Week 537:
MD. MEN WIELD NAKED FLESH OF FEMALES!
Actual headline, from Nov. 30:
Hunters Volunteer Venison to Help Feed the Homeless
This Week's Contest is one The Empress found deep in the Invitational archives from 1996, right under that can of Genuine Sheep Spit, or whatever, that the Czar (a bumbling little man who used to work here) never got around to sending out. Your task is to liven up any article appearing in The Washington Post or its Web site over the next eight days by giving it an irresponsibly sensationalistic headline. Give the date and page number of the print story, or include the beginning of the Web story in your e-mail (no attachments, please).
First-prize winner receives the Inker, the official Style Invitational Trophy, suitable for display atop one's desk, mantel, litter box, etc. First runner-up wins a battery-operated remote-control fart machine ("New Louder Realistic Farts!").
Other runners-up win the coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt (now in Empress Red). Honorable mentions get the mildly sought-after Style Invitational bumper sticker. One prize per entrant per week. Send your entries via fax to 202-334-4312 or by e-mail to losers@washpost.com. U.S. mail entries are not accepted. Deadline is Monday, Dec. 29. Put the week number in the subject line of your e-mail, or you risk being ignored as spam. Your entry must contain your name, postal address and telephone number. 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. One prize per entrant per week. Pseudonymous entries will be disqualified. The revised title for next week's contest is by Chris Doyle of Forsyth, Mo. This week's contest was originally suggested by Russell Beland of Springfield, who haunts us still.
Report from Week 533, in which we asked you to speculate on the cloned offspring of any man and woman:
Third runner-up: The child of Bob Dole and Cleopatra would suffer from a reptile dysfunction. (Mark Eckenwiler, Washington)
Second runner-up: The child of Imelda Marcos and Dr. Seuss would collect mukluks, galoshes and gillies and high-tops, and also some moccasins, chukkas and flip-flops. (Mark Hagenau, Derry, N.H.)
First runner-up: The child of Marion Barry and Leona Helmsley would set himself up. (Sandra Hull, Arlington)
And the winner of the "Star Trek" watch: The child of Beethoven and Britney Spears would overcome dumbness to become a great composer.
(Tom Witte, Montgomery Village)
Honorable Mentions:
The child of Richard Nixon and Miss Manners will compile a People Whom We Will Decline to Invite list.
(Brendan Beary, Great Mills)
The child of Saint Paul and Mae West would ask, "Is that epistle in your pocket . . .?" (Chris Doyle, Forsyth, Mo.)
The daughter of Helen of Troy and Joe Cocker would have a face that could launch, oh, maybe 25 ships.
(Russell Beland, Springfield)
The child of Marty Feldman and Calista Flockhart would have eyes bigger than his stomach. (Rich Mehrenberg, Manassas)
The children of Will Rogers and Sally Field will like everybody and everybody will like them. (Russell Beland, Springfield)
The child of Carmen Miranda and John Nash will be fruitful and multiply.
(Peter Metrinko, Plymouth, Minn.)
The daughter of Anna Nicole Smith and George Washington Carver would find 300 ways to use a man.
(Dave Michaels, Silver Spring)
The child of Bill Gates and Martha Stewart would market a line of sheets that stay on only if you buy their bed. (Dave Michaels, Silver Spring)
The child of Jack Ruby and Barbara Walters would shoot first and ask questions later.
(Harold Mantle, Gaithersburg)
The child of John Holmes and June Allyson wouldn't know if he was coming or going. (G. Smith, Reston)
The child of Izaak Walton and Lorena Bobbitt would fish or cut mate.
(Jane Auerbach, Los Angeles)
The child of Martha Stewart and Michael Jackson would be a neat freak.
(Greg Pearson, Alexandria)
The child of S.I. Newhouse and Joan of Arc would publish or perish.
(Jane Auerbach, Los Angeles)
The child of Joni Mitchell and JFK would pave paradise and put up a Camelot. (Russell Beland, Springfield)
The child of Oliver North and Rosie O'Donnell would trade arms for sausages.
(Tom Witte, Montgomery Village)
The child of Segway inventor Dean Kamen and Tina Louise will discover that no one's interested in Ginger anymore. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)
The child of Sir Edmund Hillary and Dolly Parton would be the first person to climb herself.
(Tom Witte, Montgomery Village)
The child of Paul Berry and Halle Berry had better have some Vitamin B1.
(Jeff Brechlin, Potomac Falls)
The child of Katie Couric and Geraldo Rivera would be as cute as a buttonhole. (Mike Connaghan, Alexandria)
The child of Edward Albee and Virginia Woolf would be afraid of his mother. (Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)
The child of Imelda Marcos and Nikita Khrushchev would pound the table with a different shoe every day.
(Russell Beland, Springfield; Brendan Beary, Great Mills)
The child of Sir Francis Drake and Jennifer Lopez would have a golden hind. (Bob Stone, Alexandria)
The child of Persephone and Tiger Woods would putt it where the sun don't shine. (Bob Stone, Alexandria)
The child of Paris Hilton and Tommy Lee would be a movie star even before he could breathe.
(Josh Borken, Bloomington, Minn.)
The child of Cindy Crawford and Moses would be . . . holy moley!
(Mike Connaghan, Alexandria)
The son of Monica Lewinsky and Rodney Dangerfield would really be down on himself. (Andrea Kelly, Brookeville)
The child of Jimmy Durante and Barbra Streisand could make a living finding truffles. (Tom Witte, Montgomery Village)
And last: I don't know if this cloning thing is a good idea. Sure, you could pair Hillary Clinton and J.S. Bach and get someone who'd make New York a fugue state and that's fine, but shoot, some moron with a test tube is going to go pair Wizards players with Mystics players and, sure, they'll be tall, but they're still going to lose all the time, and that's plain wrong.
(Russell Beland, Springfield)