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Joined: 15 Oct 2010
Location: I'm out there, where every man wants to be
Fri Jan 07, 2011 9:02 am
Dr. Mike's attempt at creating a new Book Game seems to have died at the hands of Google.
Here is a game which Google should not spoil.
Think of a book. Sip a strong drink, stare deep into the eyes of the lion's head mounted above your fireplace. Perhaps stroke your cat who is purring contentedly upon your lap. Sip the cat and then stroke your drink. Rinse and repeat until your cat is drunk.
Now mimic/parody its style in up to one paragraph.
The next person has to try identifying at least the author you were trying to parody. If they correctly match the actual book, you must momentarily applaud them. More likely, you will try to argue. Either way works. Bonus points if people begin threatening to move spiritually against each other. Once you have satisfactorily honed in on the author or book parodied, it's your turn. Expect others to refute this and proffer their own parodies in a gleeful celebration of bad writing.
Since this game is dependent more on your supposed skill at parodying writing styles and less on your ability to Google, I expect each submission to be followed by a bloody battle and a chaotic spree of brinksmanship. Perhaps out of it all a Bulwer-Lytton singularity will form and render us all illiterate.
I'll start. Try to guess at least the writer:
Chibe was Lagos-dust and grease. Women and men became widows and -ers, dis or maybe unrespectively, when passing through the dank and haboobish shadow of stink he raised. No one was likely to give internet access to a man enmurked within such squalor, least of all a man Chibe owed several thousand Naira. As in an ancient time an animistic spirit could blow upon the land and raise up trees, so now Chibe could blow upon a passerby and give him fleas. He scratched his underbelly and sighed.
_________________ I DON'T. Buy the tomatoes with. The stems. On them. They don't. Degrade. They go. Down the sink. And into the WATER. Then. They get lodged in the throats of little. OTTERS.
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