Post the opening line(s) of your hot new novel

>She awole this day as she did every other day: with a painful, throbbing erection which threatened to tear her foreskin down the middle.

> Her young cunt bled from it's newest gash. Her father smiled as he removed his deflating penis from her. Today she was a young woman.

>two errors in the first two words.

not gud m8

Two?

>He awoke

No, No. I don't think you understand. The "She" was intentional. She has a penis. The awole was a mistake.

If a book starts with morning wood, it has to be a Kafka parody or else it goes in the trash.

kek'd

I was driving my car trying to remember the things I have forgotten.

It has to be an error, seeing as only dudes have cocks.

I thought this was one of the weaker levels desu. The fire witches were cool but the invisible enemies were a gimmick and not very interesting to fight. That said, it was very pretty, and the view upon exiting the catacombs is magnificent.

'Colorless green ideas sleep furiously' he said smugly.

Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past.

lol'd

written by an upset 16 yr old

Don't tell me the character is smug. Illustrate it.

Actually, that was written by the quite serene T.S. Eliot at the age of 47, you illiterate fuckhead.

Sunset found her squatting in the labyrinth.

I'm a bit pleased with myself at having immediately recognized the view from the steps by Prague castle.

It was a bright cold day, the sunlight melts away the shimmering ice on the flora from the night before, glowing a warm hello of the cherry blossom petals.

>She awole
awoo~

>The smell of the vehicle that Paul was being kidnapped in disturbed him, possibly more than the actual being kidnapped.

I just came up with this on the spot I don't know where I'm going with it.

The home was bereft, silent and somewhat empty in certain areas.

>Her penis lifted the sheets like a circus tent with her length and girth.

You are now reading the first sentence of this book.

Ile jeszcze.

They were the best of times, they were the worst of times, they were the kind of times that try a man's soul, the soul that lives on immortal, through it all, on and on, forever, until it doesn't, and the universe fades into nonexistence, neither whimpering nor exploding but just ceasing, vanishing into itself.

The more embarrassing it is, then.

The petite digit closes on the schnozzle, edging its way into the tiny orifice, now scraping the septum for snot, greedily, like a hungry pale worm deprived of his wormy dinners, and now it's found some; it retreats with its gooey prize; slowly and carefully as not to drop it; and before the worm rendezvous with its four siblings, it hauls the quarry into the wet cavern that lies beneath the nasal aperture and a great red snake suckles the load off of the worm, who's finally reunited with its pale kin.

The original is in German but my translation would be:

"My mothertongue may be German, but with my fathers words I form my world."

Original: Meine Muttersprache mag Deutsch sein, aber es sind die Worte meines Vaters, mit denen ich meine Welt forme.

Fuck you for making me read this.

Fuck you for making me read that shit by quoting him.

Oh, how I pity the man that cannot steer away from his roommate the temptation of female flesh, and instead invite towards his gaping amaranth the insincere piety of internet memege.