Stolen from Nitnorth: Writings by L.A. Hussey and Greg the lost.
Kindly Uncle Nitnorth's Rant du Visite
From: elton Wed Nov 27 13:40:36 1996
Subject: Re: (Fwd) Caution, Puns
I'm sorry, but I can't let that go unpunished ... however, this needs
some introduction. There are 3 things you need to know before you
plunge into what's below.
1. There's an annual "bad writing" contest, Bulwer-Lytton, named
after the author infamous for the "It was a dark and stormy
night" stories, in which contestants try to devise the worst
possible opening line for a story.
2. There's a (partial) story called "The Eye of Argon" that's
(in)famous among SF fans because it's soooo baaaad. They hold
parties to do readings of this thing; each reader reads until
[they have read an entire page] or [they burst out laughing].
3. We inflicted tEoA on Greg, who tried to show us why he wasn't
impressed with it by giving us his Bulwer-Lytton entry as a
riposte ... but he misspelt "Argon" as "Aragon", and that set
LAH off ...
-- Elton
----- Begin Included Message -----
From: elton Fri Nov 10 18:43:10 1995
Subject: Re: The Eye of Aragon
> The Eye of Aragon
> ^
>Dark clouds hung in the hot, lightning-charged August sky over the
>mouldering towers of Castel Nuovo-Tedesco, giving it the air of a
>degenerate monk brooding over the dregs of a murky and vaguely unpleasant
>Italian wine -- the sort one has to strain through one's teeth as one
>drinks -- pondering what new sins he might commit in an effort to keep
>God busy exercising His infinite capacity for forgiveness, while far, far
>below the few sweating tiles remaining on its sagging roof, in as foul
>and stygian a pit as ever haunted Dante's dreaming, the Grand Inquisitor,
>his face eerily lit by the red-hot poker in his hand, breathed deeply of
>the sulphurous dungeon fumes he favored above all incenses, and murmured
>gently to the manacled and weeping choristers against the near wall,
>"Once more... with *feeling*... and this time in Latin," as he winked
>at them with his one good eye.
For a moment they stared transfixed, mouths agape in agonized horror, not
knowing whether to be more terrified of the poker's baleful red menace or
the deranged intellect shining through that rheumy yellow orb, but the
contemplation of tense heat making their bellies cringe, quivering, and
the nauseating reek of hair crisping and crackling against the skin soon
brought them raggedly into song, rising cautious at first into the dungeon's
thick air and then passionately, fervently, as if the power of their
entreaty could of itself sunder their prison or attract the attention of
that God who had seen fit to deliver them into power of this, His chosen
minister; and in the rooms above, as the ululating melodies reached such
a height of chaotic frenzy as to be audible even there, the Comte raised
himself up from poring over his ledgers and remarked to his companion,
"Listen, Angelita -- they're flaying our throng."
From: elton Wed Nov 27 13:40:36 1996
Subject: Re: (Fwd) Caution, Puns
I'm sorry, but I can't let that go unpunished ... however, this needs
some introduction. There are 3 things you need to know before you
plunge into what's below.
1. There's an annual "bad writing" contest, Bulwer-Lytton, named
after the author infamous for the "It was a dark and stormy
night" stories, in which contestants try to devise the worst
possible opening line for a story.
2. There's a (partial) story called "The Eye of Argon" that's
(in)famous among SF fans because it's soooo baaaad. They hold
parties to do readings of this thing; each reader reads until
[they have read an entire page] or [they burst out laughing].
3. We inflicted tEoA on Greg, who tried to show us why he wasn't
impressed with it by giving us his Bulwer-Lytton entry as a
riposte ... but he misspelt "Argon" as "Aragon", and that set
LAH off ...
-- Elton
----- Begin Included Message -----
From: elton Fri Nov 10 18:43:10 1995
Subject: Re: The Eye of Aragon
> The Eye of Aragon
> ^
>Dark clouds hung in the hot, lightning-charged August sky over the
>mouldering towers of Castel Nuovo-Tedesco, giving it the air of a
>degenerate monk brooding over the dregs of a murky and vaguely unpleasant
>Italian wine -- the sort one has to strain through one's teeth as one
>drinks -- pondering what new sins he might commit in an effort to keep
>God busy exercising His infinite capacity for forgiveness, while far, far
>below the few sweating tiles remaining on its sagging roof, in as foul
>and stygian a pit as ever haunted Dante's dreaming, the Grand Inquisitor,
>his face eerily lit by the red-hot poker in his hand, breathed deeply of
>the sulphurous dungeon fumes he favored above all incenses, and murmured
>gently to the manacled and weeping choristers against the near wall,
>"Once more... with *feeling*... and this time in Latin," as he winked
>at them with his one good eye.
For a moment they stared transfixed, mouths agape in agonized horror, not
knowing whether to be more terrified of the poker's baleful red menace or
the deranged intellect shining through that rheumy yellow orb, but the
contemplation of tense heat making their bellies cringe, quivering, and
the nauseating reek of hair crisping and crackling against the skin soon
brought them raggedly into song, rising cautious at first into the dungeon's
thick air and then passionately, fervently, as if the power of their
entreaty could of itself sunder their prison or attract the attention of
that God who had seen fit to deliver them into power of this, His chosen
minister; and in the rooms above, as the ululating melodies reached such
a height of chaotic frenzy as to be audible even there, the Comte raised
himself up from poring over his ledgers and remarked to his companion,
"Listen, Angelita -- they're flaying our throng."