Chamblee54

Part Two of the 2022 chamblee54 report on The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is here. (BALL wear LIT uhn) Parts one and three are there. Pictures for this affair are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.”
It was a dark and stormy night, made darker still by the melancholy that gripped the drainpipes of my soul in a plumber’s wrench of despair that opened the u-trap of my consciousness to remove the last, great greaseball of hope. Jim Anderson, Flushing, MI
I stood transfixed at the eerie sight before me, so strange, so odd, so peculiar, so weird, so bizarre, so eldritch—Gods, mine ocular ducts weren’t meant to witness such blasphemous heresy—so indescribable, beyond all possible descriptions, at least in any kind of adjectival way!
Gabriel Burch, Edmond, OK
Even though the heavy snow forecast threatened transportation problems at the mountain pass leading to the social engagement of the season, every invited member of the party had RSVPed in the affirmative, for the single reason that the Donner family chef was nationally recognized for his all-vegan menu. John Hardi, Falls Church, VA
Clear, plump jellyfish lay scattered across the beach, like so many discarded breast implants.
Sara Corris, Brooklyn, NY
The trees sighed with pleasure as the wind caressed their limbs, the lake lapped contentedly at the shore, the grass waved cheerily to all and sundry, and the moon smiled benignly between the playful clouds while George buried his latest victim. Nick Waites, Bishop, Auckland, UK
“The clouds resembled an endless roll of runaway toilet paper that unspooled itself into a massive fluffy pile, the sound of the lightning banged like hundreds of inadvertently dropped toilet seats, and the rain quickly flooded the street and spilled over the curb like a toilet clogged with who-knows-what,” reported eyewitness to the sudden storm and flash flood, Steve Talbot of Steve’s Plumbing. Mark Meiches, Dallas, TX
The pallid North Dakota winter coughed its phlegmy wind in my face, spattering my face with its icy spittle. Andrea Dumas, West Fargo, ND
I’m very very good and I know this because momma told me and all her bridge friends that I was an angel she got when the stork dropped me from the sky and she says I’m such a good girl so if you want to be with a real honest to goodness angel tonight come on down to the corner of Bitcoin and Pussycat Way for a very special time with an angel who accepts American Express.
Sharon Durken, Port Wing, WI
When Big Rita was on parade in a tight skirt, moving like a burlap bag full of bobcats, the men in town sat up and took notice, knowing the hunt was on, for she had run the gamut from wealthy philanthropists to dopeheads and bikers, though, until today, she had maintained a shred of dignity by always rebuffing English professors. John Hardi, Falls Church, VA