Post Punk Kitchen Forum

since 1992, the english department at san jose university has sponsored a competition that challenges writers to come up with the worst opening line to a novel. the entries for this year were posted recently, and they are, as always, splendidly horrible. here's the 2012 winner:

"As he told her that he loved her she gazed into his eyes, wondering, as she noted the infestation of eyelash mites, the tiny deocids burrowing into his follicles to eat the
greasy sebum therein, each female laying up to 25 eggs in a single follicle, causing inflammation, whether the eyes are truly the windows of the soul; and, if so, his soul
needed regrouting."

you can see the whole list here:

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2012win.html

now outdo them! come on, ppk, you're brilliant. you're hilarious. you're kind of gross. open some novels.

Stepping across the blacktop, baked and softened to a glistening gleam by the August sun, walking through broken glass, loosely tied bags of human waste, and an impressive collection of used hypodermic needles, he vowed: "Next time, I will wear shoes."

This is the opening sentence for a story I didn't write (all I wrote was the opening sentence 15 years ago) called The Nosehole Chronicles.

Without making any noise hardly, dear old Dr. Ranchero, who was a nose doctor skilled in the ways of war, crept.

oh my gosh, footface. i think your out-of-the-gate awesomeness is scaring away would-be competitors. in no way should you interpret this as a suggestion to tone it down; i'm just sayin'.

like a thief in the night, the burglar stole stealthily through the unlit alley with his heavy bag of loot, cursing silently under his breath when he sometimes bumped into things because his fortunate cover of darkness made it hard for him to see.

"She slinked through my door wearing a dress that looked like it had been painted on … not with good paint, like Behr or Sherwin-Williams, but with that watered-down stuff that bubbles up right away if you don’t prime the surface before you slap it on, and – just like that cheap paint – the dress needed two more coats to cover her."

Sheer poetry (so to speak).