The Department of Edjoocashun: Skyy vodka, Absolut vodka, and Kool Aid.

The Trent Lott: White wine with bitters, on the rocks.

The Strom: Southern Comfort, Old Granddad and prune juice. Taken intravenously.

This week's contest was proposed by Catherine Messina of Alexandria, who suggests that you follow the trend of trendier bars, which are creating interesting "signature" cocktails. Catherine invites you to come up with a drink named forsomething or someone associated with Washington, and to describe the drink, as in the examples above. First-prize winner gets a hand-crafted, limited- edition wooden replica, suitable for mounting, of the Casino Windsor in Windsor, Ontario. It was donated to the Style Invitational by:

No, we couldn't read it either.

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, June 2. 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 byPhyllis Kepner of Columbia.

Report from Week 503,

in which we asked you to produce Muldoons, in homage to the Pulitzer Prize-winning poem of Princeton professor Paul Muldoon: With a toe in the water / and a nose for trouble / and an eye to the future / I would drive through Derryfubble. Your Muldoon had to be a single quatrain containing at least one rhyme, two body parts, and a geographical location.

{diam}Third Runner-Up:

A diamond from Africa, financed from Ronnie,

And the next seven years with your nose to the grindstone;

But here's a suggestion: If you've got the honey

Her finger would never suspect it's a rhinestone.

(Bill Strider, Gaithersburg)

{diam}Second Runner-Up:

With toes on my foot

And my foot in a sock

And a sock on my other foot,

I wore shoes in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. (Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park)

{diam}First Runner-Up:

This poem is stoopid, ungainly, perverse,

It's leaden, and puerile, and couldn't be worse.

But it rhymes, mentions "earlobe," "mustache" and "Milan"

So send me my Pulitzer, quick as you can.

(Elden Carnahan, Laurel)

{diam}And the winner of the Mcedo, a banana-leaf penis-cap from Malawi:

A dyslexic

In Pueblo

Can't tell his sas

From his eblow.

(Chris Doyle, Burke)

{diam}Honorable Mentions:

For a jab below the belly,

Or a kick between the knees,

Avoid a major owie

With a mcedo from Malawi.

(Carl Katz, Potomac)

Her birth month is October

But she's hopin' that some dope'll

Put diamonds on her ears or hand

(She just Constantinople).

(Greg Arnold, Herndon)

The candidate's got teary eyes,

His liver's soaked with Hennessy,

His depression's understandable,

He lost his own state -- Tennessee. (Nick Dierman, San Francisco)

I open my eyes --

Las Vegas! How nice!

But I'm missing a kidney

And packed in ice.

(Jennifer Hart, Arlington)

Rest your weary feet in

Intercourse, Pee Ay.

Let your eyes take in

The land of the lay.

(Mark Young, Washington)

Fevered brows, runny noses,

Failing lungs, inflamed mucosas.

Get out of Toronto

Pronto.

(Chris Doyle, Burke)

His hand on her knee,

Orlando told Doris:

"I'd sure like to tickle your

Rectus femoris."

(Dr. Steve Fahey, Kensington)

An agile young lass from Fort Hunt,

Liked to crack open nuts as a stunt;

Brazils with her toes,

Pecans with her nose.

(Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park)

With 12 toes in the water,

And nine noses for trouble,

And eight eyes to the future,

I would blast Earth to rubble.

(Eyakmnahtanoj, Alpha Centauri)

(Jonathan M. Kaye, Washington)

With some tripe about tonsils and toenails,

And some crap about Cork and Kinnitty,

I would sure put one over, begorra,

On the Pulitzer voting committee. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)

My head in the sand?

My legs in the rubble?

I'm in Samarkand.

What you bombed was my double. (Sandra Segal, Rockville)

Our throats are not sore,

Our cool brows feel like spring,

Tourists please come to visit:

No one's sick in Beijing.

(Jeff Brechlin, Potomac Falls)

What a splendid old cosmos we live in!

Its errant delights know no bounds.

For the "Isles of Langerhans" are body parts

And "Elbow" and "Gizzard" are towns. (Elden Carnahan, Laurel)

{diam}And Last:

A special award of a T-shirt and corn plaster for:

Sand crud in my eyes,

Long hikes, tired thighs.

Blisters on feet --

Get me out of Tikrit.

(Capt. J.C. Spugnardi,

2nd Force Reconnaissance Company,

1st Marine Expeditionary Force,

Occupied Iraq)