Week 289: Play It Again, Sham


Studio 44 -- A famous 1970s discotheque where everyone got high on cough syrup. (David Genser, Arlington)

The dance of the 8 veils -- The gals in the harem need to cut down on the baklava. (David Genser, Arlington)

Playing the Baker's Dozens -- Jewish version of "playing the dozens." Instead of insulting your opponent's mom, you wish her bad luck. "May yo mama's chicken soup curdle up like a shikse at a bris." (David Genser, Arlington)

The Czar came up with the idea of this week's contest on Monday after discovering a stack of unread entries to the contest whose results were published last Sunday. In that contest, you had to alter by one the number contained in some expression, and revise its meaning; the best of these unread entries are printed above. Now, the Czar believes that if life gives you lemons, you should squirt them into the eyes of someone you really don't like very much, like Satan or that kid who plays Urkel. So he decided to run the Style Invitational's second Second Time Around contest, in which you are invited to submit entries to any previous contest, ideas you may have thought of after the contest deadline had passed. Don't submit things you previously submitted; we will cross-reference all new entries with our international database of rejected entries, and disqualify any persons plagiarizing themselves. First-prize winner receives a 40-year-old gilded commemorative plate featuring likenesses of America's First Family. For some reason, Ike appears to be wearing more lipstick than Mamie.

First runner-up gets the tacky but estimable Style Invitational Loser Pen. Other runners-up receive the coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt. Honorable Mentions get the mildly sought-after Style Invitational bumper sticker. Winners will be selected on the basis of humor and originality. Mail your entries to the Style Invitational, Week 289, c/o The Washington Post, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071; fax them to 202-334-4312; or submit them via Internet to this address: loserswashpost.com. Internet users: Please indicate the week number in the "subject" field. Also, please do not append "attachments," which tend not to be read. Entries must be received on or before Monday, Oct. 5. Important: Please include your postal address and phone number. Winners will be announced three weeks from today. Editors reserve the right to alter entries for taste, humor or appropriateness. No purchase necessary. Today's Sign No One Heeds was written by Maureen Flaherty and Russell Beland of Springfield. Employees of The Washington Post and members of their immediate families are not eligible for prizes.

Report from Week 286, in which you were invited to come up with Clintoons, cartoons crafted from any of 14 caricatures we supplied.

Second Runner-Up:

Gosh, Monica, I didn't realize it was an exploding cigar.

(Kathy Braman, Bowie)

First Runner-Up:

I hope to make America forget about The Babe.

(Dave Zarrow, Herndon;

Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)

And the winner of of Big John, "the electronic flush and burp game," suitable for ages 5 and up:

Mr. Clinton, did you ever have any physical contact of a sexual nature with Monica Lewinsky?

What do you mean by contact?

Physical contact of a sexual nature is defined as touching or being touched in the armpit, the elbow, or . . .

LATER . . . .

. . . dorsal surface of the calf, the heel, insole, or the toes of either foot with the intent to sexually arouse . . .

What exactly do you mean by touching?

Touching is defined as the impingement of the skin upon . . .

LATER . . . .

. . . or the eyeball or viscera. Your answer, sir? Mr. President?

I'm sorry, I've forgotten the question.

(Meg Sullivan, Potomac)

Honorable Mentions:

Dammit, Bill. The people are demanding that you admit guilt.

But I've already admitted guilt.

It's not enough. They want you to say you're sorry.

But I'm not sorry.

They don't care if you mean it.

They just want you to say it.

You mean they want me to lie? But I've already lied!

(John Kammer, Herndon)

Don't worry, Mr. President, as your lawyers we think things are progressing well. It ain't over till the fat lady sings.

That's great guys, except for one thing . . .

I'm ready for my solo, Mr. Starr.

(David Ferry, Leesburg)

Accountants from Price Waterhouse try to determine who has scored more during the past year.

(Rebecca Frank, Fairfax)

The house voted to impeach, I resigned, and Hillary left me.'

Her divorce lawyer is on the way over now.

I wonder who it is?

(Philip Vitale, Arlington)

I'm aiming for 68.

Aim just a little higher, my boy.

(Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)

My zone is between my chest and my knees.

What a coincidence

. . .

(Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)

Yessss! I'm not the worst leader in the world!

(Jean Sorensen, Herndon)

And let's not forget, hon, they admit there's a one in 7.87 trillion chance the stain wasn't mine . . . .

(Ralph Scott, Washington)

Next Week: Before and Aftermath