Quote #555
Out of the killer cold of the forty-below unending Arctic night into the
glowing warmth of the Last Ditch Saloon, we stumbled numbly, dragging behind
us the frozen dead corpse of our friend, Bartholomew, whom the hardened
permafrost of the tundra resisted our burying, and, leaning poor stiff Bart
against a wall, gaily called out for drinks for the house, as we were flush
with prospected gold that now only needed to be split two ways.
-- Jeff Riopelle's entry to the 2001 annual Bulwer-Lytton contest
Out of the killer cold of the forty-below unending Arctic night into the
glowing warmth of the Last Ditch Saloon, we stumbled numbly, dragging behind
us the frozen dead corpse of our friend, Bartholomew, whom the hardened
permafrost of the tundra resisted our burying, and, leaning poor stiff Bart
against a wall, gaily called out for drinks for the house, as we were flush
with prospected gold that now only needed to be split two ways.
-- Jeff Riopelle's entry to the 2001 annual Bulwer-Lytton contest
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