The NSG Bulwer-Lytton Competition II: The Winner!

[Rojava Free State]

Me save word, have big time do other thing.

[Andsed]

The Archaeologist claimed to have a heart of stone, a pickaxe was clearly needed.

You'd bring a weapon into our nice thread and take aim at a heart? What dastardly deeds are afoot here? Endeavouring to engineer the Bulwer-Lytton bout with bursts of brutality?

Be assured my wary eye is upon you, Andsed.

Such a foul accusation that has been been levied upon me. I was merely suggesting we engage in the experience known as Minecraft and search for diamonds with pickaxes. I am most offended that I have been smeared as some savage brute.

[Nanatsu no Tsuki]

Me save word, have big time do other thing.

Such eloquence, Gork!

[Ethel mermania]

He read the sentence, unthinking unfeeling, pawing at the pages futily to find meaning, finally, fuck it, the book is pushed off the table, because I am El Gato.



Edit: needed a change

[Cekoviu]

No longer impeded by the anxieties of his sober mind, Edward was finally able to summon the courage to ask that ever-relevant question, "Mommy, where are my tendies?", setting in motion a series of events from which his small town of North Affleck, Alaska would never recover.

[Pax Nerdvana]

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.

How could I make this worse?

[Ethel mermania]

In these bad times, the time of the diabolical Farn, The little crazy darling has only one nail, what‘S up with Marcia?

[Hakons]

Aethelegcberht, peering across the moor to the swamp beyond, beheld the last Dane spearmen cut down in the false refuge of the fen, causing a surprise motion of piety, as the thane remembered Bede's tale of the sparrow's uncertain flight upon leaving the mead-hall and entering the stormy winter pitch.

[Czechostan]

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."

[MGTOWia]

It was a dark and Stormy Daniels who flew in from the howling maelstrom of economic catastrophe brought about by her flourishing new career as a camgirl, beautiful as the corroded lungs of ten thousand China Virus victims, raging at the universe that had conspired to thwart the most secret schemes of the Resitance, as she screamed, “I am come to dare you to strike me down and transmogrify me into the Eternal Recurrence!”

[Shamhnan Insir]

The writers block has settled in and did not appear to want to budge unlike the bottle of Mortlach 16 y.o which had tipped and now slowly poured its golden soul across the table.

I am as immune to sentences about whisky as I am to kittens.

My heart is hardened to all forms of bribery, whether subtle or overt; indeed, I have no heart - only a small, cold pebble of inert stone where my heart used to be.

Hmmm I had thought I may have found a small chink in the armour!
So a change of tack is necessary....


In the abandoned house, taps dripped with the forlorn music of those mourning their lost battle with the relentless marching of time.

[The Archregimancy]

Aha, recent entries have shown an improvement.

The first couple of pages of the thread were perhaps slightly inconsistent, and not necessarily always up to the high standards of the 2012 competition.

But we now seem to be getting more into the spirit of things.

To offer further encouragement, here's my all-time favourite winner of the real Bulwer-Lytton contest, from 1984:

The lovely woman-child Kaa was mercilessly chained to the cruel post of the warrior-chief Beast, with his barbarous tribe now stacking wood at her nubile feet, when the strong, clear voice of the poetic and heroic Handsomas roared, “Flick your Bic, crisp that chick, and you'll feel my steel through your last meal.”

[Forsher]

It started slowly, like a creeping ninja on a full moon night, building strength until, at last, it was ready for the full assault and that came like an avalanche, unstoppable and omnipresent; it was at this point John listened to his mother and took the paracetamol.

[The Free Joy State]

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.

[Cannot think of a name]

The engine wasn't all that little which made the fact that it couldn't all the more disappointing.

[Nobel Hobos 2]

The engine wasn't all that little which made the fact that it couldn't all the more disappointing.

Ooh, children's writing. I didn't think of that, very fertile ground indeed ...

[Nobel Hobos 2]

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.

First half is good I mean very bad. But then it turned legit and actually got me in.

"and this is that story" at the end would be better worse.

Anyone else finding this harder than expected?

[Nobel Hobos 2]

As previously mentioned and widely expected, our complex heroes set forth heart on sleeve, carrying nobody's hopes or creams, into an extraordinary pace of everyday events, leading them I know not where.

(My device: clumsily breaking the fourth wall)

[Dumb Ideologies]

"If these walls could talk, the stories they would tell", mused Peter as he toured the toilets of 10 Downing Street, momentarily triggering a girlish mid-shit scream from Boris and a chastened constable bundling him into the back of a police van.

[Forsher]

A deep silence swept across the lonely and forgotten moor as the hooded figure ascended from the peat bog, riding on the wings of five arch-angels and chewing the horns of Satan himself, no more concerned with the consequences than he was when constructing the blasphemous list of "best wines to accompany dieu au vin" rammed in the back pocket of his Levis.

[Sadakoyama]

In the fall of my thirteenth year, it being that singular, enchanted, all too brief moment when the idle, meandering perambulations of one's careless schoolboy summers reluctantly yields to one's eventual occupation in those officially prescribed scholarly pursuits, studies imposed by persons nameless and stern from distant ivory towers, from which their gaze seldom rests on the majesty of the delightful transformations in the pigment of the season's verdure, heedless of the cacophonous orchestra of insect, bird, and frog that so delights young boys of that age; in such a time, in such a place, and in such a season I awoke, reluctantly and in no small discomfort, to an unexpected throbbing tumescence situated in the vicinity of my nasal organ, a dreadful ache within my head and a sickly dampness upon my brow; which unpleasantness I deduced was due to the unwarranted and unwelcome invasion of mucosal membranes interior to the aforementioned nostrily appendage by some species of untimely viral creature, the result of which threatened a previously agreed upon itinerary for the forthcoming day, the interruption of which would surely impede my pursuit of the girlish affections of my dearest flaxen-haired Rebecca, a charming and coquettish waif of fair complexion, easy wit, and tintinnabulous laughter, a dear child already the object of fervent mutual pursuit by many of my erstwhile compatriots, a treacherous race in which I was in no way the front-runner.


(It may be lengthy, indeed, but to use fewer words than needed is to cheat the reader.)

[MGTOWia]

It was a night like the tens of thousands he and others throughout history had experienced, but for the dream: that he had been imprisoned in the body of a steer; that the door marked “Exit” that had promised to return him to his natural state opened instead onto a long, winding, redolent ramp that led inexorably to a meat packing plant, where his bovine carcass would imminently be torn apart and processed into steaks, roasts, ground meat and offal for consumption by his worthless and foolish inferiors; and yet, his greatest fear was not his impending exsanguination, but that he would be memorialized as a steer rather than as a bull.

[Voxija]

Here's my first effort:

He—he was only named he, since his erstwhile, should-have-been-loving parents had both died in agonizing slow childbirth and had never had the chance to name their little child—trudged heavily, in dark and stormy, indolent, steamy weather that was characteristic of the certain part of Venezuela where he walked, through the boggy, foggy, heavy, foreboding, trundulous streets of the polluted, poverty-wretched, ridden, cholera-filled, heavy, wine-dark city of exhausting Caracas, exasperatingly besieged by the fortuitous, lonesome, nauseous, nauseated, heavy, poor, unwashed masses, such as those which represented his dark prescient loneliness and lost, heavy, forlorn, nay, forlost hopes.

Adjectives.

[Dumb Ideologies]

The blank grey bar to the side of the screen whispers gently in your ear, "I'm coming for your login session soon".

[Rojava Free State]

Indeed, a personal malformation of Adam's second son causes me to become an animated creature.