. And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 29 May 03 - 11:02 PM I like yours, Rustic. Churn out another fifty or so pages like that and we might just have a New Age bestseller. Goddess is a very popular concept these days, having been neglected for these past few thousand years. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Bobert Date: 29 May 03 - 10:50 PM Well danged, this'll teach me. Go off to Misissippi fir a few days fir the Handy Awards and you all gotta start a bad writing thread and let some of these bad writin' wantabees get a few laps on the ol' hillbilly.... Well, all I can say is good danged luck. I got a PHD in bad writing with double minors in bad spellin' and bad typin'! Any of you wantabees that fortunate, experienced 'er qualified? I reckon not! Hey, I was right behind Al Gore at the patent office waitin' to patent bad writing and he'll tell ya that it's true. Not sure what he was there for.(The Bobert cleverly ends yet another sentence with a proposition... that's bad, bad, bad but wait 'til I dangle my partisiple... oh, baby...). Yeah, you all thought you were gonna pull a fast one on me, didn't ya. Well, yer gonna have to get up a little earlier if yer gonna play in my world.... Bobert |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 29 May 03 - 10:47 PM He felt himself siezed by a profound, lowering sadness, a creeping ennui that festered fitfully in his fragile and constricted heart and then coiled itself indifferently down to the depths of his very soul. It was a mood that had crept silently toward him on little cat feet ever since his boarding the wretched scow that had brought him inexorably down this damned river, past nameless settlements in featureless surroundings, past endless myriad tangles of jungle, swamp, and brief savannah, soon to be swallowed by another morass of green hell, its interminable vastness descending upon him like some faceless dowager empress of the antediluvian wilderness. He barely seemed to hear the cries of numerous unknown birds, mammals, and less familiar creatures, somewhere in the foliage nearby. Occasionally he glimpsed a parrot or a monkey, but to these he turned an uncaring eye. He had almost forgotten why he used to think anything mattered in that former life of his, now dimly fading behind the curtain of this endless river. What day was it today? It was no day at all, he thought, but the same day as before, waiting to yield its place to the same night as before, and return on the morrow...day after day after meaningless day...as a garishly coloured mechanical horse repeats its witless cycle on a merry-go-round, oblivious to the little human lives that pass by with their momentary noise and fuss. His blood seemed to flow more slowly now, his heart a distant murmur that he could sense but no longer interpret, like a grumbling rapids gurgling far ahead in the distance, up the river's course. Perhaps the rapids would come, and that would be a change? But no. The river wound on, silent, smug and oily, like a great patient serpent that has eaten its fill and bides its time. The river could swallow anything, he thought. Soon it will swallow me. And what does it matter? There is no me anyway, in truth. I am a mere echo fading, falling at last into the heart of darkness. Note: Leonard Graves Doomfellow, the author of the 6,300-page novel "River of Darkness", from which this brief, but brilliant excerpt is taken, had high hopes that Francis Ford Coppolla or someone else like that would use his book as the basis for a spectacular feature film about despair and futility, but it didn't happen, so he killed himself by jumping into a pit of starving gerbils. He had apparently bought all the gerbils in Schenectady and the surrounding area, as well as two chinchillas and a white rat, in order to prepare his demise in a suitable fashion. It was really quite tragic. The World has lost a great, great talent. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Rustic Rebel Date: 29 May 03 - 10:18 PM Blowing smoke into the smoky room, fills the sky and drifts away like a random thought. The Goddess within can hear it all. She stoops and listens carefully. She didn't want to miss anything. She thought she heard a giggle but missed the punchline. I will help you if you let me. You will help yourself if you let you. She was in the gray zone, she could walk through the mirror if she wanted. The smoke filled the room and she lit another cigarette. She's stronger than she knows, she is. She just has to look into the other side of the mirror. Walk right in there, she thought. Take a look inside the inside. The goddess was revealed just thinking about it. The thought drifted with the smoke and twirled around the giggle. Than she remembered, she did get the punchline. Peace. Rustic(attempting to write real bad!) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Uncle_DaveO Date: 29 May 03 - 09:39 PM Mark Twain knew how to write horrendously when he wanted to: OESOPHAGUS - ( a hoax Clemens played on his readers via a paragraph of purple prose) It was a crisp and spicy morning in early October. The lilacs and laburnums, lit with the glory-fires of autumn, hung burning and flashing in the upper air, a fairy bridge provided by kind nature for the wingless wild things that have their home in the tree-tops and would visit together; the larch and the pomegranate flung their purple and yellow flames in brilliant broad splashes along the slanting sweep of woodland, the sensuous fragrance of innumerable deciduous flowers rose upon the swooning atmosphere, far in the empty sky a solitary oesophagus slept upon motionless wing; everywhere brooded stillness, serenity, and the peace of God. - "A Double Barrelled Detective Story" I published a short story lately & it was in that that I put the oesophagus. I will say privately that I expected it to bother some people--in fact, that was the intention--but the harvest has been larger than I was calculating upon. The oesophagus has gathered in the guilty and the innocent alike, whereas I was only fishing for the innocent--the innocent and confiding. - Letter to Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican, quoted in Mark Twain: A Biography Beat that if you can. It has a grandeur that is awe-inspiring. Dave Oesterreich |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Dave Swan Date: 29 May 03 - 09:01 PM Grasp the overlying flange by the inferior projection(C). Stretch the temporary retaining band across the flange gap, attaching it to tab A1, just beneath the adjustment screw (a mirror may help in this step). Gently warm the shell housing using hot water or a hair dryer and form as needed. For recorded customer service assistance please call our central office between 0100 and 0115 PST. Press #1, 4, 6, * ,then enter your product number, found on the under side of the overlying flange. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 29 May 03 - 08:19 PM "I AM!" I cried. To no one there. And no one spoke. Not even the chair. And then there's "songs she sang to me, songs she brang to me" I tell ya, we're all mere amateurs when it comes to Neil Diamond. But keep tryin' folks! - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: MMario Date: 29 May 03 - 07:41 PM yer majesty - that explains a lot. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST Date: 29 May 03 - 07:41 PM you forgot to talk to the chair.... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: khandu Date: 29 May 03 - 07:38 PM The Chair Yes..the Chair. There, next to the lamp with the broken globe, it sat, self-assured, smug in its self-assuredness. How many times I have desired...no, lusted, to climb into its leather well-worn seat and ponder the mysteries of Life. To sit and drink beer which I could quickly hide behind its back, should the preacher knock. To watch the evening news and cuss the president while commanding the wife to make the brats shut-up and behave. To be the MAN of the Chair. To be my Father. k |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST,amergin Date: 29 May 03 - 04:56 PM LH, I got an aunt who has made a fairly successful living writing romances and mysteries....she loves doing it... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River Date: 29 May 03 - 04:45 PM You could tell just by lookin at her that she was a skank clear through not in spite of or irregardless of the fact that she liked to pretend she was somebody importatn in this town. She called herself Brittney and she figgered she was hot. Well maybe she was hot but bein hot aint everything although it beats bein ugly or dead. I have spent time with nice girls and I have spent time with skanks and I know the difference! Brittney was not a nice girl. Matter of fact she was a sleeze of the worst kind but she tried to cover it up by using big words...like "optimistic". That's what she said I was to ask her out. "Optimistic". That was her way of bein smart. "You dont have to be optimistic when your playin with four aces, baby." Thats what I said to her. She's like, "Where are they? Stuffed down your pants?" I'm like, "Put your hand in and see." She's like, "Flip off, you jerk!" I'm like, "I was hopin we could do that together. How about a toke on Bobo?" That's when she threw the bottle of beer at me. Lucky I got fast reflexes. It went past my head and busted the mirror behind the bar. What a mess. "Now you done it," I says to her. That was when she went for me with the pool cue and nice girls dont do stuff like that. I dont hit girls but I shoulda hit this one. On account of her I got throwed out of the Iron Horse a hour before last call and I have put more time and money into that place than she ever did. Girls dont play fair when they are mad or any other time either. You cant trust em no farther than a turtle can spit. Life in Blind River. It aint paradise, but it's home. - BDiBR (p.s. I got sober for a hour before I wrote that. every word of it is true.) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Dave the Gnome Date: 29 May 03 - 04:39 PM I hope we are all singing from the same hymn book and saluting the same flag when I say, possitively and without fear of contraception, that the thing we wish to happen least or at least the thing we do not want to happen most is the event which is in the forefront of everybodies minds even though we are all treading around the issue as if on clear silicate of the fractured variety. DON'T LET jOHN fRom 9HuLl ANYWHERE NEAR HERE... May I wish you a felicitatious and decidedly glowing greeting in the effluvious style of my forebears, Cheers Dave the Gnome |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST,E.M. Date: 29 May 03 - 04:05 PM Ode to Ms Rutledge Penelope Rutledge, O Vision sublime! I think of you often, and wish you were mine I think of you tripping down library stairs The sun on your bonnet, the wind in your hair No melody bright could express all you are No vision of light and no heavenly star No sunrise at dawn could encompass your grace No vista at twilight could e'er match your face I sit in my room and envision you now The queen of my conscience, the wave at my bow My ships are all stranded, now wretched they pine No sails on their yardarms, no grapes on my vine My vineyards are barren, my cats have no mice My parrot has sought therapeutic advice My hallway is empty, my phone's on the fritz Penelope Rutledge, I love you to bits! My hopes they are waning, as silent I wait Intolerably distant from fair Twillingsgate If not for thy grace I would plunge from the skies As an albatross falls to his final demise Yet hope springs anew with each stroke of my pen That my words may yet sway you, and move you, and then That together at last we may write history With me beside you, dear, and you beside me Penelope Rutledge, O Vision sublime! I think of you often, and wish you were mine E. M. (Ever Madly in love with you...) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 29 May 03 - 03:54 PM Wonderful! A friend of mine who is a very good poet admitted today that once while penniless and desperate he wrote two Harlequin romance novels under a psuedonym (something like Daphne Pendrake or Violet Haize...)...and they sold! He made me swear not to reveal his identity under any conditions. - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: LadyJean Date: 29 May 03 - 03:27 PM The waves crashed against the glistening, black boulders, that lined the Cornish coast. The wind from France howled it's queer comment ca va, through the whispering sea grass. It blew Garlanda's silken skirts against her long, slender, legs. Inside her was a passion as powerful as the rolling waves, as strong as the wind on the sea. Her loins throbbed as she thought of Dirk, the virile Scot who had captured her passion. Suddenly he was there, striding along the cliffs, his eyes glistening, as the French wind ruffled his thick corn gold locks. His skin tight trousers betraying his intentions. "Dirk!" she moaned, trying vainly to conceal her desire. "They told me you were sailing with the tide!" "They were wrong," he wispered, huskily, ripping open her silken bodice, to reveal her creamy bosom. Garlanda sighed as he pushed her onto the sand. She knew this would have to be their last encounter. She was running out of bodices. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Peter T. Date: 29 May 03 - 02:22 PM Finally, I want to make 3 or 4 more points before closing. I know that many of you have been galvanized into action by the innovative management process I have been outlining over the last two hours, and lunch is waiting, but it is important that I do stress these final 5 points. First, when we evaluate the importance of innovation, it is important to be clear that we are not just in the business of "important innovation", but, more critically, we are in the business of "innovating importance!!!" What do I mean by "innovating importance!!"???? As you can see on this overhead -- or, well, you could see, if the bulb weren't so dim -- but anyway, there are a number of bullets here that I want to briefly run through -- "innovating importance" means..... (mass suicide breaks out in the conference room) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: The O'Meara Date: 29 May 03 - 01:35 PM The poem about the Tay Bridge was written by The Great McGonigal, a Scot, who was a very bad actor and a terrible poet (as you can see) frequently referred to as the world's worst poet. He was unpopular in the late 1800s as I recall. It's rumored that Prince Phillip has his collected his complete works. He was a for real person. Legend has it that he once appeared onstage in Glasgow as Hamlet. When it came time for Hamlet's death scene, he couldn't stand the idea of leaving the stage so he stretched the death scene so far people in the audience shouted "Lie doon, McGonigal, lie doon!' O'Meara |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: GUEST,terrified by the Dutch... Date: 29 May 03 - 12:45 PM EEEEEYAAAAUGGHGGGH!!! GLUB! GLUB! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: MMario Date: 29 May 03 - 12:42 PM Rex K. Neauxt watched thee tide slowly creeping it's wiegh up the shingled beech,inch, by inch, by inch, as if it was some kind of cattapiller or something wormlike, maybe an inchworm,like the inch worms that ate his cabbage in his garden,the tide came in on kittens' feets;slowly getting closer across the sands, whetting each grain until it glistening in the sunlight,devouring the land as it came upwards on the shorline;and he wondered again as he had time and time before at other times weather or knot this time the tide would not cease to raise but continue onwards without stopping to flood the entire land as the culmination of the worldwide Dutch conspiracy to conquer the world finally reach fruit. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: alanabit Date: 29 May 03 - 12:02 PM Like... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Little Hawk Date: 29 May 03 - 11:54 AM Yeah. If you walked around town with that on a T-shirt it would really freak out the born-again Christians, who would be trying to decide: "Is he one of us or does he belong to some insane cult?" - LH |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Peter T. Date: 29 May 03 - 08:36 AM truly terrible, khandu. Almost worth getting a whole Tshirt inscribed with it -- it is so uplifting. yours, Peter T. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: khandu Date: 28 May 03 - 11:45 PM A strange kind of darkness has beseiged the town. The kind of darkness that swallows to moon which is afraid to even dare give its light for fear of revealing the dark thoughts in the darkened minds of the shallow people. The sun had wilted neath its own weariness as darkness approached, aggressive and bold, with no thought of tomorrow, only of today...THE day of dark souls spewing forth their sick, twisted, dark desires. Then someone from the back dared to stand and shout in a loud voice, "Let there be Light". And there was Light. k |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often) From: Rustic Rebel Date: 28 May 03 - 11:31 PM I'm trying to remember what it was you wanted from me. My mind is turning gray. Even when you reminded me twice already, I forget. I thought it was because I forgot to pay attention, but then I realize I don't have to do that anymore, because I forget anyway. Just forget it. My mom used to say, "If you can't remember, it couldn't have been too important". Why was I writing this anyway? I forgot. Peace. Rustic |
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