Mate CAPTAIN AMOUR with CARRIER and name the foal MAJORCASEOFTHECLAP

Mate J. ALFRED PRUFROCK with REGION OF MERIT and name the foal EAT A PEACH

Mate IRISH GAMBLER with COLLATERAL DAMAGE and name the foal LOST THE HOUSE

Mate DUBAI LIGHTNING with EXCESSIVE PLEASURE

and name the foal DUBAIYOURPLEASURE

As it is every year around this time, this week's contest was suggested by Mike "Mikey the Tout" Hammer of Arlington. Mate any two of the horses qualifying for this year's Triple Crown and tell us the name of their foal, as in the examples above. (The list is elsewhere on this page, and on washingtonpost.com) You may ignore the horses' actual genders, if you happen to know them. Maximum 18 characters, including spaces. There are more horses this year than ever before, and this spells trouble. That's because this contest, year after year, impels ordinarily sane human beings to lose their minds. They do not sleep or eat. They submit hundreds of entries apiece, and the judging process becomes a fight against fatigue, torpor and unconsciousness. This year, the madness stops. To whinny down entries in this contest, we are setting a limit of 25 per person. The restraint will be good for you. First prize is a horizontal-striped convict costume. First runner-up wins the tacky but estimable Style Invitational Loser Pen. Other runners-up win the coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt. Honorable mentions get the mildly sought-after Style Invitational bumper sticker. Send your entries via fax to 202-334-4312 or by e-mail to losers@washpost.com.U.S. mail entries are no longer accepted. Deadline is Monday, April 7. All entries must include the week number of the contest and your name, postal address and telephone number. E-mail entries must include the week number in the subject field. Contests will be judged on the basis of humor and originality. All entries become the property of The Washington Post.

Entries may be edited for taste or content. Results will be published in four weeks. No purchase required for entry. Employees of The Washington Post, and their immediate relatives, are not eligible for prizes. Pseudonymous entries will be disqualified. The revised title for next week's contest is by Thos. Witte of Gaithersburg.

Report from Week CLXII, in which you were asked to summarize a highly complex issue in words of one syllable:

{diam}Fourth Runner-Up

God told us, "Thou shalt not kill."

We say sure, but it's fine to kill folks who don't like our God.

God says, "No, thou shalt not kill."

We say sure, but it's cool so long as it's just those guys who dress in rags and have beards.

God says, "No, write this down. Thou shalt not kill."

We say, "Sure. Now who is this "thou" guy you mean?

God does not like this.

(Robert Carlisle, Arlington)

{diam}Third Runner-Up

Criminal recidivism:

The high court just gave the green light to "three strikes" laws. If you rob a bike, pass a bad check and sell pot, you can get life in jail. Of course, it's poor folks who do time for crimes like these. If you have big bucks, you can kill and have a Dream Team on your side in court. You'll get life, all right: a life of wine, chicks and golf. (Chris Doyle, Forsyth, Mo.)

{diam}Second Runner-Up

Geopolitics:

Pour their vin right down a drain,

Name those fries Brit Chips.

Dogs with shaved top knots are lame,

Smooch with tight closed lips.

Call it a paned, two-part door,

And say your maid is Swiss;

If they won't help us with a war,

You know what they can kiss.

(Phyllis Kepner, Columbia)

{diam}First Runner-Up

The debate surrounding somatic cell nuclear transfer technology:

If we clone a man, things might go ronwg. (Sally Fasman, Washington)

{diam}And the winner of the mouse pad in the shape of a Swanson's TV Dinner:

Quantum physics:

This thing, it is not there nor here.

This thing of mine, it acts quite queer.

Launched at a screen with just one hole,

It's like a ball -- A shot! A goal!

But if two holes I make quite wide,

Then as a wave, it through will glide.

The chance of hit or miss (in math)

Is wave height squared. On no one path

It moves, but all paths swift doth run.

I tell you true (I don't make fun)

In sum, I'll say it in a trice:

Old Al was wrong, God DOES play dice.

(R.N. Oerter, Riverdale)

{diam}Honorable Mentions:

Civil rights vs. national security:

Since the bad day two years back, the feds have this thing where they want to know what sites you surf on the Web, and whom you hang with: In short, they want to be rid of that Bill of Rights stuff that lets you do your own thing. They want to press their boots on your throat and . . .

"Sir, we'd like to ask you a few things . . . "

Huh, where'd you come from?

"Sir, please step from your desk and keep your hands in plain view."

Hey, wait, I was just . . .

"You have the right to -- nah, skip that."

(Brendan Beary, Great Mills, Md.)

The utilization of adenovirus vectors to splice exogenous DNA into cells to prevent inherited metabolic neurodegenerative

processes:

You have bad genes. Your bad genes will make your brain rot. I have good genes. My good genes can stop your brain rot. I will use germs to give you my good genes.

(Paul Roney, Arlington)

Read, write, do math -- that is so Old School. You must treat each kid with care, make sure they are not sad. So what if they do not spel or speak so good, no big thing. Want fries with that? (Tom Greening, North Bethesda)

A group of nuts claimed they cloned a girl. No way, say some, but still. "No clones!" the White House cries. "Stem cells are out, too!" Well, stem cells can cure folks who are sick and could die. "Let's not play God," says the White House. Well, they should know. (Sandra Cohen and Daniel Geselowitz, Bethesda)

No two folks have the same prose style. The man who wrote "The Old Man and the Sea" wrote like this. James Joyce did not. (Ken Gallant, Little Rock)

Zoo deaths should be rare. Those who used to take care of the beasts knew how to feed them and make sure their dens were clean, safe and warm. But new guys came in and, though they did not mean to, killed some of our friends with fur. Now the zoo needs to get rid of these new guys and find some folks who know how to do their jobs and keep the beasts safe so they can live in peace, not rest in it. (Kelley Eiskant, Silver Spring)

Joe had lots of bucks, not. You had lots of brains and taste, not. Fox made lots of bucks, that much is true. You spoke, they heard. Hold on, the next wave of trash is on its way. (Tom Greening, North Bethesda)

Let's see what we have here: cheese, ham, three jugs of milk, hot dogs, rolls, two loaves of bread, a bag of chips, jam, cans of corn, green beans, soups, a few jars of strained peas for the kid. All right. Now, what does this sign say? Shall I read it to you? Twelve things or less, this aisle. Is this so hard, to count to twelve? What is the point you fail to grasp here? (Brendan Beary, Great Mills, Md.)

Bush says the guy in the sand may pose a threat, we must act first. I think the guy next door may pose a threat. So I will act first. (Luan Pham, Silver Spring)

When they wrote songs as a team, John and Paul were the best of all time. Then John got shot dead and Paul wrote a theme for James Bond. (Suki Litchfield, Andover, Mass.)

Fred is dead, and kids young and old mourn the loss. He was a kind soul. Like all of us, he put on his shoes one at a time, though it did take him quite a long time to get the job done. And yet, just once it would have been nice to see him whack a dog, yell at some kids, tear the set to bits. You know? (Jeff Brechlin,

Potomac Falls)