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Copyright The Washington Post Company Jun 16,
1996
This Week's Contest: Why are these people smiling? Choose one, or more
than one. First-prize winner gets a "Remote-Controlled Electronic Fart
Machine," a fine product of the People's Republic of China. It is,
according to the box, a "state of the art, high-tech electronic
replacement for the now obsolete inflatable rubber Whoopie Cushion." This
is a value of $25. Runners-up, as always, receive the coveted Style
Invitational Loser's T-shirt. Honorable Mentions get the mildly
sought-after Style Invitational bumper sticker. Winners will be selected
on the basis of humor. Mail your entries to The Style
Invitational, Week 170, c/o The Report from Week 167, in which you were asked to invent cinquains, revoltingly precious poems in successive lines of two, four, six, eight, and two syllables. Third Runner-Up: Snowflakes. Faerie doilies, Angels' lace petticoats Drift and swirl like souls of kittens. Oh, barf. (Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park) Second Runner-Up: Oh God, If Madonna Bears a boy, and wants A Spanish name, let it not be Jesus. (Jessica Steinhice, Washington) First Runner-Up: Bob Dole, Old but virile; Tyrannosaurus Sex, O, dark, rapacious veloci- Rapture! (Jennifer Hart, Arlington) And the winner of the shredded-currency pillow: Oh dear, Sylvia Plath, Down went your spirits, and Up went the gas, and now life you No hath. (Christine Tabbert, Woodbridge) Honorable Mentions: He goes, "The moon's way cool, Would you like to, you know . . ." And I'm like yuck, I mean, no way, As if. (Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park) Received: One submission From a T. Kaczynski. Though, please note, we would much prefer E-mail. (Russ Horner, Alexandria) Riding The Red Line is Splendiferous, but I Wish he knew the S is silent. Grosvenor. (Doris Nachman, Springfield, Mo.) My muse, My cinquain muse, James Bond, I call to you. Give me your poetic license To kill! (Joseph Romm, Washington) Swan, so Graceful, arches Its delicate neck and Wriggles its feathered rump as if To poop. (Bonnie Speary Devore, Rockville) If a Tree falls in the Woods and no one's around, Does it make a sound? Listen close: "Oh {expletive}" (Joseph Romm, Washington) The morgue, Buckets of brains, Seventy-four corpses, Crematorium on the fritz. Death stinks. (Paul Kondis, Alexandria) British Cow, why didst thou Eat sheep? They fed you your Death sentence. Doesn't it make you Mad, cow? (Sarah Worcester, Bowie) The morn, Breaking bright on This glorious roundness, This heavenly creation, this Bagel. (Susan Reese, Arlington) You want To have my child? What a lovely way to Say how much you love me. Where's the Condom? (Joseph Romm, Washington) Bite me Is a rebuke Useful with many guys But it wasn't good to say to Dahmer. (Kevin Cuddihy, Fairfax) Sea Dogs. Unchosen name! But why? Who knows? I frown and keep on braiding my lover's Nose hair. (Jennifer Hart, Arlington) The me- ter of this cin- quain is off by a lou- sy syllable. Now it's ruint, son- of-a- (John Kammer, Herndon) Roses Are red, violets Are blue, sugar is sweet, This contest smells even worse than Cleveland. (Dave Zarrow, Herndon) Crapsey Wrote her cinquains Long ago; this Vassar grad Now haunts us, her ghostly footfalls A thud. (Christine Gallant, Bowie)And Last: Winners Are selected On the basis of wit And originality. And I'm pope. (Joseph Romm, Washington) NEXT WEEK: License To Carry A Pun |
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