Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 09 Jul 03 - 04:59 PM

Ugh! I hate those sweat-drenched epics of classic Greek warrior manhood. Bleaugh! Ewww! Gack! Brilliantly done, greg. I read that stuff and I just can't wait for them all to die miserably. Buncha goddamn, egocentric, self-satisfied pigs. They make me sick.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 09 Jul 03 - 09:27 AM

LOL! Masterful, greg!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: greg stephens
Date: 09 Jul 03 - 05:08 AM

The sun shone in our eyes over the fierce whiteness of the plains. The Comapnions stood round me.some laughing , some quiet. Six leagues away we could see the thin black line of the Cycladic hoplites coming over the pass from Delphi. Across the Athens road, in the Grove of the Mother, the Crones continued their shuffling dance, ululating despondently. I drained my goblet and cast it to the ground.
   A chariot dragging a plume of dust approached, wheeled and stopped by me. The driver leapt down, saluted me in the Eleusinian manner.his right fist against his left breast, and panted "My Lord, I am Apretion, your new charioteer". I looked at him, eyes narrowed by the fierce sun. He was naked from the waist up,save for gold arm bands in the Phrygian style. He wore the short soft leather kilt of the Oestrogynians, and golden buckled sandals with cross-gartering in leather to just below the knee. he looked me straight in the eye: I, who am Hellene, have the fair hair and blue eyes of the Men of the North, but he seemed one from the Shores, slight but but well-muscled and dark of hair and eye, the colouring of Those Who Came Before Us.
    "The High King bids me serve you as you wish" he said, and brushed a dark ringlet from his eye. He knelt down and buckled on my bronze greaves, his delicate fingers adjusting the lie of leather to my calves. Then,standing behind me he placed over my head the gold-and amethyst embossed cuirass, only to be worn by the Dolphin,heir to the land of Mykonos, and carefully adjusted the cross-trapping across my back, still scarred and smarting from my encounter with the the Sporadic pirates. As he leaned in, arms around my neck,he murmured "Lord, I will be your cuirass",
    I narrowed my eyes: across the broiling plain of Marathon the Cycladic army wound slowly on, but were still five leagues hence. I thought back: the night I took the High Priestess of Minos by force, lying on the bloody lion's pelt I had strangled. I thought of the tavern girl I had bedded yesternight by the quay at Troizen, and scattered gold coins by her in the stinking bed in her hovel.
    "Come, Apretion" I smiled, and smote him on the shoulder, "I have a goatskin of wine cooling in my tent, and it wants an hour till the Sons of the Cycladic Python are upon us". We strode together through the Companions, ignoring the ribald grins of some. I held open the tent flap: he bent to enter, looked up and said "You honour me, my Lord".

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 09 Jul 03 - 04:30 AM

did you get a buzz out of writing that one Cluin?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Cluin
Date: 08 Jul 03 - 01:51 AM

A Short Summer Romance

As I lay on my bed thinking about you, I feel this strong urge to grab you and squeeze you, because I can't forget last night. You came to me unexpectedly during the balmy and calm night and what happened in my bed still leaves me with a tingling sensation.

You appeared from nowhere and shamelessly, and without any reservations, approached my naked body. You sensed my indifference so you applied your hungry mouth to me without any guilt or humiliation. And you drove me nearly crazy while you drained me. Finally I collapsed in sleep.

Today when I woke up, you were gone. I searched for you but to no avail; only the sheets bore witness to last nights events. My body still bears the faint marks of your enthusiastic ravishing, making it still harder to forget you.

But tonight I will remain awake waiting for you...........................   you damn mosquito.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 07 Jul 03 - 10:33 AM

OOPS just looked over my last piece. Still cannot spell.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 07 Jul 03 - 10:01 AM

YEah, right, R. -- all bad writing has one excuse or another!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 07 Jul 03 - 08:55 AM

Thanks, LH, but it was something I ate.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 07 Jul 03 - 12:23 AM

Lovely.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 06 Jul 03 - 10:53 PM

He remembered her. It had been long ago and far away, yes, but still he remembered those four nights when they had shared life, and love, and lust, and liberty.

The cold rain of November whipped his face, freezing in his beard and eyelashes. Gripping his rifle tighter he wondered where she was now. The Facists had bombed the village, so she was probably dead.

They were all dead. Juan, Ascencion, Mac. Mac had caught it while using the latrine. He didn't want to go that way or that badly. He was all that was left.

There was a motorcycle on the road below. Screw it, he thought, let him go. Why bother anymore? Franco was going to win anyway, and the International Brigade was finished.

He got to his feet, slowly, his bones aching in the cold, slashing, rain. It was going to turn to sleet any time now, he mused. Had to get to Pedro's before then or spend the night in the cold.

From Pedro's to the border, from the border to Bordeaux, from Bordeaux to London, from London back to New York. Probably have to shovel coal the whole way. Parents would be glad to see him, though. Probably a good thing that he'd enlisted under a false name, too.

Too bad about her, he thought again. And he disappeared into the rain.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 06 Jul 03 - 01:01 PM

I feel one coming on. Or maybe it's something I ate. Have to wait and see, I guess.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 06 Jul 03 - 08:06 AM

Her soft olive skin shimmered in the moonlight. Grains of sand on her skin sparkled like jewels as she moved at his touch.Her ample bossoms rose and fell the beating of her heart now faster could be seen pulsing . He kissed her again and again, his tongue probing, his hands wandering carressing her.
Harry's eyes flitted quickly across and down the page stopping every now and then at the interesting bits and he read them with glea. Turning the pages slowly methodically quitely he viewed the pictures in every detail. His heart was beating fast, his skin flushed and warm his breathing low. He continued in his act as quitely as he could. He heard her murmur, then she moaned then she screamed "Harry! Hurry up and get down these stairs . You will be late for school" she cried.
Harry contininued faster. " Coming " he replied.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 28 Jun 03 - 05:44 PM

Too good for this contest, Buck. You could make a living doing this stuff!! LOL!

Good dog.


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,Buck Shinbiter
Date: 28 Jun 03 - 04:47 PM

He was 6 ft three in his stockinged feet, 200 pounds of muscle, and a crew cut so thick and stiff it could have insulated his head from a dropped bowling ball. He wore faded jeans, work boots, a white tee shirt with a pack of Marlboros rolled up in the sleeve. The vehicle he drove was a rusted Ford Bronco with a bumper sticker that said "Don't like my driving? Call 1-800-eatshit". He punched the clock ten minutes late in the morning and ten minutes early in the afternoon, but the Foreman said nothing because he was afraid he'd get the crap kicked out of him. He ate lunch with Ferd and Banger, two scrawny nerds who viewed him both as a protector and a repressor. His diatribes could be heard from 100 yards away, because shouting was his normal tone of voice. Nobody argued with his boneheaded opinions about blacks, Jews, liberals, tree-huggers and homosexuals, because they were tired of leaving work to find their tires slashed.

On the way home to his mother's house, he usually stopped at Big Mike's Bar, where he would play pool, taunting his opponent if he won, accusing him of cheating if he lost. Some women found his style attractive, the kind of women with low self-esteem and blue marks on their faces. He sometimes took them out to the parking lot for grim sweaty sessions in the back of his truck, sessions which ended with growled threats and the sound of footsteps fleeing through the gravel.

Most people who knew him hated him, and were darkly pleased to hear that he had hung himself by a bra strap in a jail cell early one Sunday morning. They were, however, genuinely shocked to hear he had been arrested for shoplifting exotic undergarments while dressed as a woman. Some of the neighbors brought hot dishes to his mother in an attempt at consolation. She accepted them wordlessly and ate them at the kitchen table in the yellow haze shed by a naked 35 watt bulb. Two days after his funeral, his truck was seen parked by the front curb with a sign that read "$400 or Best Offer", and a Room to Let sign was placed in his bedroom window.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 10:16 AM

The fog is rising slowly over the Samantha Curry Park, where I fell in love, so long ago, and the commuters are beginning to clump up on the freeway running along the park's generous borders. Elsewhere in the world, unbeknownst to the commuters, three evil schemes are being pushed forward with a maniacal and frenzied focus fueld by deep hatred and deeper muisunderstanding; and along the shores of the long Western shore, a gray while is escorting its calf, less than a year in age but timeless in its marine perfection, northward, ever northward. In a small coffee shop in Venice, a tired drifter nurses a small espresso, and sees, far across the beach and the wide blue bay, the traces of the mother whale's passage; but the calf knows nothing of the drifter, and the drifter knows nothing of the calf. NEither of them think about the difficulties being encvountered by the commuters. As the wisps of fog lace their tendrils around the windshields of the anxious commuters making their way into the morning traffic, many of them are unaware that even as they fight their way to work, their fates are hanging on a single telephone call being made from a skyscraper in central San Francisco, far to the north. But like many things, this hinge-point of their futures is a fact, whether they are aware of it or not. Jason Dintham hung up the phone and leaned back in his extravagant executive seat, almost shaking with satisfaction.

(To be continued)....

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 09:50 AM

It could be the key to bad acting too. I'll see if I can get confirmation on that from Bill Shatner or Ricardo Montalban.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Homeless
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 09:05 AM

Oops. That was me. Dang computer.
Sure, LH, I'd be thrilled to blame bad writing on blood sugar.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 06:56 AM

Just to let folks know I have just read this thread from start to finnish. I think it is better than Harry Potter and almost as long!

I am off on hols for a week Rock climbing in the French Alps. Hope to be back later.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 04:30 AM

Little Hawk I am sorry to say that my misspelling are mistakes. My wife who is training to be a proof reader always nags me rotten for not checking things properly.

Me I tend to blame the computer....Why not???

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Jun 03 - 12:55 AM

Right...

I've been in gyms like that one.

So...are you suggesting that a fluctuating blood sugar level can lead to bad writing?

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST
Date: 26 Jun 03 - 10:32 PM

So, after all these years of violent mood swings, up and down, calm to enraged, loving to solitary, happy to... well not happy really, but just kind of a little happier than no emotion at all to rather bored and depressed, he finds out that it is mostly all due to problems with his blood sugar. Which should have been apparent all along since both of his grandfathers were insulin dependent, as well as his father. And just in the past year his mother became diabetic and had to start taking her blood sugar reading every morning with that little sticking needle thing that shoots out even though you can't ever see it but still hurts like a dickens even though you never really get enough blood and have to do it all over again. Oh, and two uncles and a cousin, too. So he really should have thought about blood sugar all these years and had that checked to see if that was what was causing the mood swings.

So once he realized it was problems with blood sugar causing the emotional rollercoaster, day in and day out, he started himself on a self-controlled regime of diet and exercise to help control the mood swings. Having never been a person who much appreciated exercise for execise's sake, thinking that lifting weights was a whole lot of effort spent on doing nothing and would have much preferred to take a sickle out to an overgrown field to level all the overgrown weeds, not that that couldn't have been done with a lot less effort using a gasoline powered weedeater, but at least all the manual labor would have been accomplishing something, the thoughts of going to the gymnasium just kind of irked him. And it didn't really help that once he got down to the gymnasium that it was full of school kids in their extracurricular sporting events such as basketball, volleyball (I thought that was supposed to be played on the beach?), or track events such as the discus, hurdles, shot put, and that round ball on a rope that they throw after spinning around and around and around. Not that they really throw it - it's more like just letting go after so much spinning. And I never understood how they kept from throwing up right after throwing the ball. But the worst of all was when they were having some kind of tournament, which what pretty often given all the different sports that they played at that place, and had that insipid popular music playing at earsplitting levels that made your chest vibrate and eardrums hurt and head pound, since he really preferred acoustic blues.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 26 Jun 03 - 02:19 PM

Thanks, Amos. I love carrots. Even more, I love carrot juice.

noddy - That was pretty awful. Are your misspellings accidental or are they intentional? They do add something to the effect.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 26 Jun 03 - 11:42 AM

"All Rise" Sludgebuckets voice carried across the crowded court-room and all rose as one. It was not a voice of authority simply one which gave notice and to which the response was automatic.
Judge Tread dressed in long wig and gown entered and slowly sluggishly sat in his chair of office. The assembly returned to their seats and waited in silence.
Nancy mopped at her tearful eyes as she stared at her husband David in the dock, a uniformed policeman either side of him. David had the look of a man who new the outcome, who new the verdict and waited only for the term of sentance.
The Judge spoke slowly and clearly outlinning the charge, that of murder of John, his wife's love. A brutal and callous act with both barrels of a shotgun at close range. He continued that the evidence was substantial and that no other verdict could be reached . David was guilty and would serve 15 years.
David chocked, "15 years" he thought "I might be out in 10. Could be worse"
"Take him down" commanded the Judge and he was led away.
Nancy was still dabbing at her face as she watched him go. He turned and waved, then was gone.
Nancy got up to leave the courtroom and passed a glance at a young well built blond-headed youth of 19 years or perhaps 20. He returned a knowing smile. Nancy tried not to smile she had to see her act out until she was at least clear of the courtroom and the waiting press. She must be seen as the weeping woman who had lost a husband AND her lover. Her other lover would have to wait a day or two before they could celebrate their well thought out and perfectly executed plan.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 26 Jun 03 - 10:46 AM

I just knew at a gut level that this thread was worth checking into as long as it kept growing. The Death of Elmer Fudd is a major literary accomplishment. It has purged my childhood psyche of nightmares and confusions long dormant. Thank you so much, Little Hawk!! Have a carrot on me. If you don't eat carrots, have one anyway -- I am sure you'll figure something out.

:>)

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 09:29 PM

As Bugs raised the shotgun, and said "Ehh...What's up, Doc?" for the last time and pressed both triggers...there was a single echoing blast that fell away into infinity, like a nun vanishing down a spiral staircase into the stygian bowels of a nameless catacomb. Then silence.

It was time for a carrot. Bugs put the gun down and walked out into the garden as a single shaft of sunlight broke suddenly, unexpectedly through the heavy, lowering clouds.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 05:40 PM

...Elmer raised his bald head and said, quite plainly, "Oh, the howwow! The howwow!"

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 11:17 AM

I am still waiting.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 10:50 AM

They slunk toward the half-deserted bar (soon to be only a quarter deserted), dusty in the slanting evening sunlight, filtered through the filthy curtains at the less than pristine windows. Adopting the correct attitude of puissant but slightly diffident incoherence required in moments proceeding total mayhem they shucked off their rancid ponchos, revealing an array of deadly weapons...nostril amputators, rectal blasters, atom rifles, and blood boiling poont phasers shone metallic and menacing, like the plated bodies of Denebian giant wasps glistening in the sickly sunlight of Nedra, the star of Despair. It was only a few steps to the door, and they knew that he would be in there...waiting.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Doktor Doktor
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 05:51 AM

He looked around the half-deserted bar, dusty in the slanting evening sunlight, filered through the uncleaned cutains at the uncleaned windows. Adopting the correct attitude of slightly hesitant keeness he bought his pint and set the box on the little round table in the corner. The instrument sat before him, its black case and tell-tale butterfly logo looking almst indistinguishable from the real thing. He breathed deep, lest he give a hint of the excitement within. Sipping his beer, Suggers peered over the cleverly disguised Mk IX anti-bodrhan death-ray. Patience, patience ..... They would come .... they would come ....

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 25 Jun 03 - 05:04 AM

The sweat began to run down his brow .Hot flushes surged through his veins.His eyes ran up and down and across the page like lightning Hands shaking in panic nay fear he tapped at the key board hoping beyond hope his search would be fruitful. Then the relief flooded back like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. He found it.
The "bad writng2 thread had slipped off the end of the page. Now refreshed it appears at the top where it belongs. Peace once more reigns.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 24 Jun 03 - 01:11 AM

Wow, Bardford -- that's as bad as I've seen in these parts!!

Almost, anyway!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Bardford
Date: 24 Jun 03 - 12:46 AM

My poetry is generally worse than my prose, so it's better for this thread, I think, so here goes:

Ode on an Instrument

What joy the violin brings
No mere box of wood with strings
No! Here is voice that talks, nay, sings!
Transports soul to the firmament on crimson wings!

What powerful beauty emanates from the fiddle!
It's thin at one end, less so in the middle
Lovingly carved from the trees of Cremona
Don't strangle a violin like you would Desdemona
If you were Othello
Same goes for the viola and cello.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 23 Jun 03 - 04:36 PM

They been hung up from the git-go, KL -- 's why they act so funny! :>)

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Jun 03 - 04:30 PM

LMAOWROTF!!! Bravo, heric and Rapaire! Now, how'bout them Steel Magnolias!?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 23 Jun 03 - 03:08 PM

It was in the paper this morning that a Real Man, steely testosterone just a-gushin' through him and hissin, happened to be walking by the junk yard when a crane operator switched on the electromagnet.

Guy swung there for 45 minutes, thirty feet above the ground, suspended by the container of his steely testosterone, before they could figger out how to get him safely down.

Like the old song says, he's nobody's sweetheart now....

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,heric
Date: 23 Jun 03 - 01:33 PM

>>>the steely clanging harmony of testosterone molecules clashing, of rich adrenalin-filled hearts racing....<<<

Shock and awe technique on the bad writing thread. Man, I could hear my own balls ringing out.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: katlaughing
Date: 22 Jun 03 - 08:19 PM

Like i think a couple of youse guys, there, um, fergot that this here's the three-ED for BAaaad ritin'...they never said nuttin' about anythang good bein' writ in here, now did they? So, letz watch them standards wots we got and keep 'em baaadd, eh?:-)

(nicely done, ernest, noddy, rapaire!**bg**)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 22 Jun 03 - 07:17 PM

Good stuff, there, noddy!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,noddy
Date: 22 Jun 03 - 05:11 PM

She shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, craned her neck and peered into the distance. Nothing. Her twin brother had gone. He did not turn to look back. Her parents had called, coaxed screamed at her to leave . She remained ignoring their pleas. They too had gone .They had to. She knew she had to.
She moved her feet again and stared down into the valley and across to the hills .Nothing. The last of her food had long since been eaten. Every morsel she had scavanged. The last crumb she had eaten several days ago. Her only sustenance since then was the water that oozed from the vegetation hanging from the rocks. Even that had dried up two days ago. Feasts of lamb, of rabbit, of pigeon now memories which made her stomach ache for more.
She had to leave. She shuffled her feet closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the void. One deep breath filled her lungs and she jumped from the ledge.
The air rushed past her quicker ever quicker. Head first she plummeted legs tight together. "Wait" she thought "Not yet, not yet. Feel the force! YOU WILL FEEL THE FORCE!" she screamed.
She felt it .Sensed it "NOW NOW!" She tensed her shoulders flexed her muscles and opened her wings. She rose in the thermal, up above the nest, above the cliff .She was flying at last.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 22 Jun 03 - 04:34 PM

Cool. It was cool outside, there was ice on horse's troughs, but the sun had begun to cast a tentative crimson finger over the top of the hill and he knew that there were Things To Be Done before supper.

He sauntered over to the corral and got a halter on Sukie, led her over to the barn and saddled her. There were miles to go before he'd lay in his rack tonight.

Breakfast had been okay, he mused. Biscuits, coffee, sausage, sausage gravy, honey, and lots of butter. Even had some peaches out of a can.

Sukie was ready. He tied her to the corral fence and went back inside the house.

"Sukie's ready," he told the Boss.

"Great. Thanks."

"You bet." He ambled down the hall, opened the door to his room, flicked on the light.

He reached out to the top of the desk, grabbing what was there. He reloaded, realized what he had to do.

With only a moment of hesitation he sat down in font of the computer, began to type. As he heard the Boss ride off on Sukie, he knew that he'd do his part to help the Mudcat Bad Writing Contest reach two hundred. Doing your part was, after all, was part of The Code Of The West.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 10:26 PM

Okay, Amos, I admit you have a point there. Indian warriors were very much into that kind of thing you describe, and I once was one (or maybe even twice or thrice or...). I suspect I got it all out of my system back then, having died violently more than a few times, and have moved on to other matters since...

Nice bit of writing there, Ernest.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 03:12 PM

FERROUS wheel???

Jesus Rapire, you're having too much fun!! Tea from all orifii!!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: GUEST,Ernest Hamonrye
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 02:09 PM

The strong old man woke up from the dream about the penguins. It was always the same dream, with the old man drunk in the old way with the rum, and the boy holding the tether of the mule while the old man climbed through snow. In his waking life, he had only once seen snow. He had been in the merchant marine, and his ship had put in at Baltimore in a blizzard. The snow had been wet and cold and had formed a sort of skull cap on the old man's head as he walked through it. He had never seen penguins except in cartoons. This was the reason that the penguins in his dream all resembled Chilly Willy. In the dream he had a meeting with the Emperor Penguin, who had been dressed in a waistcoat and top hat and wearing a monocle, but when the penguin opened its beak to address him, he had awakened.

The old man sat quietly, feeling the wooden boat creak in the calm water. He smelled the odor of the decaying marlin before he saw the big fin sticking up above the gunwale of the fishing boat. During the night, the sharks had been very busy, and little was left of the marlin but the great fin, the snout, tail, and the ribs which held several empty tin cans and a rubber tire, part of the steering gear from a 39 Hudson, and an umbrella handle. The old man wept for the loss of the great fish, and wondered about the Hudson steering gear.

It was nearly dark when the old man entered the harbor at Nuestra Madonna de las Agonias Sacrosancta. The boy had been waiting for him, and had helped him to tie up the skiff. The boy did not mention the skeleton of the Great Fish, and once again the old man wondered what was wrong with the boy. Why he had not mentioned the fish, and why he had been waiting for 3 days in the same spot for the old man to return. He supposed the boy had never entirely recovered from the incident with the rabid cat. The old man had not bothered to remove his salt crusted clothing, but had fallen onto the wooden pallet where he slept for several hours. This time he dreamed about thumb wrestling with the arrogant Tunisian hardware merchant, which was not a significant dream, but at least was a welcome break from the penguins.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 12:51 PM

"Climb every mountain, ford every stream
Follow every BY-way, then you'll find you're creamed."

Steel testosterone molecules, Amos? Now, wouldn't it be ironic if your pointer always pointed North because of that? That could cause a man to run in circles -- a ferrous wheel, in fact.

Perhaps I'd better start cleaning up around here....

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 12:42 PM

Nagging sense of emptiness?

Au contraire -- there is a vivid sense of engagement, of trial and test, of ineffable ambient Masculie Judgement, of the steely clanging harmony of testosterone molecules clashing, of rich adrenalin-filled hearts racing....but if youhave never been there, never mind. It's all right.

The kind of motionless self-inspection you are refering to is quite important, but for a different phase of life altogether............

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 12:25 PM

No, no, Amos...the answer is to realize that you yourself are the challenge. If you mastered yourself you wouldn't need to climb mountains or battle giant fish any longer, and would only do it if there was some obvious, pressing reason to...rather than just that nagging sense of emptiness that bedevils most people and drives them to seek out adventures. Life would already be fully satisfying just as it is. And that is what life is like for the mountain, I suggest.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Amos
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 11:37 AM

You clearly don't understand the point LH. If you selected all your actions based on what next after that you'd be very dull -- the answer, of course, is to create yet another challenge.

Adventure gratis adventure, old boy!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 10:54 AM

Ha! I have always been puzzled by people who feel compelled to climb frigid mountains and battle giant fish. What do they do afterward, supposing they succeed in their objective? What then? Perhaps this was Ernest Hemingway's problem.

Seems to me like the mountain is the real winner in these confrontations.

- LH

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 10:10 AM

He'd always known that he'd conquer The Mountian.

He'd been born at its foot and raised partway up its slope. As a child he'd gazed up at its peak, knowing inside that someday, somehow, he'd stand there, his skin raw from the touch of the ice particles whipped against his face by the incessant wind.

And now he did so stand. Years had passed, but his dream had never died. Years of toil, years caged in the city, years chained to mere commerce, years spent a-massing, the world too much with him -- except for The Mountain and the dream.

And now he stood on the summit, bent with years and toil. He had perservered, and he had ultimately conquered The Mountain, the nay-sayers, himself. He gazed around him, turned, reentered, and as the helicopter blades bit into the air reflected that it wasn't at all what he had thought it would be.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Bad Writing Contest (Enter Often)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Jun 03 - 12:29 AM

Oh, brother...