The Style Invitational Week 965 Foaling Around
By Pat Myers,
Gemologist x Verne = Jewels
Harvard N Yale x Isn’t He Clever = Ivy Drip
Finnegans Wake x Plated = Impenetrable
It’s April, and even fools (er, especially fools) know that’s when the Losers play the ponies each year in one of our most popular and enduring contests. Below this week’s results is a list of 100 of the 3-year-old horses eligible (as of press time) to run in this year’s Triple Crown races. “Breed” any two of the horses and name their foal, as in the examples above. (Click here for a version of the list that’s easier to print out.) It matters not at all that virtually all the horses are male. As in the real racing world, the name must not exceed 18 characters including spaces and punctuation. Remember, there’s now a 25-entry limit, a modification that has turned the Empress almost semi-sane these recent years; in the Olden Days, some people would send as many as 600 entries. Especially this week, be sure to double-space your entries; it’s really hard to read long lists of single-spaced ones. Make sure you spell the horses’ names correctly, because I use the search function as I look at the entries for each horse on the list, and I sure don’t want to miss your brilliance.
Winner gets the Inker or possibly another Style Invitational trophy (to be determined) if we can’t replenish our supply. Second place receives a fine set of fake mustaches: the Mario, the Dali, the Magnum, the Hogan, the Chaplin and the Einstein (wearing more than one at a time is not advised). Donated by Craig Dykstra.
Other runners-up win their choice of a coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt, a yearned-for Loser Mug or the brand-new, yet-to-be-designed but surely hotly desired Grossery Bag, a lightweight tote. Honorable mentions get a lusted-after Loser magnet. First Offenders get a smelly, tree-shaped air “freshener” (Fir Stink for their first ink). E-mail entries to email@example.com or fax to 202-334-4312. Deadline is Monday, April 9; results published April 29, the Sunday before Derby Day (they’ll be posted online April 27). No more than 25 entries per entrant per week. Include “Week 965” 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 washingtonpost.com/styleinvitational. The revised title for next week’s results is by Judy Blanchard; the subhead for this week’s honorable mentions is by Roy Ashley. Join the Style Invitational Devotees on Facebook at on.fb.me/invdev.
Report from Week 961, in which we asked you to write anti-rhopalic passages — in which all words had the same number of letters (hyphenated compound words could count as either one word or two):
The winner of the Inker
Mitt Rues Road Trip From Hell
Mitt, wife, five sons. Mutt, cage, auto roof. Long ride, much wind. Poop drip. Woof! Tagg: “Yuck, stop!” ARCO sign. Pull over. Whoa, real mess! Hose down auto rear, mutt. Pull back onto road. (Chris Doyle, Ponder, Tex.)
2. Winner of the little bags of “Democrap Donkey Dung” and “Repooplican Elephant Dung” (really chocolate-coated peanuts): Rick says gays’ vows will mean four-ways, dogs with cats, hand cart into Hell. . . . Jeez, Rick, calm down, take your meds. (Gary Crockett, Chevy Chase, Md.)
3. “Dude, with that face, even butt-ugly gals won’t make time with your kind.”
“Yeah? That ain’t what your mama said.” (Craig Dykstra, Centreville, Va.)
4. Empress watches quality entries decline, notices editors growing cynical. Finally cancels contest, trashes statues, magnets; regains dignity writing society stories, dog-show reports. (John Glenn, Tyler, Tex.)
Mugs, nope; tees, nope: Honorable mentions
“Let’s make some good grub!” said chef Deen. “Ribs, pork buns, BLTs, flan, lime bars, Oreo cake, beef tips, clam dips, corn dogs, Yule logs, jams, yams, hams, pies with lard — lots!” BURP. “Whoa. Feel sick. Weak. Can’t move legs, arms. How’d THAT come down?” (Melissa Balmain, Rochester, N.Y.)
Dems mock 2012 prez race: “Just fire your foes, Mitt! Slam that gals’ pill, Rick! More moon base talk, Newt! Push them gold bars, Paul!” (Chris Doyle)
Dude, pass that bong over here; we’ll show that good weed aids one’s voca- . . .[puff] . . . lang- [drag] . . . word list! (Mark Richardson, Washington)
After right wing’s group nixes donor money limit, left’s Maher sends Obama extra bucks. Using other words: Glass house owner hurls giant stone. (Jeff Contompasis, Ashburn, Va.)
Deep down, even avid fans know that “slut” fits Rush best. (Brad Alexander, Wanneroo, Australia)
When they hear Mitt, Rick, Paul, Newt,
Most Dems note lies, roll eyes, push mute. (Dave Silberstein, College Park, Md.)
Hand over some fish, feed them just once. Give them some nets, feed them even more. Also, send rods, bait, beer. (Jeff Contompasis)
Santorum, Decrying ‘Biblical Betrayal,’ Deplores ‘Elephant-Antelope’ Marriage; ‘Aardvark-Tortoise’ Marriage Likewise Assailed (Robert Schechter, Dix Hills, N.Y.)
Able were y’all till y’all seen Elba. (Gary Crockett)
Retired federal manager, current Wal-Mart greeter, ten-time widower. Hobbies include birding, macrame, ikebana, fencing, braille Yahtzee, virtual sorcery, Klingon cuisine, genital origami, extreme bondage, torture devices, autopsy reports. Seeking wealthy dowager, skilled midwife, college student, curious females. Romance? (Chris Doyle)
“Rx” is to “ho” as “ef up” is to me. — R. Limbaugh (Kevin Dopart, Washington)
So, do we do it or no? It is up to me, eh? So we do! … Er … my, um, “up” is no go. Oy. (Josh Feldblyum, Philadelphia)
“The Old Man and the Sea”? Huh? Who? Wha? Due now??? Can you say “GED”? (Louise Dodenhoff Hauser, Falls Church)
Hey, bro! I’ve had all top ten:
Boy Toy, Mad Man, Gay Guy, Top Gun,
Art Nut, Gal Pal, Bad Ole Boy, Lil Kid,
Dry Wit and Fat Cat. (But not Wet Dog.)
But you, bro:
I’ll lie for you, cry, die for you.
You are the one! Luv, Sis (Toni Smiley, Washington, a First Offender)
Star-Girt Flag (to “The Star-Spangled Banner”)
What have your eyes seen, with that rosy dawn glow?
Does this look like that item when pale dusk last fell?
Wide line upon star when blow upon blow,
Over fort edge thus seen does with true grit wave well.
When ruby fire sang, amid bomb with loud bang,
Gave clue that dark time that this flag will long hang.
Pray tell that this star-girt flag does also wave,
Over this free land, home that bold ones save. (Angus Walker, London, a First Offender)
And this tour de force that is a single entry of seven-letter words:
Imagine someday reading WashPo’s letter-H neology contest results!
Hormelt: Grilled cheddar-hamwich.
Henpecs: Chicken breasts.
Hefnerd: Trekkie playboy.
Homepoi: Waikiki gangsta.
Ho-humps: Hooker’s closing clients.
Hamjobs: Pulling porkers.
Humpire: Efferee. (Chris Doyle)
Losers resent octopi — they’re ALWAYS inking. (Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)
Myers fired! Axing “fluff,” Post’s board nixes Style pages. Final issue today. (April Fools!) (Nan Reiner, Alexandria, Va.)
Next week: Questionable Journalism, or Pressing Questions