The Style Invitational Week 961 The end of our rhops
By Pat Myers, Friday, March 2, 1:38 AM
“That can’t swim very well, Joey!”
The Empress did a contest for
rhopalic sentences, in which each successive word was one letter longer. Then
we did one in which each successive word was one letter shorter. Then — as you
see in today’s results — we asked for sentences whose words got longer till the
middle and then shrank, as well as those that shrank and then grew. And so
what’s left: the anti-rhopalic, suggested by Loser Craig Dykstra: Write a funny
passage or headline whose words all have the same number of letters, as in Bob
Staake’s not-so-ambitious example above (directions to Bob: “Write something
cartoonable”). As in earlier contests, two words joined by a hyphen may serve
as a single word or two words; for contractions such as “you’re,” just count
the number of letters and ignore the punctuation.
Winner gets the Inker, the
official Style Invitational trophy. Second place receives — since although it’s
by no means required, the E has a feeling there might be a few political
entries this week — matching little bags of “Democrap Donkey Dung” and
“Repooplican Elephant Dung”: “A little bag of political poop.” They are
actually chocolate-covered peanuts. Donated by Dave Prevar.
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, March 12;
results published April 1 (!) (March 30 online). No more than 25 entries per
entrant per week. Include “Week 961” 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 Chris Doyle; the subhead for this week’s
honorable mentions is by Gary Crockett. Join the Style Invitational Devotees on
Facebook at on.fb.me/invdev .
Report from Week 957, in which we asked you to write sentences or other passages in which
each successive word was longer until the middle and then shrank, or vice versa:
We also include today the “You know it’s going to be a bad marriage
. . .” jokes from Week 956.
The winner of the Inker
(10 letters to 3; 3 to 10)
Douchiness checklist: spray-tan, Cartier, fedora, Lexus, vest, “bro.” You make
being nearby utterly horrible. — Larchmont bellyacher (Bird Waring, Larchmont,
N.Y.)
2. Winner of the no-pictures
Braille copy of Playboy: (4 to 11 to 4) We’ve found unique pattern: renowned
rock-’n’-roll guitarists continually medicating, carousing, imbibing alcohol =
Twenty-Seven Club. (Matt Monitto, Elon, N.C.)
3. (1 to 7 to 1) “I do!” she
said aloud. Highly dubious, clammy groom said low: “Do I?” (Doug Delorge,
Biddeford, Maine, who last got ink in Week 13 — 1993)
4 (3 to 7; 7 to 3) “Now y’all
might kindly respect Peyton’s little bitty baby bro.” — E. Manning, New . .
York (Nan Reiner, Alexandria, Va.)
Very close. Cigar? Nope. Honorable mentions
Paul, wacko. Romney, foppish.
Gingrich, obnoxious. Santorum, atavist. Result? Obama wins. (Nan Reiner)
We met that enemy. Sadly,
Pogo, it’s U.S. (Kevin Dopart, Washington)
Parties, chicks, booze, long
nap, skip class, repeat: College. (Matt Monitto, Elon University Class of 2014)
I’m sad. Dear sweet Cousin
Whitney; Dionne’s powers didn’t ever see it. (Ira Allen, Bethesda, Md.)
(Burp!) “Ocean cruise” spells
“broad beam.” (Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)
Sometimes “standing ovation”
really means “grumpy patrons speedily departing.” (Craig Dykstra, Centreville,
Va.)
Studying Tinman’s rusted
ankle, Toto looks guilty (besides relieved). (Kevin Dopart)
Italian cruise ships head for
sea; they often return upright. (Dave Silberstein, College Park, Md., a First
Offender)
Countdown: Nineteen, sixteen,
twelve, eight, WAIT, HEY! six, STOP! . . . seven, eleven, fifteen,
fourteen, seventeen . . . (Lee Giesecke, Annandale, Va.)
Domestic harmony snooze alarm
rule: Hit it one time; extra delays outrage bedmates. (Mark Richardson,
Washington)
Best broad policy: honesty.
Marriage success: “Superb dress, dear.” (Kevin Dopart)
I’m fat! Love pizza, donuts,
sundaes, potatoes, chocolate, enchiladas, SpaghettiOs, griddle-cakes,
miscellaneous carbohydrates, sarsaparilla, gingerbread, milkshakes, deep-fried
anything — perhaps Atkins’ diet’s best for me. (Louise Dodenhoff Hauser, Falls
Church, Va.)
I do not flip-flop. But . . .
do I? (Robert Schechter, Dix Hills, N.Y.)
To Ron Paul, “Froth,” Romney,
Gingrich—political candidates endlessly screwing, praying, hating, aging—yeah,
it’s “no.” (Amanda Yanovitch, Midlothian, Va.)
On the rise, fiery Weiner.
Twitter disaster shrinks member. Folks joke. Rep.? No. (Ben Aronin, Arlington)
M.I.A. raps, flips finger;
Gisele flips; Pats MIA. (Mike Ostapiej, on assignment in Qatar)
Woebegone Redskins. Wizards
rotten. Ditto Caps. Yet fans’ hopes spring eternal. Champion Nationals?! (Nan
Reiner)
Eliminate gratuitous
verbosity. (Seth Brown, North Adams, Mass.)
Suck-up entry of the week (2
to 11 to 2): Is any life worth living without tackling whimsical conundrums,
stimulating vocabulary, enigmatic wordplay? Empress grants these joys for us.
(Neal Starkman, Seattle)
Anti-suck-up entry of the
week (12 to 3 to 12): Experiencing symmetrical perfection requiring wordplay —
Empress judges dimly with the IQ of ten, just count stupid letters watching
carefully, performing statistical mindlessness. (Jim Lubell, Mechanicsville,
Md.)
And Last:
Oh, you need HUMOR inside winning rhopalic sentences? Doltishly counting
letters exactly right won’t cut it? (Amanda Yanovitch)
From Week 956: You know it’s going to be a bad
marriage when. . .
The minister asks if anyone
objects to this marriage and God stands up. (Rob Huffman, Fredericksburg, Va.)
Her wedding gown says, “I’m
With Stupid.” (Beverley Sharp)
Someone calls you from
Match.com and anxiously says, “I really hope we’ve reached you in time.” (David
Ballard, Reston, Va.)
Her wedding dress reveals her
tramp stamp. (Art Grinath, Takoma Park, Md.)
Your fiance has a “Free Scott
Peterson” bumper sticker. (David Kleinbard, Jersey City)
Her matron of honor is Gloria
Allred. (Mark Welch, Alexandria, Va.)
The groom is about to place
the ring on the bride’s finger, and she grabs it saying, “I’ll just do it
myself.” (Judy Blanchard, Novi, Mich.)
When the groom insists that
the minister read the prenuptial agreement aloud “just so there’s no
misunderstanding.” (Roy Ashley, Washington)
When your fiance wants to
combine your honeymoon with a business trip to Gary, Indiana. (Kathy El-Assal,
Middletown, Wis.)
When her sister hates you,
and she’s her conjoined twin. (David Genser, Poway, Calif.)
When you spot the bride
winking at the best man — and the priest. (Tom Witte, Montgomery Village, Md.)
Next week: All’s Weller, or A Har Har Better Thing