Call me Ishmael.

Sometimes I like to come up with horrendous first lines for imaginary novels:

"As I strode through the Waffle House parking lot, my heart was heavy, much like the various starches I'd consumed within."

"The police cars were forming speeding barricade around Benjy's flame-filled Datsun when he glanced up at the rearview and noticed an errant nose hair he'd neglected to trim."

"Chip was certain he’d impressed the senator with his scheme to build a waterfront development on environmentally protected lands on the basis of a loophole in an obscure county law, when he became cocky and blurted, “So?” sending several drops of spittle into the legislator’s rheumy left eye."

"The sun-drenched terrain was rocky, kind of like my relationship with my wife after she started dousing herself with patchouli oil and stopped shaving her pits."

"“My hangnail is throbbing,” she murmured, proffering her hand with an expectant gleam in her eye."

...and me with a deadline tomorrow!