Snow Blind at the BFU (bad) Writing Contest
This contest was in a small universe far, far away, and a very long time ago. I have edited it slightly as you will see.
I sponsored the contest with a business partner named Harry. As a sponsor I couldn't win of course - but I received lots of good humored jeering over this one.
If you would like to participate in a bad writing contest at BFU let me know in the comments. If there is sufficient demand for bad writing we will have to accommodate it.
This is the sort of story all of us bad writers should aspire to - or perspire down to.
SNOW BLIND by Allan Wallace
This was the pimento in the olive in the dry martini of a particularly interesting day. A search had been made of the library grounds. The dwarf was not found.
As a library detective I was used to strange, dangerous, and sometimes kinky happenings. The night now promised surprises even the most sanguine should avoid.
I was ready to embrace the surprises. Ready. Ready like an old lady who trusted the government is ready to eat her dog food. Then SHE walked up to my cubicle.
Long legs carved by Michelangelo. More curves than a bowl of spaghetti, her skirt clung like clam sauce. I'd heard two great monuments were missing in Europe, her blouse unsuccessfully tried to hide both of them. Perfectly seasoned skin without a taste of tan. Dark hair poured in waves off her shoulders like an oil slick onto a beach. She looked at me with dark blue eyes melted from a polar ice cap. In a voice of honey warmed with twenty year old brandy, she asked, "How much will you charge to find my dwarf?"
At the Bastiat Free University library's commissary we ate food that tasted of romance and adventures to come. We agreed on my fees. She refused to eat her apple.