Chamblee54

The 2019 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is out. Here is part two of chamblee54 coverage. Part one was published yesterday. Pictures today are from The Library of Congress.
Rosemary was crushed, and no amount of time or sage advice could assuage her agony or, at the very least, reduce the swelling. Bob Pellicone, Lincroft, New Jersey
She had a captivating smile and eyes the color of a poisonous frog he’d seen on a trip to Costa Rica. Carol Hobart, Edina, MN
I knew that my husband was cheating on me, because I tasted his breath on the new maid’s lips. Andrew Kim, San Jose, CA
“God, would you please get your tentacles off of my stomach,” I uttered as Forrest groaned and slithered away from my bed; I swear, if anyone ever finds out I am dating an octopus, it will be social suicide. Riley Kwortnik, Ithaca, NY
After almost twenty years of baldness, Harry finally decided to splurge on an expensive, human-hair wig – after all, four hundred dollars to look twenty years younger was a small price toupée. Julian Calvin, Bellbrook, OH
They were tough men with tough jobs who frequented tough bars with rough, tough atmospheres, and the way they gripped their drinks, cigars, and cigarettes in a manly fashion never failed to impress the tough, hard-faced women who also frequented those same bars, and often ended up having their babies. Adam Johnson
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times – though any decent statistician might net those two factors together and conclude that things were fairly average all round.
David Meech, Auckland, New Zealand
His hot, fetid breath on the back of her neck pulled her from her sleep and she felt fear grip her as she recognized his presence and scrambled quickly to untangle herself from the sheets and exit the bed before Felix could hack up the forthcoming hairball. Krista Epton, Edmonton, Alberta
Standing at the altar, dressed in white, Lucy could not help but think of the suitors she had turned down—Jock, Dick, and Willy—all lovely men, but not as lovely as her ultimate choice, now standing proudly at her side, to whom the vicar turned and questioned, “Do you, John Thomas, take Lucy . . . ?” David Hynes, Bromma, Sweden
Accidentally dropping her phone, eyelids, and fake Ottawa Valley accent was not what Sarah Hemsworthington did best, or most often, or with the most confidence in her family of nine rather nasty siblings, and step-siblings, and half-to-one-quarter siblings—but it sure came close!
Marty Williams, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
It seemed a cruel irony to Nigel when he realized, only in hindsight, how mistaken he had been to abandon his youthful ambition to become a technical writer and bend to his parents’ wishes that he go into proctology. Scott Wilson, Corvallis, OR

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.

One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift… The next year, I didn’t buy her a gift. When she asked me why, I replied, “Well, you still haven’t used the gift I bought you last year!”
My wife and I were watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were in bed. I turned to her and said, ‘Do you want to have Sex?’ ‘No,’ she answered. I then said, ‘Is that your final answer?’ She didn’t even look at me this time, simply saying, ‘Yes..’ So I said, “Then I’d like to phone a friend.”
I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter took my order first. “I’ll have the rump steak, rare, please.” “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?” “Nah, she can order for herself.”
My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, “What’s on TV?” I said, “Dust.”
My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary. She said, “I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds .” I bought her a bathroom scale.
My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table. I asked her, “Do you know him?” “Yes”, she sighed, “He’s my old boyfriend…. I understand he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago and I hear he hasn’t been sober since.” “My God!” I said, “Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?”
When our lawn mower broke and wouldn’t run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed. But, somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the shed, the boat, making beer. It was always something more important to me. Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point. When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house… When I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, “When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway.” The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.
Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to the van and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio and then I discovered that the weather would be bad all day. I went back into the house, quietly undressed and slipped back into bed.. I cuddled up to my wife’s back, now with a different anticipation and whispered, “The weather out there is terrible.” My loving wife of 5 years replied, “And, can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?”
After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s License to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later. The woman said, ‘Unbutton your shirt’. So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair. She said, ‘That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me’ and she processed my Social Security application. When I got home, I excitedly told my wife. She said, ‘You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.’
These human interest stories are borrowed from Expressing Myself. This is a repost, with pictures from The Library of Congress. “Halloween party at Shafter Camp for migrant agricultural workers. Shafter, California.” November 1938. Photographer: Dorothea Lange.