The Style Invitational Week 987 Bank shots
By Pat Myers, Thursday, September 6, 7:01 PM
Real Washington Post headline: Md.
agency on a mission to unclog greasy sewer arteries
Fake bank head: ‘Stop eating all those
Big Macs,’ health dept. urges seamstresses
In this perennial Invite
contest — formerly called “Mess With Our Heads” when space used to allow it in
the print paper — we ask you to take any headline, verbatim, appearing anywhere
in The Post or on washingtonpost.com from Sept. 6 through Sept. 17 and
reinterpret it by adding a “bank head,” or subtitle (like the joke bank head
offered under the actual Post headline above). For heads in the print paper,
include the date and page number; for heads from the Web, give the date and
copy a sentence or two of the story (even better, copy the URL from the address
bar). You don’t have to use the entire headline, but don’t skip words or change
the essential meaning by cutting off the end, as from “President kills bill” to
“President kills.” Headlines in ads and subheads within an article (as well as
actual bank heads) can be used, as well as one-line links to articles online,
but not photo captions. See last year’s results at wapo.st/inv920.
Winner gets the Inkin’
Memorial, the bobblehead that is the official Style Invitational trophy. Second
place receives an especially weird little toy from Japan, home to many, many
weird toys. This one comes in a plastic capsule a little bigger than an egg,
and features a teeny plastic pink potty containing two even teenier piles of
bright yellow rubbery poo. Given out, appropriately, as a door prize at the
Losers’ recent awards luncheon, the Flushies. Donated by Marleen May.
Other runners-up win their
choice of a yearned-for Loser Mug or the ardently desired Grossery Bag.
Honorable mentions get a lusted-after Loser magnet. First Offenders receive a
smelly, 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,
Sept. 17; results published Oct. 7 (online Oct. 4). No more than 25 entries per
entrant per week. Include “Week 987” in your e-mail subject line or it might be
ignored as spam. Include your real name, postal address and phone number with
your entry. See contest rules and guidelines at wapo.st/inviterules. The
subhead for this week’s honorable mentions is by Kevin Dopart; the alternative
headline in the “next week’s results” line is by Tom Witte. Join the lively
Style Invitational Devotees group on Facebook at on.fb.me/invdev.
Report from Week 983, our annual Limerixicon, in which we seek limericks focusing on a word
from a sliver of the dictionary — this year it was eq- through ez-:
The winner of the Inkin’ Memorial
When poor Fido is “no longer
here,”
We use words that are soft
but less clear.
We may say he’s “passed on”
Or “put down” or just “gone”
–
See, we’ve had the dog
euphemized, dear. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills, Md.)
2. Winner of the
rotting-zombie Mirror Clings:
From my exorcist (feeling
hard-pressed)
I beseeched time to pay.
Should have guessed
He would say there’s no way.
I must settle today,
Or tomorrow I’ll be
repossessed. (Stephen Gold, Glasgow, Scotland)
3. If we’re asked
to coin terms that define
How both Mitt and
Barack cross the line
With campaigns
that attack
And exhibit a lack
Of all qualms,
“ethic cleansing” is mine. (Chris Doyle, Ponder, Tex.)
4. “I’ve heard what you
shepherd boys do
When you’re looking for
something to. . . woo.
But take me to bed
And you’ll find out,” she
said,
“That I’m quite a bit better
than ewe.” (Craig Dykstra, Centreville, Va.)
Lower lims: Honorable mentions
It’s a subject I’m not keen
to touch on:
A blot on the family
escutcheon.
The king granted arms
To Great-Grandma, whose
charms
He enjoyed when I fear she’d
not much on. (Hugh Thirlway, The Hague)
“If it’s true non-consensual
sex, it
Doesn’t ‘take’; the gal’s
body rejects it!”
So says candidate Akin.
Abort THAT mistake, an’
Show Mr. Cro-Magnon the exit.
(Nan Reiner, Alexandria, Va.)
In election years, pols never
fail
To say foolish things out on
the trail,
Though you’ll probably not
Hear one claim, “I smoked pot
In my youth, but I didn’t
exhale.” (Chris O’Carroll, Emporia, Kan.)
The upper-class lady who
gloats
As she shows off expensive
fur coats
Doesn’t know that the ermine
Is a weaselly vermin.
She’s wearing the skins of
dead stoats! (Dixon Wragg, Santa Rosa, Calif.)
Exhibitionist Mr. van Lear
Has been told to quit
flashing ’round here,
Which has left him
nonplussed,
And he’s asked, “Can’t I just
Stick it out till the end of
the year?” (Brendan Beary)
A printed mistake’s an
erratum,
And an editor’s needed to
spot ’em.
But as newspaper copy
Gets more and more sloppy,
I fear that won day we’ll hit
boddum. (Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)
In the District some think
it’s all right
That integrity’s not black
and white:
Where politicos stray,
The area’s Gray
And real ethics are nowhere
in sight. (Kevin Dopart, Washington)
While his wife’s horse is
overseas prancing,
Romney’s poll numbers aren’t
advancing.
Though equestrian sport
May play well with his sort,
It’s a joke to the folks out
in Lansing. (Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.)
“Fifty Shades”: just erotic,
or porn?
It’s a question with many a
thorn.
Here’s a clue: When your kid
Found you reading it, did
You wish fiercely you’d never
been born? (Melissa Balmain, Rochester, N.Y.)
Said the lecturer: ‘Troubled
digestions --
Check them, empty, for any
congestions:
The patient must fast
For esophagogast-
-roduodenoscopy. Questions?”
(Hugh Thirlway)
A potbellied priest told me,
“You’re
Possessed by the Devil, for
sure.
But your timing’s sublime
’Cause my doctor says I’m
Out of shape and should
exorcise more.” (Robert Schechter, Dix Hills, N.Y.)
A clearer of
timber devours
Viagra in search
of new powers,
But he takes it
too far:
Now he’s in the
ER,
Where he’s logged
more than 44 hours. (Chris Doyle)
An experienced lady from
Gloucester
Told a fellow who tried to
accoucester:
“Though I’m busy today,
If you’re willing to pay,
Then tomorrow you’ll be on my
roucester.” (Brian Allgar, Paris)
Escargot is a dish made of
snail
That sophisticates often
impale
On fine forks and consume
In an elegant room
When good taste and good
sense don’t prevail. (Max Gutmann, Cupertino, Calif.)
To exaggerate means
overstate:
“I could pop!” means I just
overate.
I can claim that this rhyme
Is THE BEST OF ALL TIME!
(But that’s subject, it
seems, to debate. . .) (Beverley Sharp)
After so many years’
immorality,
Would I really enjoy
immortality?
I’m at sixes and sevens,
Since sex up in Heaven’s
An unlikely eventuality.
(John Whitworth, Canterbury, England, a First Offender)
Great-Grandma was seldom in
estrus,
But when estrus came ’round,
sex was bestrus.
She undressed with finesse
And dispensed her largess
With success — thus became my
ancestress. (Sheila Blume, Sayville, N.Y.)
Our relationship isn’t
complex;
We hook up on occasion for
sex.
Then we’re filled with self-loathing,
We put on our clothing –
And that’s the routine with
my ex. (Brendan Beary)
A candidate, asked to explain
How he managed so well with
no brain,
Said, “I never get flustered
When I can’t cut the mustard.
And none of my names is
Hussein.” (Edmund Conti, Raleigh, N.C.)
Sure, I’m dressed in an
outfit that’s steamy
And flattered you find me so
dreamy.
But now should I run
’Cause that’s either a gun
Or you’re really erumpent to
see me. (Kevin Dopart)
I’ve studied quite hard at
theology,
Yet never quite aced
eschatology:
Will the Maker require
That I roast in a fire
Or accept a few words of
apology? (Graham Lester, Roeland Park, Kan.)
The Norgay and
Hillary show
Conquered Everest
six decades ago.
It’s different
today:
You fight crowds
all the way,
And the scene at
the top’s SRO. (Chris Doyle)
Baby swallowed some dimes
from a jar,
So we rushed to the doc. It’s
bizarre;
We’re assured he’ll expel,
And soon all will be well,
But no change is apparent so
far. (Stephen Gold)
My plans to get published?
Defeated.
There are gaps, so my book’s
not completed.
Though the writing went well,
Now it’s all gone to
[censored],
Since the expletives all are
deleted. (Beverley Sharp)
The =’s two little dashes;
Don’t confuse it with +s or
#s,
Nor with decimal dots,
Which are nothing but spots,
As though sums were
developing rashes. (Hugh Thirlway)
It’s a look that’s outlived
many fads:
Just a flowery sundress and
spads
(Short for “espadrilles”),
yet
I admit I’m upset,
For the outfit, in this case,
is Dad’s. (Brendan Beary)
And last:
I know how this contest is
endin’.
Excited and proud, I will
send in
Some rhymes that can’t lose,
Then the Empress will choose
Some funnier limericks by
Brendan. (Robert Schechter)
And Even Laster:
A classic Style Invite
submission
Requires one part erudition,
One part imbecility
And two parts puerility;
Mix well; serve without
inhibition. (Nan Reiner)
Next week’s results: (A)nother (B)rilliant (C)ontest —
(D)o (E)nter, or Just Keep Losing, Morons