Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Winning Nevermore entries 

Donna Moore, whose gift of the parody wowed the Nevermore Awards Committee so much they gave her two awards for their "Better Dead Than Read" contest (for "worst" opening paragraph of a particular genre novel), has kindly agreed to let me post the winning entries here on the blog. Enjoy.


She was a strawberry blonde, and I knew she was trouble. When she walked into my room that day, she had a bottle in her hand and mischief in her eye. "Hey sister," I said, opening my desk drawer. I pulled out my own bottle from my desk and took a thirsty swig. I was like a dying man in the desert. The liquid hit my throat and went down with a burn. I looked at the dimpled knees of the babe in front of me. "What's new sister?"

"Goo," she said, smacking her building block down on my desk without a by-your-leave.

My Mom walked in at that precise moment. "Philip dear", she said "I do wish you wouldn't call your sister 'sister'. She DOES have a name you know. And will you get a glass. I HATE to see you drinking soda from a bottle - it's so uncouth."

I looked at my watch. "Sorry to love you and leave you like this ladies. I gotta hit the streets. There's a hot lead I gotta follow and I may not be in for tea." I shrugged into the raincoat hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

"Philip - you're not wearing that old thing. I've thrown it away twice. There's that lovely anorak that Grandma bought you for Christmas in the hall cupboard."

I narrowed my eyes. "The raincoat suits my mood, lady. Now where's my fedora?"

Mom sighed. "For God's sake Philip. You don't HAVE a fedora. You don't even know what a damn fedora IS. And don't squint like that. The wind will change and your face will stay like that."



Being a PI in 2010 BC really sucked. Of course, we didn't call it 2010 BC- we called it The Year The Woolly Mammoth Ate My Brother. Things were slow at Stone Investigations. That's me - Stone - so called because when I was born, a Stone was the first thing I grasped. It coulda been worse. My brother, Cowpat, never had any luck. As I was saying, the PI game in prehistoric Britain was as slow as a Diplodocus with a limp. I was beginning to think I'd gone into the wrong job. I should have listened to my father and gone into the family Interior Cave Design business. Instead, I was stuck tracing missing pet Stegosauri and tailing errant husbands. I sighed, and longed for the day when someone would invent fire so that I could deal with a nice juicy arson case. I reached into my drawer and pulled out the bowl of Elderflower Juice I kept there - man, that stuff has a kick. Just then the door opened and in walked a vision of loveliness. She sashayed into my office, her buttocks looking like a pair of baby brontosauri fighting in a sack.

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