Top this:

I dare ya!

The bowling alley was the last place Ned thought he would find an educated and sophisticated woman of breeding. There was good reason behind that thinking. Stopping his pick-up, he looked at his Spam and Cheese-Wiz sandwich and noticed it contained his most hated condiment: ketchup. Ned then had the shaking realization that even though Trudy-Jo had graduated from The Haarvaard School of Automotive Detailing and Paint Chip Repair, he was not skyriding hurricane winds of her genius; he instead was being washed down a storm-drain of dumb. Looking at the margarine smeared on the outside of the sandwich, Ned knew it was going to be a dirty ride as well…

Douggie loves cheese. I love cheese. Do you love cheese? His wife loves cheese. His duck loves cheese. Douggie ate his duck. Duck ate his wife. Never buy a 8 foot tall duck. Ducks are mean. So is Douggie. Did you know that Douggie loves cheese? I love cheese Do you love cheese? His wife loves cheese. So does his duck.

I can't top it... but here's my offer:

She batted her long eyelashes and regarded him prettily out of fine velvet eyes. Her cherry mouth blossomed into a winsome pucker and he leaned in for the kill.. Quivering she closed her twin orbs of wonder and sighed.

Just then he yanked a nit from her hair and said in tones of muted disgust:

LICE!!!

Loved this ! Spam and cheese whiz on a sandwich, LOL! It'll take some doing to top this, but I'll give it a go...but I'll have to get back on it later this weekend. Bad writing is an art that takes time, you understand.

If anything will kill such a moment, LICE will do it, LOL. Funny stuff, Saint - reminds me of one of those dime romance novels with such phrases as 'steel encased in velvet' and 'her heaving bosom'

Err... my worst paragraph?

This paragraph is bad. Very bad.
This is supposed to be a bad paragraph.
So I will make it a bad paragraph.
A very bad paragraph.
A paragraph about witing a bad paragraph.
I am writing a bad paragraph

That good?

Yes Maelstrom - it was my experience of those ghastly books that helped me with the passage above...

Look forward to yours...

[si

It was a dark and stormy night it was crowded too in the theatre. Where were we going to sit? A large red chair, with a cushion. The chair was not occupied by anyone. And it was near the back of the theatre. There was gum stuck under the chair that had already been chewed. For all intensive purposes, the reason we went to the movie anyway was due to the fact that there weren't any room in the restaraunt either because it was way too crowded too. But that's another story to get into...

(could be worse... but ugh that's a pretty bad paragraph.... at least 10 pretty bad errors... and how cliche is "it was a dark and stormy night" )

this is a story of how Timmy The Tooler Lost his Golden Toothpick to an evil witch, and how he set off and met Bonnie, a loveable squirrel, and this story goes on to tell you how Timmy defeated the evil witch with pebble by jamming it in her machinery whilst she concocted an experiment, and now for the story


(I've read a few books where they give away the ending in the beggining paragraph, so i thought that was pretty bad)

Earl hadn't intended to ingest the bleach he'd used in his 'teeth-whitening on a shoe string budget' scheme, but in the midst of wailing from his seething digestive tract, he recalled something he'd heard in school about poison control centers. 9-1-1 seemed so simple, but despite his life-threatening condition, he remained conscientious enough to refrain from dialing a wrong number, and also felt sympathy toward lonely and under-utilized poison control center dispatchers. He searched fruitlessly for poison in the yellow pages yet seized the moment to jot down a few helpful listings to treat his termite infestation. Having not found a control center entry, he shifted his attention to the business white pages. A toll free number was available, without a 9-1-1 referral for emergencies, so he knew he'd chosen wisely. Unable to speak by the time he reached the dispatcher, Earl uttered a noise not unlike one expected of professional baseball players expelling sputum in dug-outs. The dispatcher mistook the garbled noise for a faulty connection and hung up. Had she only known that he was asking her out on a date, she might have reported a harrassing phone call and unwittingly secured a police escort for Earl to the hospital.

As I sit here in my chair, bored and lonely, I come across this thread.
I read everyone's posts here with great admiration of their creativity and wit.
Never before could I have seen that even the cheesiest paragraph inspired by the minds of even the craziest old bats could hold such beauty in humor.
I tip my hat to all of you aspiring bad writers (and good ones alike.)
But me... I think I'll stay out of the writing business.
-------------------------------------------------------------xoxo
I lacked the creativity to come up with a piece of a story, so I put my observations into a bad paragraph. Hope it works.

I've long been of the opinion that the opening paragraph of A Tale of Two Cities is one of the most intensely BAD paragraphs in literature. Charles Dickens clearly has no respect for the use of the semicolon in moderation.

Fans of "Cheers" might remember the Cliff Clavin response to the opening of that novel.

"This Dickens guy sure kept his butt covered, didn't he?"

[si

Please continue. That paragraph...did things to me.

Please don't tell me you're expecting a surging front with precipitation immanent.

[b]

i know saints cool ,.. like you .we must be artists ,..

Abecrombie

[si

[qu

Oh sitting here thinking backabout a year ,... when i first new about the birds and the bees,... i was stung three times over there in those trees.
so i went inside to play,.. cause face it i aleady knew,.. stilli wondred but i wondered ,..always wondered why so different these dolls were the two,?..
.why , ken had plastic for hair, but barbie didnt. hmmm made me think about them naked i thought it would be a great way for me to learn what i need to know someday ,{ even though i kinda already knew,}.. whats up with the plastic bumps all over thes dolls ,... eeeww it was weird, but i knew that i was not going to have, a seperate torso and my legs didnt click click when i bent them ,so lets see what i can make my dolls do,..... but i tried to turn their heads cause they kissed alright. ive seen it doneall the time after my parents would fight. but when it came to reproduction my dolls were just no fun . barbies leg would always break and that confused me. so .i wanted to draw or make some creative new kinda of doll in my now owned shop im a beutician watch me now. i cut the hair of all doll i had even my sisters dolls to try a new style or due. . after a while there time was over.
always after i colored in there eyes with a ballpoint id poke hole in them . dont know why.
clowns i frown on they are just men in stupid costumes lots of colors like a human cartoon ,.. fooled me ,..not. i saw behind thier stupid act. but the worst clown had a big mac attack and so did i too, when, throwing up colors of red white and yellow outside of macdonalds i heard a bum say ,.. watch out little girl hes the antichrist and hes here to stay, . my repliy was good let him burn along with the grills of all fast food thrills iin the hell of non creativity im going to heaven because i know the meaning of einsteins relitivty ,. i can also cut your hair but its bald . kinda like my barbie and ken daoll ,. someone shouts ,... " that guys nuts grab him" so i stole the persons iceream sundae , in hopes of finding me back on monday dreaming while i knew it was someday other that what i was dreaming .

Abecromie running late must leave now ,.. sorry draft is sloppy and lenthy ,.. no comment ,. gong show reject award.
bye. you asked for it.

[si

More crap, at your request. Odd that Abecrombie was writing one about Barbies as I bashed Cabbage Patch Kids.

When Peggy was 12 years of age, the head of her beloved Cabbage Patch Kid was burned beyond recognition in a grease fire. Had it not been for the valiant though ill-advised water dousing efforts of her younger brother, Alex, the flames would have merely singed the bright red Afro. Its name was not Chucky, nor was it possessed, but lettuce heads around the globe at the mercy of their materialistic offspring, highly suggestible to subliminal advertising ploys, could not resist the temptation to storm major toy retailers, careening shopping carts into fellow doll aficionados, and leaving corpses in their wake when justified by threats to purchase the most coveted CPKs. Alex had felt an irresistable urge, deep within his core, to make an example of but one amongst this scourge in the history of invention. How many people, he wondered, might be inspired to toss these wretched, stuffed kids in the garbage? "Garbage Pail Kids...Hmm." thought Alex.

The residents in town call him Wild Bill. It's not because his Himalayan cat wears a saddle to transport disabled chipmunks from food dish to scratching post* to couch cushion, nor the fact that he holds a world record for most kicks to the face by a stallion in one minute, but because Wild William sounds so stupid. Wild Bill has been obsessed with taming anything organic since his infancy. His goldfish, Polly, would sink to the base of her bowl, careful not to scrape her scales on the tiny stone pagoda resting atop the rocks, when commanded to sit. Mold never grew on his shower tile. It knew better, and preferred Wild Bill's company. Of all the creatures and flora he'd encountered, dogs were, by far, his most difficult subjects.

*Feline antics require chipmunk replacement in saddle

OMG - these were hilarious! I sense some serious contenders for the next Bulwer-Lytton writing contest...

Once upon a time... and they lived happily ever after. I WIN!

It was a dark and crusty night in the little town of Hellppamee....a night I won't forget...a night when all heck broke loose. There wasn't one hellppameein in town that wouldn't be effected....that wouldn't feel the wrath. It pains me to relive this time in my life, as I was once a hellppammeein....but I know I must continue onward and occassionally scratch the scars that will itch in my soul......... FOREVER.

mmm

mmm

Mary was no ordinary girl. Sure, she had friends and enemies and knew all the name brands like a normal girl, but Mary had a little secret. Little did the rest of the world know that little Mary has split personalities. One of these personalities, Tammy, is EVIL! When Mary is asleep, Tammy takes over and wreaks havoc, murdering small children, destroying relationships, and smoking cigarettes. While Tammy has taken over the body, Mary doesn't know what's happening at night, and everybody blames HER for it! What a tragedy! Tammy is wrecking her life, but darn does she look good in bad-girl leather.

(Eh, I tried.)

The smell of Summer is in the air: power lines blooming with unkempt, gamy sneakers bound together haphazardly by local youths in need of a swift back stroke from the immaculately groomed hand of Martha Stewart. Like baby's breath during the annual chili cook-off between vigilantly challenged parents and guardians, the heat is intolerable. Industrious black ants devour the slimy remains of sidewalk crossing snails that fell victim to the 'grass is always greener' proverb under that big yellow mucous evaporator in the sky. Shells remain undisturbed for wayward slugs who prefer to take evolution into their own hands, or wormy lack thereof. What coastal dwelling slugs fear most are the legendary casts of miniature hermit crabs who prowl the city streets bent on inheriting brittle and tawdry models of that which they could otherwise seek and claim in open waters.

[q

BEHOLD! THE WORST OPENING PARAGRAPH THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN!

Edit; Mario, don't post uninterrupted periods in your message, it distorts the main viewing window.

May I refer to you as Dr. Mario Infinity Dot, The Magnificent Margin Manipulator?

Wh

I asked the mods to remove the exorbitant quantity of periods. Too bad contiguous text can't wrap when it exceeds the margins.

During an impromptu ceremony at the store this afternoon, Keith received a merit award for corporate excellence in manual collation by an employee formerly distinguished for keen awareness of elementary copier menu options. The trophy doesn't fit on his desk, now occupied by cardboard boxes to house his personal effects. Having taken account of his colleagues' sullen expressions and unforeseen, patronizing claps on the shoulder, he opted to announce publicly that Quick Copy, Inc. had selected him for a prestigious field assignment in freelance occupational acquisition.

I have a feeling this thread is right up your alley You crack me up.


--Many, many moons ago, in a town far away, there lived a man named Hector. Hector was loved by all who knew him. The people used to listen to him play three nights a week, at Los Tacos Cafe, a favorite hangout in town...where Hector played guitar while laying down.

Mr. Velvet,

Removing moderator notes from your post is a suspendable offense, you'll want to keep that in mind the next time you are admonished for an inappropriate comment. You may have gotten the message, but it is put there so anyone else participating will also understand how to conduct themselves, its intent was lost when you removed it.

MM

I'm glad you're enjoying the material Arty.

Mr. Velvet,

You deleted most all of your entries today. How come? You have a rare talent, my friend. I hope you saved the copies and will consider reposting them. I got your Al Kayda joke, but was too busy brewing and uploading my own byproducts of dementia onto UM to comment. At the very least, you need to replace your paragraph with the meterological jargon so that my request to Ol Drippy will make sense again.

Anyway, below is my new contribution.
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Historically, cruise lines have navigated as the crow flies whenever feasible, so Ward and June had no reason to conceive of a differing itinerary on their romantic sojourn, replete with twin beds in the hopes of convincing the travel agent that Wally and Theodore were created by the process of mitosis. The ship's frequent stops, sudden revolutions, unscheduled backtracking, and horn bellowing repeatedly at anything mobile stressed an emphasis upon travel as the duck floats. It came as no surprise when the captain announced the ship's return to America would be delayed until March of the following year.

After reading some of the worst tween angst I've ever seen, I've decided to make another contribution to the society of the amused.

If ever there was a time to be afraid, it was the day that Amelia was finally rejected by a member of the opposite gender. The reason the absolute pandemonium in the break room broke out was because Marcus completely ignored her pleas for attention. It was about time she got returned to sender for inappropriate packaging, but Marcus didn't have to tell the newest member of the mailroom team she was violating dress code in such a harsh manner. After an angry display, Amelia finally decided to get revenge, and thus begins our story.

Dale was previously employed as a lobbyist with Fruit Sticker Consumption Prevention Alliance, a non-profit organization with a mission to educate supermarket clerks across the nation in produce identification. He'd been met with fierce opposition from unions fighting diligently to retain mediocrity, and chemical manufacturers responsible for adhesive production. After years of courtroom battles, addresses to Congress, and taxpayer subsidized seminars in Las Vegas, Dale encountered an insurmountable obstacle. Union representatives succeeded in silencing Dale and his cohorts once and for all. Following the introduction of organic produce, clerks working at supermarket locations that had complied with F.S.C.P.A.'s sticker-free demands had filed grievances concerning the policy of licking fruit skins at check-out to determine pesticide content. But Dale was not born a quitter, and hopes to continue his crusade by visiting kindergarten classrooms, teaching his revolutionary "2 R Technique", Revolve and Remove.

Blunt, you deserve a trophy for that masterpiece. I was shaking my head and laughing at the same time. :

Hey, Kak,

It's nice to know my work is appreciated and also a source of astonished bewilderment. I'll give you a little inside line on the insanity that inspired my latest submission. First, I hate it when organic apples are mistakenly placed in the pesticide bin, and clerks never fail to find the highest valued sticker at the time of purchase. Hence, I hate organic produce. Second, years ago I wondered, with the collective fruit sticker peeling time of the entire world (It being unnecessary if only clerks were trained to identify fruit properly and organic farmers had found something better to do with their lives), how much time passes before the equivalent of a human life is lost?

In case you were thrown by my earlier paragraph and my decision to refer to the collective of crabs as a cast, below is a link with the most comprehensive animal groupings I've ever seen. This type of information is a wonderful writing tool, especially when composing dumb paragraphs. Some of the group names are hysterical: Orchestra of crickets, troubling of goldfish, bloat of hippopotami, smack of jellyfish, buffoonery of orangutans, etc.

Animal Groupings

Independent contractors in the field of tight rope walking always dreaded the circus coming to town. It meant a two week slump in business retrieving laundry between highrise apartments for arthritic housewives lacking the strength to operate the cranks. The walkers are able-bodied, but 'Clothesline Yanker' lacks luster. Circus performers are known to broker deals with residents where accomodations are provided in exchange for their unique talents. While men who jam their heads into lions' mouths easily find lodging with rural veterinarians or dentists with irresponsible patients, unicyclist jugglers are normally left to fend for themselves: deviants on account of their peculiar mingling of career pursuits. They've been known to conspire with local tight rope walkers, familiar with citizens' routines, to pilfer clothing later sold at second hand shops. One job they have planned for Pittsburgh in five days would otherwise require a crane for placement upon the cycles, but circus folk are inherently suspicious of outsiders, so the unicyclists are in the process of cross-training with their colleague, Ashy Britches, The Human Cannonball.

The worst opening paragraph to a novel has to be filled with every cliche in the book. Foreboding weather. A writer, with an oldstyle typewriter. Abandoned house. Middle of nowhere. Dark name for characters. Hints to supernatural phenomena. This paragraph has them all.

It was a dark and stormy winter evening. As Paul Raven sat at his typewriter, he pondered the calamatous turn of events that led him to the attic of this abandoned house in the foothills of Scotland. Lightning flashed, painting the rafters in a white-blue glow that dissipated quickly. If only the spectres that had haunted him would vanish so quickly, Raven thought bitterly. The ordeal was over, but his horror had only just begun. Raven adjusted the snow-white paper in his typewriter, and struck the first key. The clickety-clack as the key depressed reverberated through the attic. Again he pressed another key, and another. Thus were the chronicles of Paul Raven documented......

The clouds pressed ominously against the leaden sky. Storm Burke, a beautiful blonde with stunning blue eyes, an hour glass figure, and curves in all the right places was a touch worried. Her butterfly fingers touched her silken curls in an indecisive gesture. Should she phone her handsome husband or should she wait to see if he could ride out the storm and come home to her, his hulky reassuring figure a comfort and an ease?

That was good? Perfectly sets up the rest of the book.

She looked down into his cold eyes. Fresh blood drying on her bottom lip. She had told him not to look at her that way. Lust rolling behind his eyes. Now he was dead and it was her fault. Oh well she shrugged, turning on her heel she picked up the phone reciver... And ordered a pizza. The End