Week 647: Paste Imperfect


We newsroom denizens had a case of giggles -- the it-could-have-been-us
giggles -- over a brief item in the Purdue University student newspaper
that began by discussing Judge Samuel Alito and suddenly segued into:
"His motive for shooting John Paul in the abdomen . . . remains unclear."
Simultaneously, Eager Beaver Loser Kevin Dopart of Washington scratched
at our door with this contest idea: Change a headline or sentence that
appears in The Post or on washingtonpost.com through Feb. 6 either by
deleting up to 40 consecutive characters from it or by adding up to 40
consecutive characters FROM THE SAME ARTICLE OR AD. Include the date and
page number from the paper, or the date from the Web site. Show what
words you are deleting and what words you're adding; brackets around the
deletions and capital letters for the insertions would work.

Winner gets the Inker, the official Style Invitational trophy. First
runner-up receives a genuine 1958 edition, donated by Russell Beland of
Springfield, of "Amy Vanderbilt's Complete Book of Etiquette" -- and it
does seem complete: The Empress just now was reviewing Chapter 41, "Dress
and Duties of the Household Staff." (Oops, she seems to have provided the
incorrect socks to the butler.)

Other runners-up win a coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt.
Honorable mentions get one of the lusted-after Style Invitational
Magnets. One prize per entrant per week. Send your entries by e-mail
tolosers@washpost.comor by fax to 202-334-4312. Deadline is Monday, Feb.
6. Include "Week 647" in the subject line of your e-mail, or it risks
being ignored as spam. Include your name, postal address and phone number
with your entry. Contests are judged on humor and originality. All
entries become the property of The Washington Post. Entries may be edited
for taste or content. Results will be published Feb. 26. No purchase
required for entry. Employees of The Washington Post, and their immediate
relatives, are not eligible for prizes. Pseudonymous entries will be
disqualified. The revised title for next week's contest is by Chris Doyle
of Forsyth, Mo.

Report From Week 643, our annual contest seeking rhyming poems commemorating people who died
last year.

The Empress received a great variety of dead subjects, from
the pope to Rosa Parks to the voice of Tony the Tiger. But a lot of
Losers out there must be wearing tin earrings, because hundreds of
entries displayed an astonishing failure to rhyme: Soldier/older.
Dreck/regret. Krebs/dread. Lend a hand/Off the island. And this doesn't
even count those with a geographical excuse, like Ross Elliffe of New
Zealand, who offered "mourn the passin'/Of Johnny Carson." But there were
still plenty of ink-worthy paeans (as well as the negative sentiments,
which we'll call poopans); more honorable mentions can be found on the
Style Invitational page at washingtonpost.com.

4 J.B. Stoner, convicted in planning the 1964 Birmingham church bombing:

Refused to let the races mix,
Now just a redneck in the Styx.
This nasty fellow, no reformer,
Occupies a place far warmer.
(Mark Eckenwiler, Washington)

3 Elmer Dresslar Jr., voice of the Jolly Green Giant

His ho-ho-hos were said with ease;
It's fitting that he rest in peas.
(Stephen Dudzik, Olney)

2 Winner of the DVD set from the Hong Kong government: Don Adams

Though Maxwell Smart has passed away,
His style lives on in the CIA.
(Dan Seidman, Watertown, Mass.)
And the Winner of the Inker

1 Robert Hunter, founder of Greenpeace

Bob Hunter has gone to his final repose;
From cancer his health had been failing.
His passing was marked by his friends and his foes,
Respectively weeping and whaling.
(Brendan Beary, Great Mills)
Honorable Mentions

Joseph Owades

Light beer's inventor is no more;
Come, ye who love good brew,
And let your elegies to him, Be flat and tasteless too.
(Brendan Beary)

Richard Pryor

As we all mourn the passing of ol' Richard Pryor,
Let us hear what he once had to say:
"When you run down the street and your head is on fire,
Other people get out of your way."
(Scott Campisi, Wake Village, Tex.)

Saint Peter said to Gabriel,
"This place had been too quiet;
I'm glad that Richard Pryor's come --
That guy's a bleepin' riot."
(Brendan Beary)

Publisher Henry Luce III:

Henry Luce 3 made many a dime.
He raked in a Fortune, but ran out of Time.
(Andrew Hoenig, Rockville)

John DeLorean

This entrepreneurial wizard who often
Surprised and dismayed us has died.
Put doors, not a lid, on DeLorean's coffin
That open just out to the side.
(Chris Doyle, Forsyth, Mo.)

Perot running mate James Stockdale

When Admiral Stockdale came to bask
In Heaven's golden glare,
I'm sure he had no need to ask
What he was doing there.
(David Smith, Santa Cruz, Calif.)

George Atkinson, who founded the first video rental store

"He'll be reincarnated": That was the wish
For which his sad relatives yearned.
In fact, there's a charge of a buck and a half
For each day that he isn't returned.
(Brendan Beary)

Three Variations on Johnnie Cochran

If the coffin fits, you're in the obits.
(Dan Seidman)

If the body won't stir, you must inter.
(Brendan Beary)

If the breathing desists, he no longer exists.
(Brian Barrett, New York)

Terri Schiavo

Bill Frist, he thought he could diagnose better,
Making you wonder just who was brain-deader.
(Ira Allen, Bethesda)

Johnny Carson

Once upon a midnight's viewing,
watching the late-nighters spewing
Endless, tired, wretched and unfunny jokes about the news,
As I channel-surfed the idjits,
morons, bores and mental midgets,
I realized I was suffering from the
Lack-of-Johnny-Carson Blues.
(Judith Cottrill, New York)

Welcome to Heaven, now don't blow a gasket:
Your exes have called -- they want half of your casket.
(Jon Reiser, Hilton, N.Y.)

Shelby Foote

For tales of Antietam
You just couldn't beat him.
(Jeff Brechlin, Eagan, Minn.)

Anne Bancroft

Onscreen she Worked a Miracle
For each role she created.
So here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
We're sad you Graduated.
(Bob Dalton, Arlington)

A famous cut without a paste:
Rose Mary Woods has been erased.
(Dan Seidman)

Max Schmeling

The Aryan myth was Maxing out,
When he and Louis clashed,
In two short minutes of their bout,
Along with him it crashed.
Who guessed he'd be a friend of Joe's
And end up Schmeling like a rose?
(Steve Ettinger, Chevy Chase)

James Doohan

Scotty was beamed up to Nebulax 4;
His engine, it just couldn'a take anymore.
(Seth Brown, North Adams, Mass.)

"So you're Myron Floren of Lawrence Welk's show?"
Said Saint Peter, Assigner of Fate.
"I'll let you in Heaven as long as you stow
Your accordion outside the gate."
(Frank Mullen III, Aledo, Ill.)

Ismail Merchant

Cinema for grown-ups was this producer's oeuvre,
Movies for an audience they tend to undersoeuvre.
(John Conti, Norfolk, Mass.)

Robert Moog

NnnnOOOWWWW
yyyoooouuuu'''rrrrrre
ddddEEEEEaaadddddd.
PITTI-pitti-pitti-pitti-pitti . . .
(Jeff Brechlin)

Prince Rainier of Monaco, Has gone, as even monarchs go.
And long will mourn his loyal nation,
For the lost tenth of its population.
(Hannah Easley, Charlotte)

Hunter S. Thompson just couldn't go on, so
He picked up a gun. Now it's dead time for Gonzo.
(Chris Doyle)

Saul Bellow and Arthur Miller

A single year has never claimed such literary pillars!
What stock have we remaining of Saul Bellows? Arthur Millers?
And Miller married Marilyn! and Bellow, 84,
Became a father; holding out a hope forevermore
To every brainy little boy named Goldberg or Shapiro
Of turning out a sexual, not just artistic, hero. (David Smith)

In September, Rehnquist went.
(Not his Original Intent.)  (Jay Shuck, Minneapolis) 

Goodbye, little buddy, your race it is run, We'll try not to get too morose. 
No man is an island, said poet John Donne, But brother, you came pretty close. 
Alas, it's all over; we blink back the tears, Though admit it: your life was too weird -- 
Like, how could you live on that island for years Without ever growing a beard? (Brendan Beary, Great Mills) 

Nebraska Sen. J. James Exon:

J. J. Exon died last year, his fame was not quite global,
But Cornhuskers all lament that Exon is not mobile.

(Dave Zarrow, Herndon) 

Saint Pete said, " Johnnie Cochran?
I seem to know that name; 
Come here and try this halo on ...
Does it fit? Oh, what a shame."

(Brendan Beary) 

Sixten Ehrling, conductor,
Now resting in pine,
Survived by his siblings,
Named Seven, Eight, Nine.

(Peter Metrinko, Chantilly) 

We were "neat and clean for Gene,"
And that war sure needed fixin',
We crushed LBJ's machine, 
And we got -- what? -- Richard Nixon. 

(Steve Ettinger, Chevy Chase) 

Prince Rainier fashioned Monaco
A grand and glorious place. 
He did it with finesse and style
And, most important, Grace.

(John Conti, Norfolk, Mass.) 

Richard Pryor,
Even higher. 

(John C. Feltz, Fairborn, Ohio) 

Sociologist Leo Bogart:

He died due to babesiosis, 
An illness transmitted by ticks. 
(At first I'd thought, "Wow, lucky Leo --
To die overdosing on chicks!") 

(Brendan Beary) 

Saul Bellow:

Ah, Mr. Bellow, a writerly fellow,
While alive you put on a good show. 
I do hate to tell, but you've now lost an "L," 
And as such you are lying Below. 

(Jeff Brechlin, Eagan, Minn.) 

Charles Rocket:

Rocket said a word one night
He really hadn't oughta said.
On Saturday the F-bomb fell,
By Sunday his career was dead.

(John Conti) 

Who'd build a house for Frank Lloyd Wright?
Cook Wolfgang Puck a mussel? 
For only he would dare recite 
A verse for Nipsey Russell.

(David Smith, Santa Cruz, Calif.) 

Johnny Carson:

"'Twas bad enough when you retired: 
You left the field to Jay and Dave.
Then hopes of your return expired: 
Your latest move was very grave.
We feel bereft, we feel abused,
And late at night we're not amused.

(Jack Held, Fairfax) 

W. Pauline Nicholson
Was Elvis Presley's cook
She didn't find fried PBBs
In Julia Child's book.

(Andrew Hoenig, Rockville) 


Lucy Richardson, inspiration for a song:

Picture yourself at the grave of a woman 
Whose name's in the song about marmaalade skies.
Somebody calls her, an answer's unlikely, 
There's a penny on each of her eyes. 
Memorial flowers of yellow and green 
Telling us that she is deaaaad. 
Even the girl in the Lennon song dies, Yes, she's gone ... 

(Russell Beland, Springfield) 

Next Week: Winter Limp Picks, or Apres Moi, le Dull Luge