Lacey slid down the long curvy smooth (like ice cream sundae on a very hot moist day) sliding banister when I caught her in a frilly pink dress exposing her creamy breasts like two scoops of cherry ice cream on a very hot moist day. My groin felt like a fireball in east Texas where my good friend Miguel once told me women were like strawberries with whipped cream even though I wasn't sure what he really meant. Even though I was really diabetic I couldn't help but think about smooth creamy ice cream on a hot moist day. Anyway, Lacey crashed into my arms like a lumpy wet blanket and I suddenly realized I was in pain. Sixty two hours of yearning for a woman so divine as Lacey the beauty queen from west Texas where the flowers didn't grow until the sky said "Hello, soldiers!" would do something to a soldier as virile as I was after earning three purple hearts and a medal of honor for saving my best friend's Miguel's life. All we really wanted on that fateful day was a scoop of peach ice cream.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Someone just posted something I wrote for the "bad writing/purple prose" contest of some sort back in August, 2004. It's hilarious. Here's my entry; what do you think?