Monday

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, "a whimsical literary competition that challenges entrants to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels."

This year's "winner":

They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese that is orange and yellowish-white, the orange probably being a bland Cheddar and the white . . . Mozzarella, although it could possibly be Provolone or just plain American, as it really doesn't taste distinctly dissimilar from the orange, yet they would have you believe it does by coloring it differently.

Here's my entry, which should have won by a country mile:

The three men stood in a circle facing away from one another, though it could be called a triangle, each waiting for one of the other two to be the first to turn around and lose the contest (although, they all simultaneously realized and were unable to explain since none of them spoke the same language, were one of them to turn around, it would be impossible to catch him without turning around as well).

I'm done with this stupid contest. The winners suck, the judges suck, the contest sucks.