Yeah, I was confused too – but the contest doesn’t have anything to do with:
It’s Monday (like right now).
Billy Purgatory is judging all entries. Head over there to get the prompts and impress us with your #flashfiction stylings.
I will leave you with Billy’s introduction which explains to you why someone who has never cracked open anything more advanced than a MAD magazine is qualified to undertake this event:
I never judged a writing contest before and so I decided that I’d think about why that is. I think maybe the problem with being a writer also means that you have to read stuff. I don’t really dig reading. Reading to me is usually “words, words, more words, Garfield is gonna try and steal a damn lasagna again, reading, words, blah, blah…”
Words get repetitive, especially when you string too many of them together – like when there’s enough of them to make up one of those paragraph things. That’s too many words in a row. It’s like when you have wine bottle, wine bottle, wine bottle – when you line up too many wine bottles, you’re gonna get a hobo. When one hobo shows up, then you’re gonna have tons of hobos – ’cause hobos travel in packs. Hobos will Hansel & Gretel a trail of wine bottles like nobody’s business, and then you’re gonna have a hobo-collision.
How are you gonna arrange all those hobos so they all make sense? Which one are you gonna indent? Where does the comma go that should separate this hobo from that hobo.
That’s what words are to me, a bunch of hobos jelly and jammed and if you don’t watch out you’re gonna have a mess – like the first part of CHiPs (before the first commercial break where they try and sell you a bacon dehydrator and something called “life insurance”).
Some people like putting words in order though so they make sense, and that’s why you’re here.
I’m here because I like a good story. I might not read them, but I like listening to hobos tell them. That’s really all hobos are good for – besides cooking a mean hot dog on the end of a stick over a fire they started by rubbing two jugs of anti-freeze together.
So all you writer-people that do fancy stuff like tie sweaters around your waist while eating fancy Ritz cracker sandwiches and talk about what British people do in books, this is your chance to impress me. You won’t get extra-credit for writing about hobos, ’cause I already did that, but I haven’t said anything about hookers yet.
#MenageMonday, go write something!