Week XII (345): Picture This
This Week's Contest:
What is going on in these cartoons? Choose one or more. First-prize winner gets a rare copy of the 530-page, lavishly illustrated, gold-leaf hardcover book "Automatic Sprinkler Performance in Australia and New Zealand, 1886-1968." It's worth $ 20.
First runner-up wins the tacky but estimable Style Invitational Loser Pen. Other runners-up win the coveted Style Invitational Loser T-Shirt. The Uncle's Pick wins the yet-to-be-designed but soon-to-be-coveted "The Uncle Loves Me" T-shirt. Send your entries via fax to 202-334-4312, or by e-mail to losers@washpost.com, or by U.S. mail to The Style Invitational, Week XII, c/o The Washington Post, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071. Deadline is Monday, April 24. All entries must include the contest's week number and your name, postal address and a daytime or evening telephone number. E-mail entries must include the week number in the message field. Contests will be judged on the basis of humor and originality. All entries become the property of The Washington Post. Editors reserve the right to edit entries 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.
REPORT FROM WEEK VIII (341), in which we asked you to emulate a recent magazine story about David Gergen that used only the letters in David Gergen's name.
We received the following communication from one Francis Heaney, the author of the magazine story, who complained that we should have given him credit. He made this complaint in an e-mail employing only the letters in the name Francis Heaney: "His anarchic, fancy-free farce earns Francis nary a reference? Fishy!"
* Third Runner-Up:
I, James Carville, am clear:
I rave, I slam as I smear.
I revile, I am vile,
I release slime as I smile.
I serve evil as a career.
(Earle M. Crum, Seabrook, Tex.)
* Second Runner-Up:
Diana, the Princess of Wales:
A car careens: I die, in Paris, France. Crowds near a palace and pile flowers. In a slow parade, princes and lower classes pass a pained slew of Windsors. An earl's screed assails a flawed clan (inside, no one claps).
Sadness increases sales of
"Candle in the Wind" and old dresses. Laid cold on an isle, I fade as roses do. A world cares, cries, and, wearied, presses on.
(Paul McClure, Washington)
* First Runner-Up:
Cher: Echhh.
(Malcolm Visser, Clifton)
* And the winner of the Y2K Apocalypse book:
Monica Lewinsky: Well, I was, like, a woman, y'know. William was, y'know, like, a man. So I'm, like, so lonely. Willie is, like, well, Willie. Anyway, a wink, some skin, "lookie lookie," we make some nookie. Willie says, "Nice melons." I mean, like, wow! Willie was mine, I was Willie's. No one knew! So I'm, like, seein' Willie, only slyly. Anyways, I'm, like, callin' Lin. So we yak 'n' yak. I'm like, well, me 'n' Willie, y'know? Lin's like, "Wow, Willie?" So I say, "Yes, Willie."
Anyway, now Lin knows. Once I was, like, "Lin, is a click on my line?" Lin says, "A click? No." Well, as we all know now, a click WAS on my line. Now, Ken comes in. Now I'm, like, NEWS! Monica mania! I'm, like, a mess. Ken is, like, so asinine. Ken was on a mission. Ken is, like, soooooo my enemy! Lin was so sneaky. Lin is a swine. Oink oink. Willie? Well, I say Slick Willie will owe someone some alimony. Me? Well, now I'm, like, a well-known woman. Now I can make me some money. Way cool. Awesome.
(Richard Grossman, McLean)
* Honorable Mentions:
Jennifer Lopez: Jeez, no zipper!
(Jennifer Hart, Arlington)
Augusto Pinochet: Once again I cheat the noose. Nothing: no accusations, no sentence, no opinion, no conscience, no constitution, no such passing hopes can push us to account.
(Frank Kenesson, Waterford, Va.)
Alexander Hamilton: Dad and Mom are not married. It tainted him (he hated men, not man). Later, he made, examined, then mailed, a detailed note to The Main Man (the real mentor and hero to the landed) to tell him that Tom meant the Elite to lead the nation. He hated Tom. Did Tom hate him? No one had an idea. Tom, not Alex, landed a home near the
National Mall. Then Alex met Aaron, a deadlier threat to him, and died. The end.
(Reid Williamson, Annandale)
Martha Stewart: What taste, what ease! She stews meat, warms wheat tarts, steams tea water, sews threads, hems, hammers. She's a star. She starts mass stress. We hate her.
(Phyllis Kepner, Columbia)
Orenthal James Simpson: Part Heisman, part hit man. A slasher; he hit, he ran. Months later, he's still on the loose. Asserts he's on the "real" assassin's trail. Hmm. Perhaps he has a point--a SHARP point.
(Lori Ducharme, Gaithersburg)
Monica Lewinsky: I was once a lonely, lowly lass. I look like a moose (I like cannoli, cannelloni, clams, wine, lemon ice . . .). I was also one easy woman. (I only say "yes.") I call my "ally." I say, "My new man is a slimy weasel." My sly ally sells my news. We make news kinky. Now I am an icon in a comical, classless way. I make millions, so I cancel any claims on clemency.
(Annette Florence, Ithaca, N.Y.)
William Shatner: His hair isn't real. His lines are lame. Retire.
(David Genser, Arlington)
Stephen Hawking: Wise genie, he sees the night skies with keen insight.
Despite a twist in his spine, he takes steps that we gape at. His painstaking peeks negate the past and it shines, anew. He instigates an awakening.
(Martin Bredeck, Community, Va.)
Linda Tripp: I, a darn rat and a liar, did trap a pal in a plan I laid. And a pal paid.
(Richard Grossman, McLean)
William Jefferson Clinton:
As I steer America's state
In office I now toil late
No interns. Alone!
I sit and atone
A canine as a sole roommate.
(Dave Zarrow, Herndon)
James P. Rubin: I name names as I suppress numbers. I snub empresses; I abuse empires; U.S. airmen, seamen, armies, Marines impress me. Namibia impresses me. Armani impresses me. Burma represses masses. Iran surprises us. I am Serbia's nemesis. I reassure members as Brunei reimburses us. Jabber, jabber, jabber . . . Mrs. A. pampers me. I am Mrs. A's brains. I am superman. I am smarminess.
(Daniel Horner, Washington)
* The Uncle's Pick:
Eric Timothy Mathews:
O sweet, wee tot!
Eric was to come to Earth at May,
Rather, he came at March
With aches, stitches to mommy's waist, With eerie remorse to her heart.
We three at home--Mr., Mrs., sister Amy-- How we wait, wish, watch
The time that Eric comes home, too.
(Jessica Lynn Mathews, Arlington)
(The Uncle cannot explain just now. He needs a quiet moment.)
Next Week: Plainly Ridiculous