You may be aware of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, the nearly-three-decades-old annual awards for composing the worst possible opening sentence for a novel. For example, here’s last year’s winner:

For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity’s affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss–a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity’s mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world’s thirstiest gerbil. 

Truly rancid, I think we can agree. And it’s in that spirit that I’ve composed some opening sentences for the story of the 2011 Twins. It’s over at Twinkie Town, and frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t previously come up with the simple expedient of intending to write bad, bad sentences.