So apparently I'm the "bad boy" of etsy, even though I'm a girl. I posted a thread today, asking if my new octomom articulated paper puppet was in bad taste. I had a few "Nays" but the majority of people commented that it was distasteful and offensive and they probably would not shop in my etsy store. A few people did bring up a good point that my nasty paper puppets do not look nice next to my higher end jewelry.
That's already solved, however, because I have already opened a rubylane shop for my jewelry and just have to take the time to move it.
I want my etsy shop to be all about fun, making stuff that makes me laugh and have a great time, after slaving 2 years over promoting my stinkin' jewelry which has left me burned out for serious things.
I grew up reading "Mad Magazine" and find many strange things very very funny. I like bad puns. I even like offensive stuff as long as it is innocent and harmless and not hurting anyone.
Anyway, I digress! This is a contest and the prize is my "offensive" octomom articulated aper puppet and her litter of kidlets. The rules are simple. Write the worst, overblown, and BAD first sentence to a story, following all grammatical rules, which means no run on sentences or improper punctuation.
In a few days, I will pick the winner, so please let me know how to get in touch with you after the contest so I can send out the prize.
Upon awakening to the balmy, grey skies just outside her window, Tiffany Barbie lovingly glanced over at her lustrous, shiny, blonde locks of hair lying about her pilllow like a halo of light, hair that really shouldn't have been there at all and had defied medical science since she was just diagnosed with alopecia, which had affected her hair on her legs and armpits, a disease that was a Godsend in some ways, since it was because of the alopecia that she had met handsome, masculine Dr. Standford Wanky, who, when examining her porcelain skin with his exquisite and moist soft hands, had sent tingles all throughtout her body, though her mind was still on Paul Stank, the starving artist, with his deep pools of blue eyes, who had painted her portrait, and talked of his dreams, his sad life, his lack of proper food and sustanence and a working shower, day after day, in his cramped little studio that smelled of linseed oil and turpentine, its walls covered with holes he had punched in his desperation as he cried about the sins he had committed with his last empoyer's nanny, and now Tiffany wished she could fall back into slumber so she wouldn't have to choose between the two men who loved her so.
Good luck everyone!
*The winners are in and it's a tie! Congrats fishbulb500 and wryandginger! Octomoms will be on your way as soon as humanly possible!
Thanks everyone for your great entries--it was a hard choice.
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