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Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: The singularly innocuous fowl did lurch unceasingly across the interminable asphalt pathway into a realm so hideous that I can scarcely put credence to my own faltering observations, so singular in nature was the countenance of the phantasmagoric land into which the unsuspecting bird discovered itself lost, as a crumbling barque adrift on an ancient sea beaneath scabrous, emerald-litten clouds of malicious and unsavory intent, haloed by Olympian bolts of electricity floats wearily towards an unknown land. As the feathered biped stumbled exhaustedly towards the far side of the roadway, it froze in stark terror as around it, slimy mud oozed monumentally from the Hadean depths of the Earth and evil carvings appeared magically on stone pylons which thrust at hideous angles from the subterrene squelching mire, their hoary surfaces carved disgustingly into loathesome shapes which, upon viewing, drove the tenebrous chicken instantly mad so that, gibbering meaninglessly for the rest of its insane days, it was cruelly fastened, alone, with its own macabre visions of a Brobdingnagian nightmare; for the faces carven with such unquestionably evil intent upon the Promethean edifices had been those of giant, tentacled chickens!
Nope. Can't tell at all.
[Edit 8:04 am - Lest any of you Lovecraft fans think I don't enjoy the stories because I make fun of it here, you're wrong. I am enjoying them. But even a fan has to admit that he does love his adjectives, and he does have a tendency towards the overdramatic. :)]
A: The singularly innocuous fowl did lurch unceasingly across the interminable asphalt pathway into a realm so hideous that I can scarcely put credence to my own faltering observations, so singular in nature was the countenance of the phantasmagoric land into which the unsuspecting bird discovered itself lost, as a crumbling barque adrift on an ancient sea beaneath scabrous, emerald-litten clouds of malicious and unsavory intent, haloed by Olympian bolts of electricity floats wearily towards an unknown land. As the feathered biped stumbled exhaustedly towards the far side of the roadway, it froze in stark terror as around it, slimy mud oozed monumentally from the Hadean depths of the Earth and evil carvings appeared magically on stone pylons which thrust at hideous angles from the subterrene squelching mire, their hoary surfaces carved disgustingly into loathesome shapes which, upon viewing, drove the tenebrous chicken instantly mad so that, gibbering meaninglessly for the rest of its insane days, it was cruelly fastened, alone, with its own macabre visions of a Brobdingnagian nightmare; for the faces carven with such unquestionably evil intent upon the Promethean edifices had been those of giant, tentacled chickens!
Nope. Can't tell at all.
[Edit 8:04 am - Lest any of you Lovecraft fans think I don't enjoy the stories because I make fun of it here, you're wrong. I am enjoying them. But even a fan has to admit that he does love his adjectives, and he does have a tendency towards the overdramatic. :)]
well, huh...
Re: well, huh...
A: The manly chicken glided purposefully across the steaming roadway, muscles rippling sensuously as he moved, unerringly, to the side of his paramour. "Dirk!" she cried, "Take me!" Then she swooned, slowly and sinuously sliding to the dew-soaked grass. But before she can get her bloomers wet (on the DEW), he caught her in his strong arms and gazed longingly into her eyes. "Sybil," he cried, "I love you!" *insert throbbing manhood and heaving bosoms (with or without words like 'undulating' and 'sweat-limned' thrown in for good measure) here*
Lovecraft felt the need for every noun to have at least one adjective, but never more than two. His challenge was to find new and non-repetitive ways of saying 'ugly' and 'evil.' The challenge for a romance novelist is twofold: 1) to find new and non-repetitive ways of referring to love, sex, and various and sundry body parts, and 2) not making it too horribly plain that the plot of every book is:
Her: "Hello."
Him: "Yo."
Her: I HATE him, the pig!
Him: I HATE her, the bitch!
Her: I MUST HAVE HIM! "TAKE ME!"
Him: "You betcha, toots!"
*THE END*
On page two, the chicken travels to dreamland, where he will travel altogether too rapidly through unpronounceable lands with consonants not normally put together and apostrophes and dashes in odd places (Pnikt'la-Yoggth), meeting denizens of each (dark scabrous) land which will in turn help and hinder/enslave him as he journeys on some (Herculean) quest the reader forgets after the 800th adjective meaning "ugly" is used...and then he'll wake up and find it was all a dream. OR WAS IT???
Re: well, huh...
*fans self* i'll forgive you for the lil mishap with the latte, because that was absotively hilarious. you can probably give up you day job and become an author of bodice rippers of brobdingnagian proportions. i'm referrin' to number of pages, size of uh, chicken members and the obscene amount of your advance from harlequin press.
thanks for the morning hilarity.
snuggs (")
Re: well, huh...
You've read more than one of these, haven't you? :) Speaking for myself, of course, I've only read the one. And it was out of desperation--it was the only book on tape I HAD and I was faced with a five-hour drive. So, as they say, any old port in a storm. :)
(I'd make a pun from 'heady' and 'chicken with its head cut off,' but I'm supposed to be modifying code instead of typing pseudo-romance novel snippets for poultry. So insert your own pun here. :)
Yr and Nhhngr
A labyrinthian venture complete with abberations negated by only the mind's vacillation between acceptance and denial.
LOVE IT!!
Kudos!