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
venerated 130.14 96.9%
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user939249 122.58 93.2%
user95397 122.42 97.8%
kurrailaptop 121.39 98.1%
hackertyper492 120.36 92.7%
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