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Wow these are all funny.
I'm sitting in my room giggling and I believe my parents are starting to wonder why.
Thank you.

Every December issue (on sale in November), Writing Magazine lists its "seasonal turkeys". I shared the cream of the last lot with the other idiots involved in the National Novel Writing Month.

These are all excerpts from books that got published. Keep that firmly in mind.

She wanted to wrap her legs around him, the way a tree wraps itself around a mountain.

Head down into the storm they went, pressing barehanded to their chests an unshielded sense of peril.

His eyes roamed around the workshop, knocking over tables and equipment, until they settled on my Master, who had looked up in surprise.

The blood that had abandoned her countenance rushed into his.

Number three leaned against the wall near the window, the automatic in his hand filling the room with a silent buzz.

"To understand why the house makes so much money at the craps table, you first have to understand why."

The first thing he was aware of was a sensation of smooth, yielding grittiness.

He had been staring at Skaara's large drawing for several minutes when it fell out of his mouth.

"We are already more than a light-year away from Earth."
"In seven hours? And that's how many trillion miles?"
"Quite a few," said Swainson. "So even to go home -- below light speed, it might take us nearly a year to get there."

The woman would not let him forget her. Soon she would call to him with an acrid aroma he couldn't ignore.

His eyes ran like weasels over the faces of the other players.

Her langid arms reached up for him, her nipples curled convulsively.

I tossed her one of the cans of beer. She took it without saying anything, cracked it open, took a mouthful, and wiped her hand across the back of her mouth.

She wanted to pick her heart up like a naughty toddler and take it outside and smack it until it stopped leaping about like this.

The store had a rosy cinnamon smell from the potpourri of cinnamon and rose petals in a wicker basket that hung from the ceiling.

I located my '79 Omni (so undesirable it could be safely left anywhere -- nobody even seemed to want its parts) in the late-night darkness that was like thick, malefic homemade jelly.

The housekeeper found her way into the bedroom and lay down in a pathetic crumble.

With a desperate effort I wrenched my eyes from the hypnotic glare of the snake. I rolled them towards the door. I dared move no further.

Mmmmm.... bad porn writing. So bad, it's good!

The overall favourite in the NaNoWriMo group seemed to be the "eye weasels".