Bloodsucking Fiends (on turkey bowling) - Christopher Moore

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He squinted and picked his target, then took his steps and sent the bird sliding down the aisle. A collective gasp rose from the crew as the fourteen-pound, self-basting, fresh-frozen projectile of wholesome savory goodness plowed into the soap bottles like a freight train into a chorus line of drunken grandmothers.

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Name WPM Accuracy
djsharpe113 109.38 96.9%
gordonlew 104.63 95.0%
phraznikov 102.40 95.5%
pcapriotti 102.27 96.9%
user511259 98.35 95.6%
therobotclustr2 98.10 96.9%
user68327 97.32 93.5%
kvxome 97.09 97.8%

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