WORST OPENING PARAGRAPH.

He weaved and bobbed his way down the cobblestone alley, bruising his shoulder against the filthy, sooty brick wall in the process. He was drunk, yes, he was certainly drunk. You could say he was blind drunk, but he could see so, technically, he wasn't blind drunk, was he? You could say he was as drunk as a Lord, but which Lord? The Lord? Or our very own Lord Ellpus? Or you could say he was as drunk as a skunk but what does that even mean? Do skunks even get drunk?

And she knew he knew, oh yes, and he knew that she knew he knew. He was new at this, that was the problem.

Drip. Drip. Drip. She could hear the faucet as she tried to sleep. Drip. Drip. Drip. Hrmmmm. That was the furnace kicking in. Hrmmmm. Thud. Thud. Air in the pipes. Thud. Thud. Click-click-click-click. The sound of her dog's nails as it padded across the floor to her bed. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock ticked on toward morning. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was a regular band, alright... all that was needed was the snores of His Nibs in the room above...

He had the worst stutter she had ever heard. "H-h-h-h-h-he-h-h--h-h-heh-h-h-h-hel-l-l-l-l-l--l-lo-o-o-oh. H-h-h-h-h-heh-h-h-ho-o-o-o-o-ow-ow-ow-ow-w a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ar-r-r-r-r-r-r-re y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-yo-o-o-o-o-o-you?"

"When I go on vaction, I take with me a beachball."
"When I gon on vacation, I take with me a Beachball and a Cactus."
"When I go on vacation, I take with me a Beachball, a Cactus and a Shovel."
"When I go on vacation, I take with me a Beachball, a Cactus, a Shovel and a Bulldozer."
"When I go on vacation, I take with me a Beachball, a Cactus, a Shovel, a Bulldozer and an Ipod."
"When I go on vacation, I take with me a Beachball, a Cactus, a Shovel, a Bulldozer, an Ipod and a case of Heinekens."
"When I go on vacation, I take with me a Beachball, a Cactus, a Shovel, a Bulldozer, an Ipod, a case of Heinekens and a bag of Potato Chips."
This game went on until we reached the airport, and my two children had driven me stark raving nuts.

Love. It hits. Hard. You feel it. You can't deny it. It comes. It stays. It hurts. It heals. Deep. Pure. Passion. Undenyable. Let go. Give in. Let it come. You want it. You do. Sure. We all do. Everyone. All. Not none. All. We crave it. We live for it. We love. We love to love. Love.

Her indecorous posterior framed her blood engorged vulva as she wantonly swiveled her hips (some have said good birthing hips) unceremoniously in the general direction of the open window and thus the bus station; as she had hoped, the wind was furtively pulsing in the correct direction, and it was not long before she lured an apropos audience, one needed to complete herself in this heated moment of intense showgirl-style longing.

I'll leave you with this for tonight. On the second half, I just started making up words.

Dilatorily, laggardly, the bombastic carbon-based organic lifeform identified as "Bill" consociated with the glassy vessel of libation to facilitate disrememberation of the previous post-daytime's bingigation upon alcoholic liquids.

This book will vividly illustrate a single point. It will explain in-depth, why exactly the underside of a camel's testicles taste watermelons. So,....

She was ugly, yet she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on. I wasn't drinking, and the lights were brighter than my bedroom, so it wasn't my eyes. She was dazzling and homey at the same time. She had on a chartreuse dress that made her look fatter than she really was, with a red ribbon sloppily tied between her breasts. Small breasts, but about a size 34 cup. I sipped on my beer, and kept my eyes on her as she walked from her table towards the ladies room. She looked like she might be about 6 feet 4 inches tall, but she had blond hair that fell on her bare shoulders. The men standing along her path seemed small by comparison; they looked like midgets. I slowly jumped off my bar stool, and started walking toward the john.

Hey CI,
sounds like yours is the prequel to my sequel, only I posted my sequel before your prequel! Filthy bastids both we are.

At my age, I learned a thing or two about "fiction." LOL

I think most people identify me as "a dirty old man."

It all started at the beginning or maybe just a little while before. Summer hadn't begun but Memorial Day was long past, or at least it was a couple of weeks past when the action started rising. It felt like it was chin deep not skin deep. That was the creepy part of everything, the feeling of drowning like, the feeling of choking as the whole situation becomes clear.
The weather was cloudy and the moon was just hanging there gazing in the window at the first moment. So what was a person to think about that.




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I'm not going to sign my name to this crap

We'd know Joe (author) Nation wherever you roam.

I think the starting line of Joe (Pulp Fiction) Nation's next page burner needs to start with, "It was a dark and stormy night."

I don't know, it just seems to fit. It's an original even though it has been used by thousands.

Keep 'em coming y'all.

And the Lord said unto Moses "COME FORTH!" but he came fifth and won a bag of peanuts....

The DC-9 taxied from the part of the building where the passengers board, past the part where arriving passengers get off, and took its position on the main runway, waiting for the all clear from ground control.
As his co-plilot pushed forward on the throttle, Captain Jameson felt that familar pulsating throb, so he decided to put down his copy of American housewives uncovered, and concentrate on the take off. "Betty from Arkansas can wait 'til we're on autopilot" he thought.

Seth, the newly appointed gardener to the recently widowed Lady Ermingtrude, stood erect as she approached, his rippling sweat beaded torso gleaming in the hot sun that had made this secluded part of the garden all steamy and erotic like. He had noticed her interest in him the day before, when she playfully caressed his bulbs and bent down to get a good look at his saxifraga. She was impressed, of that he was sure.
As she came close, he instinctively took off his cap, letting his long dark locks tumble around his suntanned muscular neck and shoulders. His other hand held firmly onto his prize marrow as he raised it, waiting for her to tweak the end, as she always did.
"I have a bush that needs some attention" she said quietly whilst tweaking, her eyebrows raised in surprised wonder.