Another candidate for world's worst opening line to a novel:
As he ran his hands down the stripper’s smooth ebony body in
the VIP room of Mother Nature’s Gentlemen’s Club, Carter Platt, a local
literary critic, bit the inside of his cheeks hard to stifle himself from
laughing at the ironic notion that he had passed over the athletic Nordic
beauty “Sunshine” and the robust Russian “Thunder” just so he could fully
experience a dark and “Stormy” night.
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