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Humour Yourselves With The Worst Imaginary Novels Where People Compete to Write the Worst Sentences

Humour Yourselves With The Worst Imaginary Novels Where People Compete to Write the Worst Sentences

If you’re searching for a different form of storytelling just to break the regular monotonous tasks, gain new perspectives and explore unique architecture of the english language, then you’ve come to the right place. If you’re just simply bored, this is a good place to hang out as well. There may be more similar contests out there but there are basically 2 very main toungue-in-cheek contests that take place annually and in which entrants are invited to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels. They’re the The Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest and The Lyttle Lytton Contest. These are sentences that are deliberately and imaginatively written to be as bad as possible within the worst ever novel in the universe. To make it better, the grand prize winner will receive a cash prize and be crowned as the annual champion. Submissions may also consist of actual lines taken from actual novels, frequently taken from very old novels from the 19th century.

Submissions are subject to certain rules though such as word and character limitations to reduce lengthy sentences. We’ve listed down 30 samples below for you to warmup and to prepare yourselves before making the visit to the actual sites. Try not only to read though, submit your own creative ideas and try and see how far it goes. You never know, you may be crowned as this year’s winner and win some cash! Go crazy and think of the worst opening lines that you can think of, have fun and enjoy the innocent humor in these contests.

Jennifer stood there, quietly ovulating.
The body hit the ground like a garbage bag full of tomato soup; “that was unexpected”, thought Skye Jefferson, “I thought he was a robot”.
Something was pouring from his mouth. He examined his sleeve. Blood!? Blood. Crimson copper-smelling blood, his blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. And bits of sick.
As the clown breathed into the balloon and it slowly inflated, my penis inflated in tandem, as if the clown was breathing straight into my penis hole.
Our eyes are always pointing at things we are interested in approaching, or investigating, or looking at, or having.
The gray clouds begat lightning that etched starkly behind the college dormitories; it was a stark and dormy night.
Agent Gunner Storm closed his steely grey eyes and pictured the erotic sphere of Lady Liberty’s bare breast as he thrust into the terrorist princess.
You find a cave (you’re a male Half‑elf). The female Full‑elves inside try to restrain their libidos, but that’s like butterfly nets trying to stop 100 mph of uncooked rice.
This is no mere vegan pork—​it is nonviolence incarnate!
The award show was a veritable orgy—​not of sex, but of cultural appropriation.
The atmospheric molecules that filled the Rose Bowl were in full vibration as kickoff approached.
The noodles tasted of roasted chicken. The kind found in almost any store. I knew immediately it was instant lunch and that Maruchan was responsible.
Eric‑san had only one goal in life: make Kimiko‑chan his waifu‑chan.
Angel had it bad. She was the type of girl that made men do that little involuntary spastic dance like they’ve been putting off going to the bathroom for too long, but for sex.
A tear rolled down her face like a tractor. “David,” she said tearfully, “I don’t want to be a farmer no more.”
My lamestream friends told me to start dating again, but I knew the jet fuel of love couldn’t melt the steel beams of my heart.
Her sick twisted dripping tears were as warm and salty as a ramen flavor packet, And as delicious and upsetting as one too.
Dawn crept slowly over the lush, verdant lawn of the country club, searching in vain for her car keys.
It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times.
A tear rolled down her face like a tractor. “David,” she said tearfully, “I don’t want to be a farmer no more.”
The victim writhed inaudibly, his skyward gaze turning lifeless at the hands of his assassin; much like a toddler without floaties in an untended pool.
Cars are metal beasts who consume lives in a beastfull manner while us beasts car’fully manipulate the wheel both in the metal beast we’re in and the flesh beast we are.
The wizard’s beard was long, much like Gandalf’s in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, who was also a wizard.
As I felt the vampire sexily drinking the blood from my neck, the warmth between my legs grew both in wetness and in fear for my life.
They say printer ink is worth more than human blood said the Vampire Prince but i’ll take your type O over CMYK any night.
Luna descended downward slowly and carefully from the cliffs above and down to the pond’s edge where her wolf family was washing her clothes with Tide detergent.
The tongue has no bones, but it is strong enough to break a heart.
Xane Blazer put down his wizend falchion and turned to regard the supple beauty of the Terran ambassador. He would not be returning to the astropod tonight.
Let me tell you about Sally. Her tits were good.

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