The Style Invitational Week 956 Looking for a few bad scenarios
By Pat Myers,
You know it’s going to be a bad cruise
when you see that the captain has his own private lifeboat.
You know it’s going to be a bad hotel if
they ask you if you want to wait for a no-bedbug room.
You know your kid’s going to have a bad
day at school . . .
You know it’s going to be a bad speech
. . .
You know it’s going to be a bad marriage
. . .
Loser bad-boy Larry Yungk
suggests this week’s contest: Finish any of the above “You know” phrases, as
Larry does for the first two.
Winner gets the Inker, the
official Style Invitational trophy. Second place receives a genuine
calf-/goat-/lamb- alterer (not the term used on the box) — a hand tool that
snaps a rubber band over a couple of parts of the baby-boy animal, where it’s
left until said parts eventually fall off. Found in a Vermont flea market by
Loser 4 Ever Elden Carnahan, and donated to the Empress in the middle of a
restaurant.
Other runners-up win their
choice of a coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt or yearned-for Loser Mug.
Honorable mentions get a lusted-after Loser magnet. First Offenders get a
tree-shaped air “freshener” (FirStink for their first ink). E-mail entries to
losers@washpost.com or fax to 202-334-4312. Deadline is Monday, Feb. 6; results
published Feb. 26 (Feb. 24 online). No more than 25 entries per entrant per
week. Include “Week 956” in your e-mail subject line or it may be ignored as
spam. Include your real name, postal address and phone number with your entry.
See contest rules and guidelines at washingtonpost.com/styleinvitational. The
revised title for next week is by Kevin Dopart; the subhead for this week’s
honorable mentions is by Judy Blanchard. Join the Style Invitational Devotees
on Facebook at on.fb.me/invdev.
Report from Week 952, our annual contest for poems commemorating those who died in the
previous year. The many hundreds of entries ranged from the obvious (bin Laden,
Kim, Jobs) to the, well, less so (the creator of Doritos; a mummified horror
actress).
The winner of the Inker
Kim Jong-Il
Dear Leader, as your spirit
flies
Through North Korea’s blessed
skies,
Your legacy pervades our
nation:
Coercion, nukes and mass
starvation.
As we, your marshaled
millions, sing,
To memories of you we cling,
And cannot help but feel a
thrill
That now you’re dead, and not
just Il.
(Stephen Gold, Glasgow,
Scotland)
2. Winner of the
Annoy-a-tron, a little box you hide that beeps every few minutes:
“Jackass” daredevil Ryan
Dunn:
When it came to wild stunts,
he was second to none—
So who’d have predicted that
Ryan M. Dunn
Would die not by catapult,
cannon or cougar,
Or Russian roulette with a
dung-coated Luger,
Or by tying himself to a
runaway moose,
Or snorting ground glass off
a lion’s caboose,
But by drinking and driving?
How could he succumb
To something so horribly,
commonly dumb?
(Melissa Balmain, Rochester,
N.Y.)
3. Without any help required,
Jack Kevorkian expired.
(Danny Bravman, Chicago)
4. Atheist essayist
Christopher Hitchens said
Mother Teresa was
Far from a saint.
But now that he’s gone,
The believers are smiling,
For God is still with them
And Christopher ain’t.
(Christopher Lamora,
Guatemala City)
Cold comfort: Honorable mentions
Kim Jong-Il
Though your afterlife
prospects seem clear as a bell,
Be comforted by this idea:
Dear Leader need never be
frightened of Hell,
Having already seen North
Korea. (Gary Crockett, Chevy Chase, Md.)
See two longer odes to Kim —
including a song parody — near the bottom of this week’s Invitational.
Al-Kay-da, Al-Ky-da,
Osama bin Laden has
Met his demise at the
End of a gun.
So now he resides where it’s
Thermodynamically
Quite a bit warmer than
Pakistan’s sun. (Matt
Monitto, Elon, N.C.)
See a four-stanza bin Laden
poem at the end of this week’s Invite.
Al Facchiano,
Miamian mobster,
A fan of fine
seafood like scampi and lobster,
Now sleeps with
the fishes, aghast that damnation’s
Each day getting
snacked on by vengeful crustaceans.
(Chris Doyle,
Ponder, Tex.)
Uncle Milton’s Ant Farm
creator Milton Levine
Milton Levine has now danced
the last dance,
So bid a farewell to both
Uncle and ants. (Craig Dykstra, Centreville, Va.)
Moammar Gaddafi’s stubborn
fight
Came to a bad finish,
He was caught in a drainage
pipe;
His end was Mussolinish.
(Fred Dawson, Beltsville, Md.)
Steve Jobs
Your gadgets made our hearts
beat fast,
Despite their lofty prices.
But now that your brief life
has passed,
We’re left to our own
devices. (Robert Schechter, Dix Hills, N.Y.)
Your Apple was a gift to
us--you’ve changed the way we interact;
One click: we look up, chat
or hook up, tweet or text, compose, redact.
Because of you, we’re all
obsessed: an iPhone, iPod, iPad nation;
Ever since the Fall of Man,
the apple’s been our worst temptation. (Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)
Jack Kevorkian
Higgledy piggledy
Jacob Kevorkian
Fought for his principles,
Reckless and blithe.
Witness the death of the
Octogenarian:
Aided by only the
Man with the scythe. (David
Smith, Santa Cruz, Calif.)
Elizabeth Taylor
To “rest in peace,” said Elizabeth
T.,
“Is not my heart’s desire.
If Heaven is Heaven, Richard
B.
will set my soul on fire.”
(Rick Lempert, Arlington,
Va.)
Scuba inventor Christian J.
Lambertson
Diving tanks did you bequeath
So we could see what lies
beneath.
With sharks we have a
tete-a-tete
(And hope that they’ve
already et).
But now — it doesn’t quite
seem fair —
Your tank’s the one that’s
out of air. (Beverley Sharp)
Maria Schneider, co-star of
“Last Tango in Paris”
Before she passed, they heard
her mutter:
“That’s why in English it’s
called ‘butter.’ ” (Phil Battey, Alexandria, Va.)
Amy Winehouse
Amy, in that raspy voice,
Said, “Rehab? No, No, No!”
But sometimes you don’t have
a choice:
The Big Guy calls, you go.
(Christopher Lamora)
Amy Winehouse and Betty Ford
Betty in Heaven is quietly
smirking:
“At last there’s a rehab for
Amy that’s working.” (Kevin Dopart, Washington)
Mad Libs inventor Leonard
Stern
Leonard Stern passed from
here to hereafter;
’Twas his [noun] to amuse,
not perturb.
And he left us with [adjective]
laughter;
All in all, not a bad way to
[verb].
(Nan Reiner, Alexandria, Va.)
Arch West, creator of Doritos
Your chips, though not
healthy, can still make me smile,
A full and content caballero.
Here’s hoping your next world
will be Cool Ranch style,
And not Fiery Habanero. (Gary
Crockett)
Horror-movie actress Yvette
Vickers
We’d long since forgotten her
movies so rotten:
(The one with the leeches was
especially crummy.)
Her films weren’t iconic, but
her death was ironic,
For this maven of monsters
was discovered a mummy. (Christopher Lamora)
Superglue inventor Harry
Coover Jr.
In Harry Coover Jr.’s lab
Was synthesized a tiny dab
Of glue (cyanoacrylate)
That could restore a broken
plate,
But not his heart, (oh, darn
the luck);
So underground, the doc’s
been stuck. (Jeff Contompasis. Ashburn, Va.)
The actress Jane Russell,
anatomically gifted,
Died and (we hope) was to
Heaven uplifted.
She’ll perform with the
heavenly ladies and guys
If only they have a robe in
her size. (Louise Dodenhoff Hauser, Falls Church, Va., a First Offender)
For Whatumoana
Paki, consort of the queen,
The funeral’s
traditional, a festive tribal scene.
The bier’s adorned
with wreaths that are beribboned, bright and flow’ry.
Atop his coffin
sits a skull — a true memento Maori. (Chris Doyle)
Kim Jong-Il, the One Dear
Leader:
Could he have been of little
peter?
Why else sky-high platform
shoes?
Bouffant hair, expensive
booze?
“Look at me! I’m smarter,
stronger!
My missile stands up bigger,
longer!
Who cares if I’m 5-foot-2?
I can drop my bomb on you!”
(Jackie Binder, Charlottesville, Va., whose last Invite ink was a poem about
Osama bin Laden, shortly after Sept. 11, 2001)
Three breast-related deaths:
Jane Russell; Echo Valley, absurdly buxom porn star; and Elliot Handler,
co-creator of the Barbie doll
For lovers of bosoms
voluptuously cleft,
This year’s been immeasurably
sad:
Of Jane and then Echo the
world was bereft,
And let’s not forget Barbie’s
dad.
Our cups may have emptied
before we had planned,
But it’s not our place to
complain:
We’ll greet this triumvirate,
linked hand-in-hand,
While strolling down Mammary
Lane. (Nan Reiner)
To All North Koreans
(Sung to Charlie Chaplin’s
“Smile”)
Cry, though your heart’s not
aching;
Cry, even though you’re
faking;
Make it look real, though you
loathed
Kim Jong-Il . . .
Try to cry, or (I say with
sorrow)
You’ll be in jail tomorrow,
Gagging on kimchi that is
not. . . so hot . . .
So cry like you need
consoling,
Cry while the camera’s
rolling;
Dredge up a tear for your
Leader so Dear--
Weep and wail! Give your
grief expression;
Show how you love oppression!
You’ll find your life is
spared, and why?
Because you cry. (Beverley
Sharp)
Osama bin Laden
The hiding-and-seeking was
put to an end,
Our thirst for revenge had
been quenched.
A decade-long run but it
would not extend:
Al-Qaeda’s star player was
benched.
And times would be different
for Mr. Obama;
He thrived where George W.
failed.
His troops put an end to
elusive Osama,
The terrorist forces
curtailed.
The relief shared by millions
would last through the years;
At his hands no more people
would die.
More than Wall Street,
Gaddafi, Japan, it appears,
It’s the story of MMXI.
Yes, the year’s almost over;
it’s now safe to state
That no other event can exude
Such a genuine interest in
worldly aff— Wait!
Did you hear Lindsay Lohan
posed nude?!
(Brian Cohen, Lexington, Va.)
Next week: Clue Us In, or Gridiot’s Delight