« Empathetic Justice: "No Vested Right to Promotion" | Main | Freedom Is Not Just An "American" Value »

June 29, 2009

Bad Writing

Unintentionally amusing sentences:

The door, which had been left open a few inches, was ajar.

“Ooh la la!” whispered Larry in French.

But my absolute favorite was this gem:

"Caramba!" exclaimed Diego de Fonseca, "a cucaracha has fallen onto the tortillas of my wife!"

Posted by Cassandra at June 29, 2009 11:45 AM

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.villainouscompany.com/mt/mt-tb.cgi/2985

Comments

*sniffs air*

Is it that time of year again?

Posted by: Cricket at June 29, 2009 12:04 PM

Cautiously, Cricket sniffed the air and thought, "Is it that time of year again?" and checked her watch for confirmation.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 12:19 PM

Lady Sly crouched beside the entrance to the cave at sundown as the inaudible chittering of the million bats soaring into the night assaulted her ears.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 12:28 PM

Reynald crouched just within the entrance to the cave, holding his torch high and extended, broadsword in one hand and the talisman in the other.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 12:33 PM

"YES!," BillT triumphantly yelled. "I made Cricket look."

Posted by: Cricket at June 29, 2009 01:04 PM

Reynald crouched just within the entrance to the cave, holding his torch high and extended, broadsword in one hand and the talisman in the other.

...and with his free hand, he absently scratched his head.

Posted by: Judge Ruth Bader Ginsberg at June 29, 2009 01:10 PM

'inaudible chittering assaulting her ears?' Nicely done.

Of course, DL Sly was blinded by the torch so her hearing was super-sharpened.

Posted by: Cricket at June 29, 2009 01:14 PM

Only thing Sly's got super-sharpened is her kukri.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 01:45 PM

Baron DeManche roared, "Confound you, barbarian, I'll see you roasting in hell this night!" as the two grappling figures sank deeper beneath the waves.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 01:56 PM

It suddenly dawned on Chesterton that the sun was rising.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 01:58 PM

Quickly, BillT dashed off another Swiftie.

Posted by: Cricket at June 29, 2009 04:15 PM

As he fired his last remaining round at the charging Canary Islanders, Durward gave a rueful thought to the many lost opportunities -- ah! so casually tossed away in those idyllic undergraduate days at Harvard! -- he'd had to learn Guanche.

Posted by: BillT at June 29, 2009 05:19 PM

"Why stop in Argentina?"

Posted by: Faustus at June 29, 2009 06:37 PM

You don't know my wife.

Posted by: MacBeth at June 29, 2009 06:38 PM

She wash her hands of you?

Posted by: Cricket at June 29, 2009 07:09 PM

She threw me out!

Posted by: Spot at June 29, 2009 08:07 PM

Crouching in the crevasse of a cantilevered catwalk, César contemplated his lady Chapur's contemptuous conduct and her constant contemplation of Carolina, South, USA...

Curiouser and curiouser were his conclusions just as a CNN correspondent appeared on the scene and catapulted him onto the world stage, live, sans

teleprompter.

Contemptuous correspondent.

Posted by: Barry Tone Narr-Ator at June 29, 2009 08:18 PM

Damned spot.

However harried the hustled harridan was, her haughty heeding of the hag served to slow her
serial rumination of the audacious flea-bitten CNN correspondent.

Posted by: Lady McB at June 29, 2009 09:03 PM

He turned back to his waffle in a show of pride and restraint reminiscent of Hannibal before he was a general and crossed the Rubicon.

Posted by: Scott in OC at June 29, 2009 10:36 PM

Thou shalt meet me at Philippi!

Posted by: Great Ceasar's Ghost at June 30, 2009 12:20 AM

The unexpected reference to Hannibal shocked him out of his rêverie and turned his thoughts to the issue of the vanilla butter cream icing, which melted entirely too fast under the kliegs; "Sour cream?" he thought, which triggered the fatal inspiration for the new motif: Hannibal Lector Eating the Alps.

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 02:21 AM

"Tarnayshun, men, lissen." spoke the Trusty Scout. "This hyar war'ull be thuh roonayshun o' both us'n an' thuh Tuscarora. We'uns need ta pow-wow with ther War Chief an' find us'n a modus vivendi.

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 03:03 AM

With the blast of the 17-pound MilSpec High Explosive warhead from the Mark 66 2.75-inch Hypervelocity Rocket still ringing in his ears, Bartlett raced diagonally toward the semi-convex concrete reinforced bunker which housed the enemy squad, his M1911A1 bucking in his hand, sending 200 grains of copper-jacketed death traveling at 330 meters per second which would bore through human flesh with an impact of 518 foot-pounds with each squeeze of the trigger. He glanced over the shoulder of his non-firing arm and was instantly reassured by the sight of the covering Fire Team of McDonnell-Douglas AH-64D Apaches hovering close behind.

*okay, now my brain hurts*

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 03:28 AM

As his torch feebly flickered its final flames, he caught a glimpse of furtive movement ahead. The sudden, absolute silence of the cave's Stygian darkness was broken only by a sibilant, strangely *feminine* whisper: "Forget the D-cells again, didja?"

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 06:21 AM

The continuous snap of the laser beams intersecting around him was interrupted only by the intermittent doppler whine of the incoming nanomissiles and the sizzling cracks of the photon bolts impacting the small asteroid he was sheltering behind.

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 08:09 AM

"Yes, Lady Sly," replied Reynald with a rueful half-smile, rendered all the more rueful by being completely unviewable in the Stygian darkness, "I confess to a certain absent-mindedness, but not to a complete lack of forethought -- I *did* bring the

[say it all together, kids!]

solar-powered flashlight."

Posted by: BillT at June 30, 2009 09:09 AM

His behind was sheltering an asteroid?

Bwahahahahahaha!!!!

Posted by: Cricket at June 30, 2009 04:19 PM

Please don't make me do this against my will because not going against my will is a family tradition that has been developed over centuries and passed from my great-great-great grandfather to my great-great grandfather to my great grandfather to my not-so-great grandfather to my lousy miserable father to my occasional "Uncle" Bob, who would come and go, mostly on Saturday nights wearing a disguise, but gave me candy, and finally onto me as the last and only surviving member of the clan, not that I'm complaining, mind you, I never got along with the rest of the family anyway, and I've already killed most of them.

Posted by: spd rdr at June 30, 2009 05:26 PM

Let's suppose that you were walking down a street, Boylston Street, precisely, in Boston, near the Pru, or maybe Newberry Street a few blocks east, or west, or maybe south, as if it mattered, and this dog, a real dog, not some pocket wiener or dumbly wagging fugitive from a collection of q-tips, but a D-O-G dog, big, stupid, happy and slobbering to excess comes tongue-a-wagging towards your crotch while tethered to a creature bearing the singlemost, heart-stopping, most perfect, uplifting and uplifted set of knees that have been ever displayed in the Bay State since, I dunno, at least that time that Paul Revere decided to stop running three-a-day housecalls to check on Mrs. Majors habitually sick guppies, or maybe when the widow Charlotte Havamanorfor decide to make good on her namesake and who's poor social skills regularly lit the town ablaze with lame apologies from the men-folk and spirited recriminations from the ladies who cared not a wit for them.

Posted by: spd rdr at June 30, 2009 06:03 PM

"...poor social skills regularly lit the town ablaze with lame apologies from the men-folk and spirited recriminations from the ladies who cared not a wit for them."spd rdr

Posted by: spd rdr at June 30, 2009 06:03 PM

The apologies or the men?

These are life's perplexing questions!

I can't go to sleep until I know!

Posted by: SleeplessInSeattle at June 30, 2009 10:32 PM

I'd say both, but it's only a guess, being a man and all.

Say! Why don't you just stay up for a while? God only knows what such canny women might be up to next. It could be fun.

Posted by: spd rdr at July 1, 2009 12:24 AM

Send 'em around back past the asteroid. Sly and Reynald are stuck in the Bat Cave -- they'd appreciate a blazing apology to light their way out.

Sly'd appreciate it, anyway. Reynald's been tryin' to talk her into swapping bustiers...

Posted by: BillT at July 1, 2009 01:32 AM

I should be in bed.
No, really. I should be in bed.
Perchance to dream.
Hopefully about something other than Batman in a flaming bustier riding an asteroid.

Posted by: spd rdr at July 1, 2009 01:48 AM

No worries -- Reynaud doesn't dress in black. Sez black's just for the Post-Modern Deconstructive Faux-Nouveau Neo-Noir Eco-Classicist crowd and it makes his butt look fat...

Posted by: BillT at July 1, 2009 02:28 AM

Flaming asteroids.

Posted by: SleeplessinSeattle at July 1, 2009 10:44 AM

Watching Armageddon again?

Posted by: BillT at July 1, 2009 12:06 PM

No...Fifth Element.

Posted by: SIS at July 1, 2009 05:08 PM

Geez, I just asked a simple question. Ya doesn't has ta go all Fifth Amend--

Oh. Fifth *Element*.

Never mind.

Posted by: BillT at July 2, 2009 03:05 AM

Post a comment

To reduce comment spam, comments on older posts are put into moderation 5 days after the last activity. Comments with more than one link also go into moderation. If you don't see your comment after posting it, try refreshing the screen. If you still don't see it, your comment is probably in the moderation queue.




Remember Me?

(you may use HTML tags for style)