Here's my worst:
It was a dark and stormy night. Or if not stormy, then at least dark. Well, darkish. Because the brightest time of the day is noon, so really anything before or after that is a varying degree of dark. So we'll say it was the dark of 4:30. In the afternoon not the morning. Cause 4:30 in the morning isn't scary, and this story is supposed to be scary. Of course, 4:30 in the afternoon isn't really scary, unless you have to work overtime. Then it's depressing because your hungry and tired and you want to go home but you have to work late so you can't. So it's the dark of 4:30, which is scary cause you have to work overtime. Forget the stormy part. Storms in stories are overdone.
She was a pushy dame, and when I mean pushy I mean pushy like that constipated feeling after eating too much cheese and not enough fiber. Even her breasts were pushy--they wanted to jump out of her cheap red dime-store dress and tell you how to stack the dish-rack. Her legs tried to push the rest of her body into the ceiling, only held down by the sheer weight of her pushy bottle-blonde hairdo. Her toy poodle was definitely pushy. It barked commands from her purse as if she was Queen Bitch of Bitches.