The judging of the GRATE RIGHTER BAD SPELER Contest was difficult with so many terrific entries, but it it finally completed and WE HAVE A WHINNER!
Congratulations, Brendan Cooper!
His story, Meating Mr Kamodo, won first place!
2nd place goes to Twana Briam for her story, Know Egrets.
3rd place goes to Garret Mair for his story, Mich’s Batt
Congratulations to all the WHINNARS! I’ll be sending out your prizes soon!
I want to thank everyone who entered. All the entries were innovative, humorous, imaginative and downright brilliant, so you might wonder how judging for a silly contest like this was conducted. The Judges shared their criteria with me:
First pass criteria: I could at least understand the story. The misspelling was consistent, but still decipherable.
Second pass criteria: The story engaged me, was compelling and complete.
So without further ado, here are the three stories that won:
Meating Mr. Kamodo
I wok on the beech, hed down to doge the jaged, scharp seeschells. The sand skorches my letherey feet. The boyling 100 digree Indoneejun heet is unforkiving. I blindily tern write past the roks and the beech abruptiley naros. An ate-foot Kamodo dragen is spralled out in my weigh. He lears at me with his menasing, rinckled fase. "Wat’s de passwerd?" he crowks. "Umm, lizzerd?" I vennchure a gess. Mr. Kamodo grunts in aproofal and waddels bak toard the forrest. I breafily glants bak at him and then cuntinew onword in my pursoot of pairadice.
This tail wood go down inn the anals of skool histry. Weed had anne undefeeted seeson: furst every four the sucker team. Wee dint loose enny matchas: stated plagued-offs, hear wee cum.
Butt, wee kneaded everone to no us bye site. Awl the duds frum da squat got are heds shaved. Awl ov us: bawled.
We looked offal, butt where exsighted. Couch Sofa, are great minatour, said, “Aisle dew it, to!”
Eraser shaved hiz white-bland hare; wee yelled allowed: “Are couch bawled wit uss!”
Necks dais noose payper head lies red: “Bawling Egrets Whine!”
Thanks, Couch, your the beast.
Eye sawe mich standeen ther witt hiz hed doun lookeen liek a sowr pooss.
"Wat iz rong witt yoo mich?" eye colled owt.
"Eye kant heet thees bol witt mi batt" hee moapt.
"Wale chier upp mi frend becuz eye amm heer an wil teech yoo howe too heet thu bol."
Hiz froun woshed a waiy reeplaist bi hiz smyle. "tanks!!!"
"Nou wear iz yur batt?" Eye lookt arownd butt deed knot see eet.
Hiz fais began to froun agen, "Eet bitt mi an phlew a waiy."
"O," eye sed, "Sorie eye kant hulp yoo unteel yoo catch unuder won."