Chamblee54

The 2019 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest has arrived. Every year, BLFC presents examples of terrible writing. The Grand Prize winner was submitted by Maxwell Archer, Mt Pleasant, Ontario, Canada. Mr. Archer wins thoughts and prayers.
Space Fleet Commander Brad Brad sat in silence, surrounded by a slowly dissipating cloud of smoke, maintaining the same forlorn frown that had been fixed upon his face since he’d accidentally destroyed the phenomenon known as time, thirteen inches ago.
As a value added contribution to the festivities, chamblee54 compiles a list of noteworthy names. These were chosen because of their name/and or location. Appearing in order of appearance: Gwyneth Kozma, Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, Ron Pizarie, Bath, PA, Bridget Parmenter, Norman, OK, Jeremy Das, Loughborough, England, Arlen Feldman, Colorado Springs, CO, Cody Hanna, Lancaster, PA, Coby J. Scott, Hollywood, CA, Saraswathy Ashok, Trivandrum, India, Harrison Glaze, Acworth, GA, Rob Greer, Queen Creek, AZ, Amy Torchinsky, Chapel Hill, NC, Greg Homer, Diamond Springs, CA, Tzipporah Harker, Baltimore, MD, Kelley Farmer, Dripping Springs, TX, Riley Kwortnik, Ithaca, NY, Evaonne F. Hendricks, Arcata, CA, Jose Beltrán Escavy, The Hague, David Meech, Auckland, New Zealand, Jim Jones, Massillon, Ohio, Krista Epton, Edmonton, Alberta, Cass Lennox, Switzerland, Everett Roberts, Washington, DC, Krista Epton, Edmonton, Alberta.
The High Gondonderil gazed on with horror as the Elgaborian legions marched at a single, pitiless pace into the once peaceful streets of Sar-Andrada, the capital city of the kingdom of Xanthil, located in a fantasy universe which might seem extremely confusing at present but which will doubtless make perfect sense to you, dear reader, once you realize that, like most fantasy universes, it’s basically just Tolkien’s Middle-earth with different names for things. Harrison Glaze, Acworth, GA This is the only Georgia resident displayed in 2019.
Emile Zola wondered the dank and soggy streets of a gloomy Parisian night, the injustice of the Dreyfus affair weighing on him like a thousand baguettes, dreaming of some massage or therapy to relieve the tension and pain in his aching shoulders and back, and then suddenly he thought of his Italian friends and their newly invented warm water bath with air jets and he rapturously exclaimed that oft misquoted declaration — “Jacuzzi!” Robert R Moore, North Falmouth, MA
Three days without food or water, archeologist Phil Thompson with his leg hopelessly trapped in a wilderness rock-fall, and with hungry buzzards circling overhead, saw his entire life pass before him and he once again experienced, as a child, his mother’s comforting words and tender touch, as she gently awakened him from his recurring nightmare of being eaten by birds. Ron Pizarie, Bath, PA
Realising that his symptoms indicated a virtually undetectable, fast acting neurotoxin, CIA coroner Quinn Abner frantically wrote up the details, lay on the floor and, as a professional courtesy, did his best to draw a chalk outline of himself. Jeremy Das, Loughborough, England
As he pounded on the door, Billy ‘Four-Toes’ Capalone, wondered, not for the first time, if he wouldn’t have been better off in the joint, or even taking a concrete nap, but instead, he straightened his tie and gripped his bible, determined not to blow his cover in the Jehovah’s Witness Protection Program. Arlen Feldman, Colorado Springs, CO
Eyes bleary from yet another night of fruitlessly staking out the Ritz Motel in West Hollywood’s seedier quarter, hoping to get some usable dirt on Mrs. Hennigan’s wayward hubby Bill, Niles Cranworth, P.I., pushed the start button, cranked the wheel over, and pointed his well-traveled Chrysler 300 southward on La Cienega Boulevard (“La Cienega,” he noted with irony, being Spanish for “the cienega”). Andrew Lundberg, Los Angeles, CA
It was a Dark & Stormy Night; the rain fell in torrents outside the Breast Western—the country-themed strip club where the exotic dance duo of Stormy and Dark rattled the house (for it was a Tuesday), and fiercely agitated the lustful flames of the patrons who struggled in the darkness to rearrange their Wranglers. Coby J. Scott, Hollywood, CA
Stephen Douglas, that’s the “Little Giant” to you, had tried everything he could think of to stop Mr. Lincoln from arriving at their senatorial debates: giving him the wrong time and place, sleeping pills disguised as Republican muffins, kidnapping, and even some light arson but the man always turned up, like a bad penny. Rob Greer, Queen Creek, AZ
The snow scattered like fair parmesan from God’s own shaker, drifting down lightly to cling to our squirming spaghetti skin beneath robes of tomato puree, making no distinction between the whole wheat and white or tagliatelle and bucatini among us. Tzipporah Harker, Baltimore, MD
Despite being a German, vegan book-cataloger from rural and upscale Connecticut, Marion was quite ignorant and overly opinionated about almost everything, except for Atlas Shrugged and atheism, which made her the embodiment of an Arian, vegetarian, ultracrepidarian-contrarian, non-sectarian, libertarian, librarian agrarian from Darien. Eric Mellinger, New York, NY
The villa in Tuscany is abandoned now, and nature, in the form of invasive vegetation, is reclaiming the small vineyard where Rodolfo and Susannah made love each afternoon, beginning with the creeping Coccinia virginiana, followed by the woody Polemonium gloriosa, and ending, of course, with the drooping Glandularia vulgaris. John Hardi, Falls Church, VA
Part two will appear later. Pictures are from The Library of Congress.