"So bad it's brilliant..."

That was Tiffany's assessment of my Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest entry, so I thought I would share it:

Dick’s face paled – like the face of a corpse that has lain on its back for hours and is well into the first stages of rigor, and the blood, having stopped circulating a good while before, has now settled to the bottom, the way the pulp settles to the bottom in a carton of extra-pulp orange juice – as the woman he'd been wooing for most of the evening smiled, revealing what, on closer inspection, turned out to be fangs, and he had just enough time to hear her say, “I want to suck your– ” before he passed out cold.