They can’t be serious. Surely these dreadful (awful, hideous, there I go writing like a pr0n-ographer!) passages weren’t written for any other reason but to win this silly prize. I can’t believe that someone sweated these out and really, really meant them to be considered serious, important prose:
Take oaf yir clathes then, let me see the goods, Mary rasped in lecherous cheer.
she could hear herself panting now, like a dog, but she didn’t care.
she trembled and clung on to him and mewled with pleasure in his ear.
she called out to God and convulsed with each slow stroke, her head thrown back and her eyelids aflutter
He slid a hand beneath her arse
Thud, went the romance.
The first half-inch was cold, and moist only with brine, and he
encountered stiff resistance which, while not without appeal, made him
fear for a moment that he might do her an injury if he pressed on with
Yeah, like that.