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Post by artistlily on Jul 28, 2009 9:41:36 GMT
Do any of you want to play a game??? This is called "The Lily bad writing group". You have to write a short piece that is violently and revoltingly descriptive, not necessarily make sense, and reads like someone trying to write a controversial essay (and failing). It should be startling.
I will start it off:
"Sandra drew on her gloves. Then, with a rubber, removed the image. David said, "I have decided to invest in United Oil".
Marvin yawned and contributed, "tele's fucked, we'll have to play cards". An avalanche of soot fell down the chimney onto David's collection of hairpieces. He surveyed the mess and stoically picked his nose."
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Post by artistlily on Jul 28, 2009 10:09:18 GMT
Here is another one:
"Kev's nails gripped the side of the walk-in freezer door. "Damn!" he ejaculated, "I must get the door handle mended!". Entering the freezer, Kev selected a carcass from the hanging racks and, holding it as though it were his precious new born child, walked towards the hacked and bloodied bench. Deftly kicking the freezer door shut with his sister Blodwyn's Doc Marten boot (he had rushed this morning and could only find one), he grimly contemplated the unfairness of life. It was alright for that Ashley bloody Peacock, on Coronation Street, fart-arsing about with his giant chopper every time a woman entered the shop. No way he could really fillet a beast, you only had to look at his hands....an advert for Nulon if ever there was one.
Kev's mood deteriorated as he reflected that it was Tuesday: his mother's day for operating the till. "
"
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Post by artistlily on Jul 28, 2009 10:44:59 GMT
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Post by Patrick on Jul 28, 2009 11:19:37 GMT
I'm getting the hang of it. The now dim candle bulb of once brilliant creativity that I used to have is glowing feebly in the dim distance trying to surge back into life and deal a devastating blow to the rest of my brain by just thinking of something. ;D |
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Post by Deleted on Jul 28, 2009 13:02:17 GMT
qwell, let me see now i dont really know EXACTKLY what it is we are supposed to be doing here but i will ave a go:
'good MORNING YOU WHORE' rumbaba breezily proclaimed as he roller-skated into the kitchen to greet his frail and decrepid mother violently cooking toast. 'Good morning dear, fancy scambled eggs for breakfast?' she enqwuired enqwwuiringly like what police officer dibble from out of top cat mightve done, back in the day. 'SCRAMBLED EGGS?' rumbaba sneered disdainfully his eyes lolling back in his head spittle dribbling down his chin 'GOOD HEAVENS NO I WANT MY EGGS FERTILISED!' he cackled pervertedly as he furtively switched the kettle on 'FERTILISED DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE THERE?' he bellowed disgustingly scratching his arm vigourously with a rusty fork. 'Yes,' thought his mother ' i know what youve done rumbaba, youve only gorn n mangled up some cheesy chat-up line you've half remembered you terrible terrible spastic child.'
'THATS RIGHT MOTHER!' Rumbaba screeched reading his mothers mind ' ive mangled up the cheesy chat-up line what i half remembered, the one about how do you like your eggs but i cant remember if the girls supposed to say it to the bloke or the blokes supposed to say it to the girl but what i do know WHAAAAT I DOOOOOO FUCKING KNOW, MOTHER DEAREST, IS THAT THE ANSWER TO THE CHAT UP LINE WHAT I CANT REALLY REMEMBER IS I WANT MY EGGS FERTILISED!' he screamed apocolyptically hammering nails into his wrists as he done so.
'You'll meet a nice girl one day Rumbaba, don't you worry' cooed his mother, seething with HATE.
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Post by artistlily on Jul 28, 2009 21:48:47 GMT
Costal...you are FABULOUS!!! I love it!!! HAHAHAA VIOLENTLY COOKING TOAST hahaa!!!  there are so many lines in yours that made me convulse hysterically, if there was a prize it would be yours immediately! Can you do another one? Here is another one of mine, not a patch on yours though: "David climbed wearily into the cockpit. His mother's sandwiches squelched uneasily against his groin. He doubted the egg mayonnaise would survive beyond Dover. Adjusting his Captain's hat, he 'hurrrred' onto the windscreen and wiped it with his sleeve. Beryl's screech still echoed in his ears, and he was keen to leave this sallow, fallow land behind him. " |
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Post by Flatypus on Jul 29, 2009 1:07:27 GMT
"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness." --Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830) I present the honorable and as good as the Darwin Awards Bulwer-Lytton Competition (an author in whom the late unlamented Adolf Hitler found much wisdom) |
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Post by artistlily on Jul 29, 2009 4:47:44 GMT
thank you so much for the link and info. I had not heard of that and have really enjoyed reading it and some of the winners. Much appreciated.
Here is another one. I wish some of you lot would join in......
" SLAM went the ironing board, collapsing onto its worn, pine struts. D'reen, (who had never recovered from being deprived of the 'o' that should have been hers from birth) leant her head against the boiler and wept.
It was bad enough to be 'o'-less, and now the freakin' ironing board had turned feral. Resignedly, and sourly contemplating the unfairness of the word with its accented final 'e', she kicked the basket of ironing over. Lo and bloody behold, what was that? Don't tell me.......she thought............but yes, it was Jeff's wallet. Bending like a frog, she snatched the protuding item and riffled through its contents. She could have rifled, but she had plenty of time and an extra 'f'. Extruding a fiver, she replaced the condoms and pensioners' bus pass, and sallied forth to treat her mum, Sally, to a milky coffee somewhere noice. "
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Post by riotgrrl on Jul 29, 2009 9:56:34 GMT
"It's not fucking art 'though, is it?" he sneered unpleasantly, his face so close to mine that the flecks of spit from his tirade were landing on my hair, mixing with the mousse to create a concrete-like substance. I wondered what it would do to my one-legged lover later when he had to eat it.
My criticised work, the carefully greened puss and decaying rack of lamb, sitting on its plinth of tears, began to smell.
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Post by Patrick on Jul 29, 2009 10:37:53 GMT
Ralph Hardingly-Kumquat farted noisily and continued to make the bed. How Rebecca could invite Russ and Sharon round this weekend of all weekends he could never understand. It was a spoiler tactic. Just because the cricket was on. Now he had to be nice for 48 hours and hope nothing exciting happened at Headingly.
Easing his trouser button open, he removed the Pillow cases form his underpants and smoothed them over the pillows.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2009 12:06:00 GMT
COMe and play with me i want to play said sally as she climbed up onto the see-saw come and play with me Paul come and play on the see saw with me i am coming to play said paul as he walked slowly towards the see saw and then sat on the see saw when he got to the see saw they began to play on the see saw up in the air went sallys side of the see saw at the very same time as this was happening pauls side of the see saw was lower down toward the floor paul used his feet to push his side of the see saw upwards and as he done so sallys side of the see saw began to descend towards the floor sally used her feet to push her side of of the see saw upwards and as she done so pauls side of the see saw began to descend weeeee this is such enjoyment said sally with a smile yes said paul thats what i was going to say he said as he used his feet to push his side of the see saw upwards and as he done so sallys side of the see saw began to descend towards the floor sally used her feet to push her side of of the see saw upwards and as she done so pauls side of the see saw began to descend do you like playing on the see saw paul said sally to paul as she used her feet to push her side of of the see saw upwards yes said paul as he used his feet to push his side of of the see saw upwards and as he done so sallys side of the see saw began to descend towards the floor i was just about to say how much i like playing on the see saw i was literally just about to say that very exact thing right then i was just about to pass comment on the fact that i really really really really do like to be playing on the see saw he said as he used his feet to push his side of of the see saw upwards and as he done so sallys side of the see saw began to descend towards the floor .
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stephan
Lovely, Happy & Gorgeous!
Posts: 278
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Post by stephan on Jul 29, 2009 18:49:17 GMT
I`m all knackered out from being at the hospital all day and very soon I must away to do a quizz on a cat lover`s forum.
But fear not for cyber flirting and even cyber porn is my stock in trade
Oh that was fact btw-wait until I have time to play!!!
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Post by artistlily on Jul 30, 2009 23:13:31 GMT
Oh brilliant, brilliant!! Thank you so much for joining in. I must be mental, but I get so much pleasure out of this. Dear me, off to the shrink........
"Angela's dream of bathing in melted Neapolitan icecream seemed about to be realised. Being a cheap variety, it would need a lot of rinsing but hey, them's the breaks. A gal has to do what a gal has to do.
Mentally penning a reprimand to Oliver, who had been remiss of late in matters pertaining to sileage, our heroine injected herself into her own arm, before realising that she had an extraneous e. "Damn" she expectored. Reaching for the venos and a length of rubber hosing, she indulged herself happily in other ways.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 31, 2009 14:43:48 GMT
mine was tedious but in my defence it was supposed to be.
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stephan
Lovely, Happy & Gorgeous!
Posts: 278
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Post by stephan on Jul 31, 2009 17:16:34 GMT
Angela had softish skin,or so she thought. At first she had thought his hands a bit rough as he rubbed her from top to toe. But he was firm and at the same time gentle exploring her body.
Then he took her naked body and showered it all over.
It felt sooooooooooo nice as he rubbed oil into her.
This post has been exfoliated !!!
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Post by Flatypus on Aug 1, 2009 22:54:12 GMT
Grant lent on the bar casually flicking non-existent specks from the precise two inches of immaculate silk shirtcuff made bespoke for him at Pink's exposed beneath his tropical specification Savile Row suit and secured with gold chains set with jet, while from beneath his quizzically arched eyebrow he surveyed the other occupants of the room: a fat man with a faintly sinister cast to his features, perhaps Jewish or Oriental, wearing a less than immaculate white linen suit who looked as if he had lost a cat, a lean American and a girl. Which was enemy and which friend?
Grant hoped the girl was not his contact. He disliked women on principle; when they did not lack the steel fibre to keep their emotions out of it and get the job - and the killing - done efficiently, they had none and were liable to conceal poisoned knitting needles and other unpleasant objects in unlikely parts of their attire. He was not keen on Americans either, too showy, too trigger-happy, too loud. They were apt to shoot useful suspects before there was a chance to torture any good information out of them. This American was wearing a pale blue suit. He was not concerned about the fat man. Fat men were always either the Other Side or light relief.
"Harvey Wallbanger" he addressed the barman, in tones of command learnt on the manly playing fields of Rugby. "And what would you care to drink, Mr. Wallbanger?" the barman asked. Grant sighed. "I'll have a Harvey Wallbanger, stirred not shaken like some parvenues who should know better; all money no class, Eton. If you don't know what that is, kindly bring me your Head Honcho". "Yes Sir" Grant thought he heard a faint "One Head Honcho for Mr Fancies-himself here" and hoped he had not.
A man entered confidently. Three pairs of eyes appraised him briefly before veiling themselves again. Grant saw, as he was sure the others had not, that without seeming to, the stranger had in the briefest of split seconds assessed and summarised them all, his gaze unnoticeable to any of less than Grant's training and experience lingering the minutest fraction on Grant himself before directing him toward the spot where Grant lounged elegantly at the bar. "Do you mind?" he enquired politely of Grant, who noted his cropped hair and slight moustache with some disapproval. Really, if a man could not grow a moustache worthy of the name he should not make the attempt to do so.
"No, not at all, the seats are not reserved for any special folk" Grant replied using the opening phrase of the code R had arranged. If the newcomer were who he should be then his S would have given him the next part of their elaborate contact code. Collectively and generally they were known as RS.
The stranger produced a cigarette case. Monogrammed, Grant noted with disapproval: too flashy, they were not schoolboys in need of labelling their possessions. "No, dear boy, allow me" was Grant's counter-phrase, producing from an inner pocket his own matt gunmetal case containing the cigarettes produced specially for him in a small factory located in the more discrete part of Cairo from tobacco shipped up through the East African Railway from growers known to him personally in the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. The stranger took one and Grant lit it for him. Each took three slow appreciative draughts before Grant spoke again, "It appears we share tastes in common, though by no means common tastes". The stranger smiled, "I do hope so indeed, may I enquire where you obtained that exquisite yet discrete cologne you are wearing?" "Made specially for me by a parfumier of my acquaintance in the Boulevard St. Michel" "Aah! 'Gay Paree' " "Indeed".
"May I get you a drink?" Grant enquired. "Pink gin, Calcutta Emerald gin and leave the bitters in" the stranger responded right on cue. The code was completed. The two men sipped at their drinks making smalltalk to allow them to leave legitimately as new-found friends to the biggest shock of Grant's life since his first dormitory night: he fondly imagining to pool resources in the never-ending secret war against SPLOSh, his new acquaintance directing him to the most notorious gay club on the French Riviera.
(No apologies to Ian Fleming who was an appalling writer and creator of one of the most ludicrously product-placing prissy snobs in modern writing)
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Post by artistlily on Aug 2, 2009 8:32:06 GMT
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stephan
Lovely, Happy & Gorgeous!
Posts: 278
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Post by stephan on Aug 3, 2009 14:24:14 GMT
Ha-Costal gets all the girls.
I can take it.
Luke`s pistol was hard in his pocket-he didn`t want to shoot to quickly but Lady X was known to him.
He needed information quickly but how could blow her mind??
He fiddled with his safety catch.......................................
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Post by percyplum on Aug 3, 2009 15:53:35 GMT
Harold and Primrose Hill had been married for many years - or it felt like it. They liked to play bowls on a Saturday with the cat, known as Jack. "Let's have some fish for supper", says Harold. "Alright", says Primrose, casting her rod into the canal. "Will supermarket trolley do?"
"Only if it's Tescos", says Harold. Jack fancied sprats.
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Post by artistlily on Aug 4, 2009 1:56:06 GMT
HAHAAA you are all brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Thank you so much for playing!!! Any more???
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