A long time ago (3 years) I entered a David Foster Wallace parody contest. I DID NOT WIN. However, I did get honorable mention. You'll note that I'm the only female. The contest was judged by someone whose book on DFW I slammed somewhere on the internets. It's got quite a few factual errors, along with typos. For $35, I expect no typos and more facts. Just saying.
The link with the winners and runners up is back. I re-read my story, and it was better than I remembered. Here it is, below. I should write fiction again, someday. You can read the other winners here:http://www.thehowlingfantods.com/dfw/dfw-parodies.html
*no actual famous monsters in the story.
Honorable Mention: Marie M.
The Y-shaped Styles of Certain Flowers
So. There are two people on a date and they're eating dinner, and the guy is telling this long involved story about another guy who was having some difficulties and was diagnosed as having some sort of quote-unquote syndrome, some long german word, meaning extreme psychic pain and existential angst which could only be cured by becoming a rock star or a religious zealot. Meanwhile the woman's thinking about all the things she could be doing, like working out on the stairmaster and reading Time, or going to Brookstone and playing with the Max massager, and there is some embarrassed dialog in her head vis-a-vis wanting the Max but not wanting people to see it in her house and also not wanting it near her genitals as it is not that kind of massager. And also Mogu.
It's this weird pillow thing Brookstone sells that has the density of a old cat and none of the charm. And so this polemic is set up about choices, one being extreme indulgence, as in rock star, or the extreme aceticism of religious zealotry, but maybe I should change that to some form of monkhood, and her choice in being at dinner with this guy whom she describes as being all right but a little fey in that he wears capezio jazz shoes from the 80s and is slightly balding, although who is she to talk, she had a double chin which she refers to as soft and Liz Taylor-like.
Well, she is dialoging with herself, date v. stairmaster, and the angsty guy is also dialoging in his own head about rock stardom v. monkhood. And but so the date guy is going on with the story, which becomes an urban legend involving the angsty guy with the choices. The urban legend is this: there is a short in his car, the dash and headlights go out, he replaces a blown fuse with a bullet. He carries a gun because he's angsty. And so her internal dialog continues while he tells the story, which ends when angsty guy turns his car into the driveway or rather pulls it in, and the bullet he's used to replace the fuse fires and shoots him in the testicle. And date-guy goes, quote-unquote Rock star dreams! Gone! And, still thinking about Max and Mogu, she says "Decision made. Then welcome."