A dear friend of mine from college and I were chatting on Facebook tonight (Chatting! On Facebook! Who knew?!?) and somehow started coming up with lines for the absolutely worst novel ever. (Every year on NPR, I hear about a contest for the worst opening line of a novel, but I can't think of what it's called so I can't credit it here ... ).
We've started sharing this as a "Note" on Facebook, but I wanted to share with y'all here, too. Please, play along! Leave a line for this novel in the comments, and when it's all done it will be published here (as well as on Facebook).
Here's the first line:
Rancid Holiday - Chapter One
I ate my feelings with an entire box of Thin Mints, and washed out my heart with skim milk that expired last week, like my desire to live.
How should the rest of the story unfold???
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The sweet chocolately crispiness of the mints was soured somewhat by the gelatinous squishing of the milk, but it was in this moment that I was reminded of a quote from Serigo Lumbrescetti, who commented after winning the 1927 Ariane Award for Best Italian Yodeler in the German Language that, "Anything that doesn't feel quite right being in your mouth is what I love the most in this world."
It's the Bulwer-Lytton Contest, named for Sir Edward B-W who wrote lengthy, pompous, severely over-written novels and plays that the Victorians thought were the height pf literary distinction.
My contribution:
But I forgot Lumbrescetti real fast when something that I knew would feel just perfect in my mouth knocked and then barged in without waiting, a cheeky impetuousness that I always find irresistible in a cheap, two-bit process server.
Still, chocolate mints notwithstanding, I felt the old specter of despair waiting for me just outside the threshold of perception, like a Jehovah's Witness who just won't take a hint standing on your porch on a Saturday morning, and I felt myself start to succumb to my demons before I remembered, "Holy shit, I have got a whole unopened bottle of Bombay Sapphire on top of my 'fridge!"
The night was SULTRY!
The sultry quality of the night air notwithstanding, a distinct chill overtook the living room as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, the one I knew would feel just perfect in my mouth, slammed the front door shut and launched into a noxious prayer so replete with platitudes as to cajole an otherwise normal man into committing self immolation.
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