The 2024 winners for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which challenges participants to write an atrocious opening sentence to the worst novel never written, have been announced.
Here are my favorites:
His burnt flesh sizzling like a burger on the grill, blood pouring from his wounds like an overshaken cola, and sweat as salty as French fries pouring down his face, John knew that after this mission was over, he was getting McDonald’s for dinner.
Matthew Holmes, Doreen, Australia
Shrieking with revulsion, Glurch spewed spoiled zerps all over the cantina and immediately demanded to see the manager, who, he warned, better not give him any beak unless he fancied a blaster hole through his egg sack.
Joel Phillips, West Trenton, NJ
“I do enjoy turning a prophet,” said Torquemada, as he roasted the heretic seer on a spit.
A. R. Templeton, Stratford, Canada
After initially being cold and hard towards Jeremy, Sylvia finally began to thaw, and then slowly started to warm up to him, just a bit at first, but more and more the longer she basked in the heat of his yearning eyes; then, suddenly magically transformed, she became steaming hot for him, melting at his touch, yielding her softness to his hungry hands—and so, he devoured her, savoring her oozing delights and consuming every morsel of her lusciousness—after which Jeremy leaned back, totally sated, and began to consider what he should name his next batch of frozen chocolate chip cookie dough.
Mark Meiches, Dallas, TX
Tucker Hughes was a cowboy born and bred—his grandfather free-grazing in the shadow of the Bitterroots, his father homesteading the Bar XZ east of Great Falls, and young Tucker barrel racing and running Angus from his grade-school days —but as he gazed across the prairie on this autumn day in 2031, the now grizzled rancher figured he was finally looking at the end of the American West, all thanks to the gnomes of Silicon Valley and their damned self-driving cattle.
G. Andrew Lundberg, Los Angeles, CA
That sweltering Friday evening she not so much walked but slithered into my shabby strip mall P.I. office, showing off all her curves, and I knew then I was in for a weekend of trouble because Dave’s Reptile Emporium next door, from which the ball python had escaped, was closed until Monday.
Douglas Purdy, Roseville, CA
Nehaveigur 