I say, bleah. Brevity is the soul of wit, and this goes on and on
and on and then it goes on and on and on some more and then it goes
on for a bit after that. Long, long, long. Much funnier, sez I, is
the likes of this:
Jennifer stood there, quietly ovulating.
The Lyttle Lytton
The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
requires one to write the most horrible opening sentance to a novel; the Lyttle Lytton
Contest is the same, only you are restricted to 25 words or less, which
makes for funnier openings, such as:
Monica had exploded, and I had a mystery, and pieces of her
pancreas, on my hands.
For centuries, man had watched the clouds; now, they were
Great stuff here. Now I just need to come up with a horrible opening
line to a novel.
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