Just Above Sunset
July 25, 2004 - The winners of this year's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest are announced...
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The results are in from
San Jose State University, out here in San Jose, California. An international literary parody contest, the competition honors the memory (if not the reputation)
of Victorian novelist Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873). The goal of the contest is childishly simple: entrants
are challenged to submit bad opening sentences to imaginary novels. Although best known for "The Last Days of Pompeii" (1834),
which has been made into a movie three times, originating the expression "the pen is mightier than the sword," and phrases
like "the great unwashed" and "the almighty dollar," Bulwer-Lytton opened his novel “Paul Clifford” (1830) with
the immortal words that the "Peanuts" beagle Snoopy plagiarized for years, "It was a dark and stormy night." Happens every year. She resolved to end the love affair with Ramon tonight . . . summarily, like Martha Stewart ripping
the sand vein out of a shrimp's tail . . . though the term "love affair" now struck her as a ridiculous euphemism . . . not
unlike "sand vein," which is after all an intestine, not a vein . . . and that tarry substance inside certainly isn't sand
. . . and that brought her back to Ramon. Yes, thoroughly disgusting.
The notion that they would no longer be a couple dashed Helen's hopes and scrambled her thoughts
not unlike the time her sleeve caught the edge of the open egg carton and the contents hit the floor like fragile things hitting
cold tiles, more pitiable because they were the expensive organic brown eggs from free-range chickens, and one of them clearly
had double yolks entwined in one sac just the way Helen and Richard used to be. Also disgusting, non?
She sipped her latte gracefully, unaware of the milk foam droplets building on her mustache, which
was not the peachy-fine baby fuzz that Nordic girls might have, but a really dense, dark, hirsute lip-lining row of fur common
to southern Mediterranean ladies nearing menopause, and winked at the obviously charmed Spaniard at the next table. Check, please! The terrible news had whisked around the becolumned courthouse like a malevolent, stinking zephyr
straight from the sewage works, and on the gum-besmirched footpath, the hunch of lawyers cackled and cawed like a group of
very large, gowned, wigged, briefcase-clutching crows, or perhaps ravens since they are of course the larger bird and some
of these lawyers were fairly sizeable. That from Georgia Gowing
of Largs Bay, South Australia – who doesn’t seem to much like lawyers. Looking up from his plate of escargots, Sean gazed across the table at Sharon and sadly realized
that her bubbly personality now reminded him of the bubbles you get when you put salt on a slug and it squirms around and
foams all over the place, and her moist lips were also like the slime on a slug but before you salted it, though after all
these years Sharon still smelled better than slugs, but that could have been the garlic butter on her escargots. One thinks of Paris. Sheila walked into the room, flaunting the kind of body that made grown men wish they were teenagers,
made teenagers wish they were grown men, made toddlers wish they were preteens, made preteens wish they were young adults,
and made everyone wish editors swung blue pencils the same way she swung her hips as she crossed the threshold of both the
room and bad taste, her breasts swaying like dual house-trailers on a windy overpass. Cool. "I never won and wasn't expecting to this year, but to be honest I'm a little jealous of people
who won dishonorable mentions because that title would look better on the resume," he said. But he does systems work
– a software engineer – so he’ll be laid off pretty soon anyway. Then he can write all the humor he
wants. |
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This issue updated and published on...
Paris readers add nine hours....
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