Oh, let's write a bad sentence. A real stinker for a book that will never be written, like this one that I just penned.
"Taffy was Tiffany's ideal companion, strong as pulled sugar spun on stainless steel rods that turned in circles making her rubbery strands of sweetness delicate yet flexible, but what Tiffany enjoyed most about her latest lesbian lover was that Taffy was independent and didn't cling to her like a piece of soft candy left on a leather car seat in the hot summer sun."
Details on the contest for bad prose (or "How close I've come to doing this myself") may be found here:
Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Deadline is April 15, or maybe June 30.
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