The NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition II: The Winner!

[Cannot think of a name]

Tied to the engine of a runaway train rushing towards an unmanned train coming the other way, Tim suddenly felt a need to apologize to his math teachers.

[Philjia]

"What ho!" ejaculated Lord Haughtonwestingforth-Smythe, adroitly aiming his Model 1876 Winchester Rifle chambered in .45-75 with toggle link action at the distant hart in the distance, the efficient dispatch of which he fervently believed would enamour him in the eyes of the voluptuous Lady Haltwhistlington-Johnstonford (who also had sparkly emerald eyes and silky raven hair), in spite of his wooden leg.

[The Archregimancy]

The competition is now closed to new entries.


You can continue to post new bad opening sentences, but these won't count towards the competition.

I'm in the process of collating a shortlist of 10 for voting.

[The Archregimancy]

The 10 Finalists:
(see the thread OP for details on voting)

The attendant sighed as the faulty coin-pusher scattered its contents around the arcade in a spray of legal tender shrapnel; was this what the fortune-teller meant when she told him change was in the air?

The dream long fought for had been realised, one people, one nation, one ruler, eighty-seven genders, but one question remained - what was the correct term of address for a feminine-leaning non-binary pansexual wolfkin absolute ruler of colour?

We are creatures in tune with vibration: music, violent motions of the Earth, touches serene and ardent; it is these vibrations that massage the essence of our beings into peace- we shake things off- so it is these harmonic and physical oscillations that lead me to so very firmly believe that there is great healing power in twerking.

Gravel, it turned out, was a terrible substitute for toilet paper.

With the aftertaste of lima beans and cheap gin still lingering in the back of her mouth, she screamed at the top of her lungs "No Longer Shall We Be Forced To Remain In The House Of The Lord, FOREVER!" in a surprisingly deep baritone voice, while struggling to undo the straps of her season-appropriate lederhosen.

D.I Max Strength dragged on his cigarette like he was sucking the last of the petrol out of a tank, his craggy eyes peered through warm rain that drizzled down like vinaigrette on a salad as he waited for the lady to return, a lady who both excited and frightened him, the combination of reward and hurt of a hot currry, like the best sort of sex.

As the heavenly bodies rose in the East, casting their gloried light over a rolling plain resplendent with the life of spring and the labour of the goodly creatures, from the littlest bee to the galloping horses, the armies that brought chaos, war and suffering to half a continent heaved and bellowed in a foetid stench of man, beast and metal, unaware of their impending destruction; for, as the armies stilled, that golden host crested the western hill, glittering in their fine satin underwear and gleaming with silver charm bracelets.

Fireworks exploding before my eyes, steel drumsticks pounding at my ears, as my inert body acrobatically glided across the room, I began to reflect that he was not referring to a foreign culinary dish when he offered me a "knuckle sandwich."

After centuries of deliberation by the finest ovine minds, the sheep General was finally ready to announce the plan for the conquest of Britain to the assembled woolly horde - "First we take Prestatyn, then we take King's Lynn".

The crusty, weather beaten, old sailor sat at the bar, drinking whisky after whisky; because his spinach had failed him, so he sat there muttering something about "I yam no longer what I yam."

Honorable Mentions

There are stories that sweep into a stirring crescendo until well-timed measures fade to linger like the haunting refrain of a tremulous piccolo, stories that grip the gut with tears and terrors so the palms leak voluble sweat, there are stories that carry you along like a passionate tango and thrill your heart with anticipation –- this is not one of those stories.

Bob was a male human of indeterminate age, brown-haired, small nosed, brown-eyed, of more or less average build, and this is the life story of his breakfast.

"The mewling, mutating rampallian wretch wrought nought but wretchedness upon me," wailed the chic yet bleak girl in a pique, pressing fey hand upon her cheek; an unlucky girl, she’d be in a whirl for charmers who’d take all but her memories, but Fred Dredd -- who delivered bread -- took those and reduced her to beggary.

A tale of mistake and folly will follow in which the moral of the said tale may aptly be summarized as follows: that in the present day and age, the century being the twenty-first, it must be said, and with absolute unequivocal authoritative tone, that a true hero and man of success isn’t measured by the strength of one’s muscles nor by the size and vivacity of one’s heart of passion; rather, the subtle degrees of one's heroism and valor are rightly and appropriately accounted for by the total size and content of one’s wallet, the height, constitution, and fortitude of one’s yatch, and by the total metaphorical volume of true wisdom and technical skill one has acquired through the playing of that game the gods call League of Legends.

Dear Reader, I shall recount the tempestuous night when the poor came (for this is a Victorian novel, where “the poor” are often a morass in cloth caps and shawls) wailing of a murderer; alas, Baron Hardiwhistle -- a stiff-legged pug-nosed man with bulging belly and striped dress-shirt -– was paying court and I desired an advantageous match (as Papa lost both money and sanity to his chocolate-bunny farm), so I bolted the window for silence, but (aye me) as the sneering Baron reached for the large adze concealed down his trousers, I suspected our love may be ill-fated.

As morning church bells rang in the distance, Logan Paul gazed in wonderment upon his barely-awake bedmate's supple form, entranced by her hirsute, yet inescapably feminine, breasts and the cold clarity of her slightly curled tarsal claws -- he knew not what fate was about to befall them as a fleet of cubic black vessels invisibly descended from the heavens.

The old weather beaten farmer stared at the crater in his field that had been left by the crashing of an ovoid object that was glowing a deep orange; he compared it to an apple.

The scene was totes legit and Instagrammable, the kind of thing you'd see on Pinterest but never in real life, so I was forreals like "bruh" when the tree my aunt/sister was posing next to came to life and ripped her open with a spray of red like I'd just stepped on a Taco Bell hot sauce packet.

John Smith ensconced himself on the nanoscopic, adamantine, ligneous, mahogany settle in the capacious, marmoreal judicature quarters, experiencing copious apprehension as he awaited the egregious, yet exiguous inculpations instituted against him by the constabulary: first degree thesaurus abuse.

Such was my state of utterly nebulous confusion regarding the matter in hand, the ice cube had time to change its material form and begin dripping from my fingers like frigid tears.

The faux-wood of the pathway caught Joan's attention; none of it was like anything she'd experienced before, not the ice-cold death grip on her attention, not the incredible realism of the multi-polymer recycled material and certainly not the intellectual resonance of the puzzle: how had Google known she'd be so engrossed by a few slats of fake wood she'd slowly starve to death, unable to look away?

Tied to the engine of a runaway train rushing towards an unmanned train coming the other way, Tim suddenly felt a need to apologize to his math teachers.

[Farnhamia]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

[Ethel mermania]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

What she said, except change farn to Ethel and substitute instigator for moderator, jesus this feels like my job


Otherwise. A difficult series of choices. Well poorly done people.

[Voxija]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

The same.

[Shamhnan Insir]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

What she said, except change farn to Ethel and substitute instigator for moderator, jesus this feels like my job


Otherwise. A difficult series of choices. Well poorly done people.

I for one am exceptionally pleased to have received an honorable mention for my poor work!
Thanks Arch for putting this together, there are some excellent entries, well done all.

[The Archregimancy]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

One sentence, Farn. One sentence.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

The same.

I was kinda hoping for a dishonorable mention for my Bulwer-Lytton double feature:

"It was a dark and stormy night ... that the pen is mightier than the s-word.

It being the best of lines and the worst of lines.

[Farnhamia]

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

One sentence, Farn. One sentence.

Forgive me for eschewing the run-on sentence. I was too well educated, I suppose.

[Hurdergaryp]

One sentence, Farn. One sentence.

Forgive me for eschewing the run-on sentence. I was too well educated, I suppose.

That's quite the handicap when it comes to competitions such as these, also it won't exactly help you if you hope to get a job in the White House.

[Forsher]

Forgive me for eschewing the run-on sentence. I was too well educated, I suppose.

That's quite the handicap when it comes to competitions such as these, also it won't exactly help you if you hope to get a job in the White House.

Covfefe.

I have a question... can we vote for ourselves? Because my entry appears to need the additional help. Although, in truth, I think there's a clear front runner and it's not my most successful sentence. But I desire bragging rights!

And man am I so glad that I extended it... originally it was just going to be: the golden host crested the hill, glittering in their fine satin underwear and gleaming with silver charm bracelets.

[Hurdergaryp]

That's quite the handicap when it comes to competitions such as these, also it won't exactly help you if you hope to get a job in the White House.

Covfefe.

I have a question... can we vote for ourselves? Because my entry appears to need the additional help. Although, in truth, I think there's a clear front runner and it's not my most successful sentence. But I desire bragging rights!

And man am I so glad that I extended it... originally it was just going to be: the golden host crested the hill, glittering in their fine satin underwear and gleaming with silver charm bracelets.

It certainly looks like you can vote for yourself, but that would not be the elegant thing to do.

[Bombadil]

Just throwing this out there, has anyone considered requiring monetary payment for votes to ensure they're more meaningful.. I haven't thought of a word for this system but I'm pretty sure it will work.

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

'It's the taking part that counts' was always a lie.

[Cekoviu]

Just throwing this out there, has anyone considered requiring monetary payment for votes to ensure they're more meaningful.. I haven't thought of a word for this system but I'm pretty sure it will work.

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

'It's the taking part that counts' was always a lie.

Uh oh, looks like Xerographica figured out the password to Bomb's account

[Hurdergaryp]

Just throwing this out there, has anyone considered requiring monetary payment for votes to ensure they're more meaningful.. I haven't thought of a word for this system but I'm pretty sure it will work.

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

'It's the taking part that counts' was always a lie.

Would that not be the same as buying votes? Oh well, as long as you're not proposing unchecked corruption, that should not be too much of a problem.

[Bombadil]

Just throwing this out there, has anyone considered requiring monetary payment for votes to ensure they're more meaningful.. I haven't thought of a word for this system but I'm pretty sure it will work.



'It's the taking part that counts' was always a lie.

Would that not be the same as buying votes? Oh well, as long as you're not proposing unchecked corruption, that should not be too much of a problem.

Pfft.. no.. I'm sure that would not be a problem.

[Yohannes]

Voted for "Dumb Ideologies 1," because why not?

[Samudera Darussalam]

Well, congrats to the finalists

It has been entertaining so far, reading the entries.

[South Ccanda]

The man walks onto the stage, lights blaring down on him, the entire audience in thunderous applause, and when they finally quiet down, the confident man says, "So what's the deal with airline food?"

*Edit* I know I'm late to post this but I figured why not

[Ethel mermania]

Just throwing this out there, has anyone considered requiring monetary payment for votes to ensure they're more meaningful.. I haven't thought of a word for this system but I'm pretty sure it will work.

Seeing her name not on the list of finalists in the Second NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition, Farn tore the brochure into very small pieces. She nearly threw them into the air but thought, "No, no, that would be childish and I am a Moderator, after all." Halfway to the paper recycling bin, however, she muttered, "Fuck it" and did just that.

'It's the taking part that counts' was always a lie.

There is no participation trophy for Bulwar-Lytton, he said as he didnt even get a honorable mention even when plagiarizing classic literature.

[Forsher]

Voted for "Dumb Ideologies 1," because why not?

Because it let's someone make the pun, "I voted for Dumb Ideologies too"?

[The Archregimancy]

The same.

I was kinda hoping for a dishonorable mention for my Bulwer-Lytton double feature:

"It was a dark and stormy night ... that the pen is mightier than the s-word.

It being the best of lines and the worst of lines.

While I appreciated the double Bulwer-Lytton allusion, I usually gave preference to entries that weren't direct literary references (sorry, Ethel); and particularly entries that didn't directly reference 'a dark and stormy night'.

An Alan Smithee Nation's Leonard Cohen reference, however, was sufficiently subtle - and clever - that I put it on the shortlist.

[Yohannes]

Voted for "Dumb Ideologies 1," because why not?

Because it let's someone make the pun, "I voted for Dumb Ideologies too"?

Rodney Hide's Act and the old New Zealand First?