The A2K Bulwer-Lytton Contest

Like a weary but persistent pilgrim, the bubble of methane gas progressed
through Christian's colon, sought remission at his sphincter, and burst forth
into glory with a mighty Halleluia.

The morning started out all wrong this morning at Precinct 13: a Code Red was called over
a call was taken reporting three suspicious attache dases left at Gongressman Beaner(R-Ohio)'s doorstep overnight.
The senior bombsquad officer and crew was abruptly summoned from the coffee shop and dispatched to the
scene - flakvests, remote controlled robotic detonator, the works. Half hour later, local
television coverage showed the aftermath: instead of the anticipated deadly explosive discharge,
a large shower of 100-dollar notes cascading over the outside lawn and onto Beaner Boulevard
resulting in a monster commuter traffic snarlup as drivers and passengers leaped out of
their vehicles to tidy up the mess.

She looked at her screen blearily (obviously too many glasses of whatever) and wondered if any of her A2K buddies would respond to this belated call... not a Call to Arms... but more a call to action... or a call to ... she couldn't remember exactly as it was a bit foggy, sort of like that MADD commercial where one glass is put in front of another and another and another...hence the bleariness...and dizziness... yes, she needed to go to bed, wherever that was.

The cock went cursing over his lazy harem of an early Sunday when the clouds wore curls, all but the wispy outer ones to west over the sylvan still morning, and he flapped his red-feathered appendages to look out over the barnyard and its hogs and cows and its two humans dispensing groceries, his Cock-a-doodles coming furious and strong while the hens casually blinked, preparing to rise to the day, reluctant to leave their comfortable nests at the crack of day like that.

Congratulations on buying the greatest novel ever written with well long words like wheelbarrow what Shakespeare never used because he’s not as smart as me, I must have an IQ of 170 or something and I use wheelbarrow a lot which ain’t easy because it’s set in space with archetypal historical figures like Jesus, Hitler and Harry Belafonte, it’s that good, and if you don’t like it you must be some sort of freak.

It was no ordinary wheelbarrow.

Millie found out the hard way.

She was fooling around with her new boyfriend, Cletus, when they decided to do the deed in the tray of the wheelbarrow. She took down her overalls and was ready when she accidentally blurted out the magic words: "Hot diggity corn muffins!"

It was meant to be a positive exclamation regarding Cletus's anatomy. But instead, it activated the time circuits. As the last ...fins was escaping from her lips, she found herself in a jungle. There was a hungry-looking T Rex leaning over, looking at a tasty morsel in disheveled overalls that had instantly appeared.

If the T Rex had known what corn muffins are -- and could speak English -- then he would have made the same statement, and Millie would have been instantly transported to the sidelines of the Battle of Hastings. Instead, he just roared.

She turned the corner on Aisle 5 and was presented with a huge rump bending over to pick up a box of Saltines from the bottom shelf and was really tempted to ram her cart into that butt, but then she remembered what happened last time and thought, No, better not.

So she wielded her unwieldy cart past the big butt (with the song Bertha Butt going around in her head) and manouevered her way over to the Ritz Crackers which just happened to be next to "Bertha" when...