EVIL MONKEY'S WORST LAST LINE CONTEST--FIRST CUT (and additional entries)
To recap--I'm running a worst last lines of a novel contest, with the winner to receive $50 (and three of my books), second place $25 (and two of my books), and third place $10 (and one of my books). The deadline is August 15th, with the winner to be announced sometime in the two weeks thereafter.
Below find the entries that survived the first cut from my first post. I've kept the time stamps just in case one of the currently anon or locate-able only by hotlink need to be tracked down in the future. PLEASE DO NOT POST NEW ENTRIES TO THE OLD BLOG POST. USE THE COMMENTS FIELD ON THIS BLOG POST.
How did I cut some of these? If it seemed more like the kind of ending I've seen a million times on slushpile manuscripts, it got cut. If it was beyond gross it may have gotten cut. Is it a bit arbitrary? Yes, like any contest. :)
I've left all typos in for now just 'cause. ALSO NOTE: Some people will find a few of these offensive. So, delicate flowers, be forewarned; I would not want you agitated or upset.
So--have at it! Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! You've still got more than a week to enter!
Best of luck,
Jeff
SURVIVORS...
At 6:50 AM, marmot said...
Ultimately, this was made all the more amazing when you realize, dear reader, that the once-fearsome Elvin was none other than his neigbor's son, Murray, disguising himself with an evangelist's wig and a velvet cape.
At 7:03 AM, Joe Gordon said...
And it was with true horror he slowly came to the realisation that the night was not dark or stormy, but that the natives had plucked out his eyes and were suffering from prodigious blasts of powerful flatulence.
At 7:09 AM, wombat said...
Mike looked into the mirror at his boil, smiled, and said "Boil, old friend, I just want to tell you that I wouldn't have wanted to share that very fun adventure that we just had with anyone else, and I want to thank you so much for helping me immortalize our quest along the way in such an awesome epic poem."
At 7:37 AM, Ol' Peculiar said...
His glass eye, tired of playing the part of unwitting grifter in a seemingly endless series of escalating bar bets, had finally wreaked its horrific revenge and escaped into a jar of olives.
At 8:20 AM, Iain Rowan said...
"My researches have revealed that this so-called Da Vinci Code is in fact only one of a series of forty-seven such Codes, the stories of which I shall tell separately in other volumes."
At 8:29 AM, PaulJessup said...
Then it was decided by the thirteenth consoule (who had been introduced in book 1 and never actually seen until this point, rising out of the mists of time) on the thirteenth day (which was considered a day between days and not an actual day itself) that this, in fact, never actually happened (at least not in hte original forty realms of the unkown worm, those other realms that exist between period A and the plane of everlasting nasty sex did actually exist and pleased the consoule to no end) and god is a big fat liar and you smell like cheese.
At 8:51 AM, index card said...
As they stepped back onto their magical time machine, Holmes clapped Watson on the back and said "And to think old friend, the solution to the crime was hidden in the eviscerated crackwhore's body the whole time."
At 9:28 AM, N. Fonseca said...
So this was the end of the adventure and of it all and of the things I said I would write and that I dreamt and that I did and so on. Not what this humble author would expect to have said or other, and most certainly not what you dear reader of all readers and persons wanted, I think, (I believe). God however provides to all and especially to endings. This is of course, the end.
The End.
At 9:59 AM, darto said...
As he set the juiced lemon half onto the counter, he had a flash of inspiration and instantly had the answers to all the mysteries that had happened up to that point, except the identity of the murderer.
At 10:19 AM, blazingpossum said...
And so, the girls realized--their bloated, corpulent, and rather obese worm-like bodies writhing sultrily--that not only had the transporter horribly mutated their bodies, they had also lost their virginity in a mad, barely conscious frenzy of hermaphoditic copulation.
At 10:47 AM, Tim Pratt said...
On the point of the precipice, his enemy tottering beneath his grasp, about to plunge headfirst into the boiling river below, Roberts pauses, turns his head, and looks up, up through a sky the color of typescript, up, and he sees you, your face there beyond the serifs of the black clouds overhead. He gently releases his grip on the throat of his foe, smiles up at you, and shakes his head. "It's just a story," he says. "What are you doing here? You've got a *life*. Go, and live it, and leave us to our dark business in peace." And with that, The End comes rushing up to cover over all that went before.
At 11:35 AM, Noosh said...
It is a far, far better thing I do than that time I bought ten boxes of girl scout cookies which was pretty fucking generous, but hey, she looked pretty hot in that uniform and there's no way she was only thirteen, and... where was I; it is a far, far better rest I go to than that night I passed out in the mattress department at Sears and nobody noticed me until the next morning. Those Sealy Posturepedics are sweet, yo.
At 11:51 AM, Paul Jessup said...
ne ne ne ne, it is ne or ni or not ne at all, the end of all ne or ni or nope or ni, to end the ni would be to ackowledge it had a ni to begin with, so the ending of the ni must be transparent and herewith called the last ni, the final ni, the ni without na or no or nip or not, just a ni in the nothing of na.
At 1:43 PM, Dave said...
Because in the end, after all the unemployment, and the shopping, and the sex (oh god yeah the sex), and the meticulous landscaping, they were nothing more than people (except for the animals), and people, after all, need people; so Paris flipped her hair, took Paris's hand, turned to Nicole and said, "Will you marry us?"
At 1:51 PM, Tim Pratt said...
And then, dear reader, I made it into the MFA program after all, and on my professor's advice, sat down to write the chronicle you've just read. And now I must leave you, with my sad and sexy story behind me, and a bright future ahead.
Love and kisses always,
Romana Cleft
At 2:31 PM, Lynette said...
When the morning mists finally lifted and the sun shyly shone on the desolate wasteland that was once a home, all that was left of the events of the last twelve and a half days was the litter of spent bullets strewn across the lawn, accompanied by the bitter stench of revenge.
At 6:49 PM, Meghan McCarron said...
I spent years in America's Sodom, but Jody taught me the only man I can rightfully love, even without meth, is the man upstairs, Lord Jesus Christ.
At 3:57 AM, Gareth said...
The massed ranks of both armies poised, ready to rampage across the field of battle, the chanting of the bloodthirsty warriors reaching a deafening level as they prepared for this, the final battle.
"Bring me the Holy McGuffin, Farnak, or I shall lay waste to your lands!", cried the leader of the Bol'g'h'g'h'g'gnns.
"The what?", shouted Farnak, King of the Ooo-ooo-ooos.
"The McGuffin. C'mon, hand it over."
"Don't have it."
"Oh, ok. Sorry to have bothered you."
At 5:10 AM, peelitback said...
...and with that the dark and stormy night gave way to a beautiful golden dawn.
At 6:13 AM, homer said...
With his HotPocket finished, Jeff picked up his tweezers and positioned his flurorescent magnifier swing-arm lamp above the two piles of sand on his desk to resume his count, shifting the grains one at time as he had been doing for the past 3 years -- "nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and thirty-six, nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and thirty-seven, nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and thirty-eight, nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and thirty-nine, nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and forty, nine-hundred thousand eight-hundred and forty-one..."
At 7:09 AM, Lake Cavanaugh said...
And now, with the vast knowledge necessary to successfully make a wall calendar--from the drawing of the squares (equal sizes, ONLY 7 per week, five rows will work but you may need to draw a slash through a few days to make them all fit some months) to the writing of the numbers (legible, top-aligned, centered, numerical left to right) to the application of the artwork to the upfold (cuddly kittens tangled in yarn, oil paintings with golden sunbeams hitting lighthouses and cottages after a morning rain, airbrushed haughty unicorns prancing under purple skies) --writ indelibly in his freakishly absorbent brain, Jeff checked his calendar and lay down for a well-deserved rest.
At 8:02 AM, Lawrence Dyer said...
"And now at last," said Cavan with a grand gesture, "I can reveal to all of you the name of the killer who murdered our nine dear friends so cruelly while they slept in their beds. It's
|| Seconds - Sold in aid of Cats Wear Clothes (Registered Charity #387O5472) Purchasers please note that some pages may be missing ||
At 9:45 AM, Anonymous said...
"Sadly, I never found out the answer to my question. Her vagina never spoke to me again...."
Livia Llewellyn
http://www.livejournal.com/users/the_numinous_1/
At 1:21 PM, Richard Hayden said...
And then, with a pop as soft as that which marks the passing of a soap bubble dancing its last on a summer zephyr, our hero's rectum prolapsed.
At 6:35 PM, Anonymous said...
As the coffin burst into flame buster ceased his frantic scratching at the inside of the lid and wondered if he was wearing fresh underwear.
Ben from the Gong
At 7:08 PM, Devil's Kitchen said...
So you see, patient reader, what I learned from this sorry take was that—after trying so hard to win her back—having succeeded in this task, I realised that I we, had, in the intervening weeks, grown apart. Thus this entire novel has been a collosal waste of both my time and yours.
At 12:56 PM, Walter said...
I gibbered in terror as the towering gelatenous form of the hideous cyclopedian reached with one of its pseudopods and stole the candy from my baby.
At 1:35 PM, Jana said...
Her purple nipples wiggled at Lord Ravenwood as he climbed on top of her for the seventh time that night. Elizabeth blinked at him as he claimed her mouth, never to return it. "I am your whore!" she said. "And only your whore! I shall never look at another man, my one and only love!" She gasped as he fucked her, waiting patiently for her vaginal orgasm, now that she realized clitorial orgasms were so overrated. Now that he had told her what her clitoris was! Her innocence was over. She was about to get butt fucked by the only man she had ever, and would ever, love and that was good.
At 4:10 PM, Hardluck Writer said...
Inspector Chauncy Mulreath turned to the good Sergeant Dowry, and told him, "We may have failed in our attempts to unmask the Butcher of Chelshire, but at least it hasn't been a total loss - we do know now where we can buy three pair of tube socks for the price of two."
At 4:18 PM, Hardluck Writer said...
Lady Winnifer explaining to Inspector Chauncy Mulreath how she knew Horatio Bottomhooter was the dastardly murderer of Dame Agnes Goodbreath, "It was the way in which he would balance his peas, one at a time on the tip of his nose, before bouncing them into his mouth - a clear giveaway, my dear Inspector."
At 5:04 PM, Hardluck Writer said...
She shot him, but determined not to let her have the last laugh he went ahead and blew out his birthday candles with his last dying breath - which was ironic because he had wished for chocolate fudge and as he fell face first into the cake, realized it was a dark coffee buttercream.
At 6:21 PM, Anonymous said...
Just like page 47, page 362 and as was alluded to twice on page 417, the Fortifier chortled because the air was sticky.
Geoffrey H. Goodwin
At 6:43 PM, Anonymous said...
The exhaust from the grey Plymouth lingered in my mouth as she drove away with that maniacal laugh I once loved, a deranged monkey named Ed, and a powerful case of VD.
MSockol
posted by JeffV @ 8:42 PM
36 comments
36 Comments:
And after all was said and done (including that bit with the Nun), I was still able to be horrified and as I Marty close the freezer door, I said, "Dude!"
"What?!"
"That's my penis you're holding!"
opps. posted before i fixed up that bit. apologies.
---
And after all was said and done (including that bit with the Nun), I was still able to be horrified and as Marty closed the freezer door, I said, "Dude!"
"What?!"
"That's my penis you're holding!"
As the beast lay dying, his body riddled by bullets, I realized that not only did I create this monster, but he was in fact me - at least the part of me that liked to wear earmuffs made from salami and go to comedy shows twice so second time around you can yell out the punchlines before the comic.
[btw. this is addictive - I got to stop somehow and get back to my novel]
Here’s an excerpt from an apocryphal book found on the White House steps, circa October 2004.
“We ran, until we could run no more, and then we walked, until we could walk no more, and found ourselves at the end, where there was no more, where we could only wait for the darkness -- and then it came, the darkness, darker than any dark we’d seen before, and out of that darkness a muffled voice arose, and a shape, like a giant bat flapping its wings, but then the voice became clear and we realized our error, it wasn’t a bat but a giant W with a human face like a chimp, and the chimp shouted “Four more years!” –- we could do nothing, but stare in the darkness with the W moving inexorably towards us, intent on consuming our bodies…our souls!”
Lance winked knowingly at Hilda, said, "Now that we've defeated the zombie horde and saved all mankind, what do you say about going back to my place and seeing my etchings?"
[must stop .. all consuming ... must get back to my novel ...]
Hey, don't pin your hideous desire for a monkey blog column on me!
And so the man in black said -- oh, for some reason I suddenly lost my track of thought, dear reader. Not sure if it's an onsent of Alzheimer's Disease, or what, but I don't know what happens next, or who all these people are, in that last sentence. Not the last, but the one before that with the man or woman in black -- you know what I'm talking about, right? Okay... Anyway. Very sorry; my bad.
So.
Would you like to hear another story instead?
On the Book selling front-
I wish I would've seen the copy of Tamsin for sale. I've been looking for a decent copy of that and Fine and Private Place for awhile now, since my copies are beat to shit.
Oh well
And then they all died horribly.
The mass murderer was jailed, his family was safe and the charges against him dropped. Johnny Wales, Baby Detective, suckled up to his mothers breast for some well deserved breast milk.
Ben from The Gong
The second breast should be cut from that sentence by the way, although the clumsiness may help it in the "badness".
He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face and sobbed to the sky above "Why did she have to be my brother?"
Ben from The Gong
Johnny wanted only one thing in life, and a pony.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Farm work is hard work, especially on a Jovian Sex Farm; and his thickly-calloused hands assured her that this was a man who could do whatever it took to get the job done.
Even as the enemy transport truck bounced along the rock-strewn dirt road, malicious AK47 barrels jabbing into his side at each bump, taking him to the camp where he'd surely be tortured mercilessly, he knew that faith alone would sustain him until help arrived: faith in the steady leadership of George W Bush and faith in the goodness of the Republican Party.
"You were right all along," everyone said. I only smiled.
But I do think no-one can approach W&P's. Tolstoy's the greatest.
Looking at the Hudson river and feeling beat as always, as it happended while hitching rides and since the beginning of this adventure I arrived at the conclusion that I should feel like that. Beat. Cool. Drowningly cool.
"Tell me the truth," Linaea said, her eyes wide with desire as Harlowe ran his calloused and bloody hands over her naked body. "Did you know we would end up like this?"
He continued to massage her pale skin; dragon blood was an aphrodisiac, after all, not that they needed it. "From past adventures I knew I'd sleep with at least one of you," he said. "But I was surprised when your half-sister turned out to be the Dragon Queen you'd hired me to kill. Her counteroffer just wasn't good enough--I don't work for scales."
Seth tossed on the last shovelful of dirt. That should hold him--even if the Zombie King reassembled himself, he couldn't scrabble out of the steel coffin. As Seth wiped his sweaty brow he heard a muffled ringing.
"Aw, shoot," he said, confirming that his cell phone was missing. He pressed his ear to the ground and heard the ring again, echoing as though in a metal container. He picked up the shovel; he didn't have energy for another battle with the Zombie King, but it was an expensive phone.
Seth scooped the first shovelful of dirt off the grave.
"Until then, be careful. There are things much more dangerous out there than what we've seen tonight!" he whispered, and faded back into the shadows!
Yeehaw! I can't believe I just finished writing this novel! I want to thank Jesus, Mom, Uncle Joey, Uncle Raymond, Uncle Cleatus, Uncle Jesse, Uncle Daniel, and even Uncle Damien! I've written up a questionaire which you can fill out and mail to me telling me about your favorite characters and plot twists! You all write back now, ya' hear?!
Question 1:
How did you feel about Jareg's death in the second chapter?!
( ) Very moved!
( ) Somewhat moved!
( ) Neutral!
( ) Only a little moved!
( ) Not at all moved!
...
"Well, you were right," I said to Jenny. "The cauliflower was evil. Do you suppose we'll ever learn how it managed to hijack that plane and escape?"
"No," she said.
And that's how Henry James taught us that it's important to fart at funerals, especially at the end of books.
Anonymous (with thanks to KA)
"Cheer up, chum," Chet said cheerfully. "I know you're upset that Callie died in that horrible train wreck, but it'll be all right. You solved The Secret of the Mystery of the Ticking Train, sort of, and we're at the end of the book now. When the next adventure starts, everything will be exactly the way it was at the beginning."
"Good night!" Frank said. "That's right. Our unspecified school holiday will just keep going on, and I'll still be 18, and you, Joe, my blond-haired brother, will still be 17."
"Gee," Joe said. "Tomorrow's my birthday."
Bond climbed out of bed then turned to watch the beautiful Ms. Victoria Secret as she slept. He smiled, appreciating her naked body for the last time. "That's one more I can cross off my 'To Do' list."
As if.
Maybe that wasn't such a good story after all. I guess you had to be there.
The memory of his wife’s promise whispered in the dust. Marcus huddled between the wall and the bed. A blood-tinged shard sank into his palm, the last kiss from his wife. She had closed her end of their deal without saying goodbye. Marcus stared at the bed, at Lily, her slender arms already staining the mattress red. “If I can’t handle this anymore, you’ll follow me, won’t you?” He said yes, to follow her from sickness into death. Marcus took the shard to plunge the wound from wrist to forearm. Glass tickled his skin until he pushed a little harder and let it bite deeper. His hands shook at the tickle of blood creeping up. Lily...He did not doubt that she had no fear, her body peaceful shrouded in the sheets. But he could not cut deeper. Deep, resounding cowardice burned the marrow in his bones when he found her dead. She believed him when he said he’d come with her. He believed it. He believed it at the first diagnosis. He believed it as the fevers stole all of her desire. He expected this, maybe not so soon, but he thought they would celebrate their passing together. Glass grazing his skin, Marcus wanted to apologize. He tried to cut wondering if she waited on the other side. Wondering if she saw him cowering by her deathbed. He wondered…But wait! When she asked, when they made the pact? She was feverish. By God, she was delusional! What man would listen to a woman out of her mind, even if she were his wife? He was still young yet. He had a lot left to do. Holiday in Valencia. Reconciliation with Peter. He could do these things now that he didn’t have to care for Lily. Peter left home because of Lily anyway! He could be with his son again.
Marcus laughed, rubbing tears from his cheeks. He tossed the shard into the wastebasket and got a mop to clear the dust and blood.
"Give it here!" she cried.
"We're not going to make it in time. We're headed for a meltdown. We've done all we could."
"No!" She tore at her hair and shot Dr. Abernathy. It was a direct hit through the temple, and she shoved his body away from the control panel.
Samantha pulled the red lever and
*****
Okay, you know what? I don't know how to end this shit, so you're just going to have to be happy with that.
Thanks for padding my royalties and being my bitches for 486 pages, y'all!
I'm out.
Peace.
"To Anton!" cried Ginger, lifting her nubile young form from the chair and her glass along with it. "A better oral surgeon the world shall never see! He will indeed be missed!"
"To Anton!" the others cried. I raised my glass, but only I among the toasters knew Anton's terrible secret.
Rest in peace, you glorious cannibal dentist bastard, I thought. Rest in peace.
Waking in terror, Clarice stabbed and kicked at the tangled mass of bedding—her would be assailant. After several minutes her heart rate steadied, the sweaty matted tendrils of silken hair began to dry and stick to her face as she discovered it was only a dream. She was not, after all, in the throes of a frantic struggle to once and for all defeat the evil Hannibal Lecter. She filled her lungs in deep relief, reviewing the final moments of the nightmare before she awoke. Lecter seemed so real. The hideous leather and steel muzzle was utterly life like. Echoes of a muzzled beast spun wickedly in her mind. "Heeehh heh heh... are you gonna beat your carpet now? That was cool. I have never seen a chick act like that in bed before. That must mean I am really good...heh heh heh." Hoping she was hallucinating or was somehow dreaming within a dream that she was already awake, Clarice hesitantly rolled toward the eerie voice in the predawn light. If not for a faded black AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of crusty, mismatched socks, her companion lay naked beside her under the covers. "Look! Heh heh heh I'm like totally pitching a tent." Clarice froze in mortification. Realization sunk home. Did I get that drunk last night? I did Beavis? Ohmygod, I think I am gonna be sick! The End.
TLH
Waking in terror, Clarice stabbed and kicked at the tangled mass of bedding—her would be assailant. After several minutes her heart rate steadied, the sweaty matted tendrils of silken hair began to dry and stick to her face as she discovered it was only a dream. She was not, after all, in the throes of a frantic struggle to once and for all defeat the evil Hannibal Lecter. She filled her lungs in deep relief, reviewing the final moments of the nightmare before she awoke. Lecter seemed so real. The hideous leather and steel mask was utterly life like. Echoes of a muzzled beast spun wickedly in her mind. "Heeehh heh heh... are you gonna beat your carpet now? That was cool. I have never seen a chick act like that in bed before. That must mean I am really good...heh heh heh." Hoping she was hallucinating or was somehow dreaming within a dream that she was already awake, Clarice hesitantly rolled toward the eerie voice in the predawn light. If not for a faded black AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of crusty, mismatched socks, her companion lay naked beside her under the covers. "Look! Heh heh heh I'm like totally pitching a tent." Clarice froze in mortification. Realization sunk home. Did I get that drunk last night? I did Beavis? Ohmygod, I think I am gonna be sick!
TLH
As he stepped through the door, the room fell silent. He had returned- had finally found what he was searching for, achieved some sort of enlightenment, we all knew. Everyone began to speak at once while he found himself a seat.
'Yep...' he said slowly, bringing the hush over us once more. Our long-lost friend reclined in his chair. 'I know the purpose and its meaning. It was all so self evident...'
The things of which he spoke, I shall never be able to reveal; for as far as I can see, it's about as self evident as transcendentalism.
'I suppose,' she grinned brightly at us, 'all's well that ends well, right?'
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