Tuesday, August 18, 2009

My goodness, a Competition!

Yes, TFLFN is holding its first official competition! I present to you:

A Whimsycore Call To Conversational Fisticuffs!

So you wish to join in conversational fisticuffs, with these challenges you exhort?

Well, I advise you to revise this disposition you comport!

My good sir or madam, I propose this discussion be removed to an alternate location, allow me to expound upon my prognostication: The result of such a
tête-à-tête would leave you stricken with regret at having been so initially brazen, when my lexicographic acrobatics leave you static, fleeing for your maison.

This is my salon, where I am sine qua non.

I'll leave you pale and wan, and at the denouement, I'll be sitting quietly on my chaise lounge, sipping my Ceylon.


Your challenge:

Pen a response to my whimsycore throwdown, in a similarly-inspired style, and the winner will receive Accolades of Highest Prestige and Esteem, as well as an Item of Unique and Exquisite Value, to be designed and created by me, and delivered by post to your place of residence.

So, if you would like the opportunity to earn the envy of your peers and the begrudging respect of your antipathizers, then take up your quill and see if you can put me in my place in as genteel and eloquent a manner as possible.

Entries will be accepted until midnight this Sunday. Then I shall collect all the entries into a single post, upon which all may comment and vote.

4 comments:

  1. Are you addressing me?

    Are you addressing me?

    ...No others are present. Improbable as it may seem, you are, indeed, addressing me.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh, my goodness, what have we here? Why, it seems to be a can of high-test, grade-A Thrash-Arse. Shall I open it? Some may spill on you...

    ...oh, dear, it looks like I've shaken it, haven't I?

    ReplyDelete
  3. You seem to find this fait accompli, But my lexicon, which you'll soon see
    Far outstrips your pedigree, my mots are bon, you must agree.

    Your cadence is lacking, And the pressure is stacking
    I fear that you're slacking, your facade is cracking.

    Now you should know, before you return, your maternal figure's a slattern
    And also that she's got such girth, The sun mistook her for our Earth

    Now run along, enjoy the burn, I slammed you like a particle at CERN
    Keep cognizant, for what it's worth. I've been transcendent ever since birth.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Your tardigrade ways shall not distract me from my chargeship, you Cyprian mopsy. Actum aiunt ne agas. That is to say, my berth in this venture is to make manifest your etourderie. It is reptatorial at best. You need but amend this voltaic quire hebdomadally and yet you cannot even manage that. Your "comic" need not even be limned. Not even so much as a calotype to be developed. Do you not realize that you are now but a donzel to the public? Et faute de mieux? Rein.

    While I myself have the artistic adroitness of Olphert Stanfield, I at least have the perspicacity to engage a draughtswoman to render my concordance. Mayhap in futurity, you might pullulate the sagacity to do the same.

    ReplyDelete