The search for the winner of this year's Meager Puddle of Limelight Award for Best Opening Line continues with Heat eight.
The winners from heats one - seven have gone straight through to the final. The second place finishers now battle it out in heat eight to see which title joins the others in the final round.
What's at stake?
Bragging rights for the winner, an interview and/or guest post here on An Englishman in New Jersey, as well as signed copy of my book, Fur-Face, and a couple of I are a writer! pens.
I think you can vote using Facebook, but if you need an LJ account, they're free).
From the following list, please select the opening line which you think should progress to the final round
As soon as I rounded the corner, the son-of-a-bitch threw a pie in my face.
He was primed: not sure just what he was looking for but alert to the possibility of finding it.
It all went wrong when she hit the angels.
The morning after I arrived in Miami, I opened the window shades in my bedroom and saw eight inches of snow.
Photographs can be changed, but reflections are honest--that's how Rachel Clark knew her mom was a liar.
Robert Frost is an idiot--when two roads diverge in a yellow wood, don't take the one less travelled by.
There were three blotches of mold on Herbert Mica's bedchamber wall when he woke, one more than when he went to sleep.
With its skullcap flipped open, the robot's brainpan resembled a spider's web studded with diamonds.