The winning entries, and runners-up, to 57 SF-based competitions
running from 1972 to 1993. Ranging from hilarious and very clever, to
obscure and very clever. Puns on titles, 'worst opening/ending lines',
Feghoots (stories leading up to dreadful puns), future cliches, misprint
titles (whence the title of this collection), awful blurbs, future
classified ads, title translation errors (He
Has a Hole in His Head and His Teeth Glow in the Dark, by Roger
Zelazny), limericks, imaginary collaborations (If All Men Were
Androids Would You Let One Marry Your Electric Sheep?, by Sturgeon and
Dick), alien lexicons, future bumper stickers, transposed titles (Mothers
Nine Hundred Grand, by R. A. Lafferty), and more.
Some of the entries are from SF writers; my favourite one of these is
from 1986: "You know you've really landed in an alternate universe
when you discover that ..."
...Old time fans are sitting around reminiscing about the big
splash The Last Dangerous Visions made when it was published
fifteen years ago.
But my favorite of the entire book is from 1972, a blurb for a new
The Muckers-about From Mid-future "M" (Exegesis on
Eventuality "E ") by Brian Aldiss
Was it the lawn that stretched between the seemingly
unexceptional gabled cottage and the toolshed set on a secant to the
north northeast of it? Or was it something far more sinister
somehow slightly too green and aware in a manner both more and
less than human? What was it that the voiceless Interloper from
Intertemporality "I" had seen dimly reflected in the blade
of a pair of pruning shears hanging on the wall of that same tiny shed
where he stood motionlessly through the seasons, thinly disguised as a
lawnmower? And what of the mysterious Onlooker from Otherwhen "O"?
What was his game? Was it parcheesi, or was it something infinitely
more meaningless? And what creature from an unimaginable future passed
and repassed behind the leaded panes of the cottage window on the sill
of which the hellish avocado pit sent out its tender shoot...and
waited? And, finally, what could possibly be the motives of the
strange being buried up to its "neck" in the marigold plot?
Only time could tell. And that, it seemed, it disdained to do.
Ralph C. Glisson
If you don't think any of the above is funny, or don't get it, then this
isn't the book for you. But if you do, there's much more where that came