Week 666: Bedevil Us


Are we so deaf to the tongue of Satan, who speaketh always in riddles,
that we do not know his handiwork when it is plainly before us? Liquid
Crystal Display. LCD. Lucifer, Cursed one, Devil. Repent, before it is
too late, specifically 11:34. Hold the cursed object upside down and see
where you shall dwell for eternity!

We couldn't let this week go by without doing a contest pegged to this
week number, especially since the Empress had been alerted to its
impending arrival for about the past 30 weeks by agitated Losers,
including Mark Eckenwiler of Washington, who suggested this contest: Give
a mini-sermon (75 words or fewer) explaining how some innocuous object or
event signals the End of Days, as in the example above, contributed by
Washington Post columnist and anti-digital-watch activist Gene Weingarten.

Winner gets the Inker, the official Style Invitational trophy. First
runner-up gets four tins of Atone Mints ("for each of your sins"), plus
some Mensa pencils with the phone number 1-800-666[M]-ENSA, all donated
by Loser Ed Gordon of Hollywood, Fla.

Other runners-up win a coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt.
Honorable Mentions (or whatever they're called this week) get one of the
lusted-after Style Invitational Magnets. One prize per entrant per week.
Send your entries by e-mail tolosers@washpost.comor by fax to
202-334-4312. Deadline is Monday, June 19. Put "Week 666" in the subject
line of your e-mail, or it risks being ignored as spam. Include your
name, postal address and phone number with your entry. Contests are
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 July 9. 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 Douglas Frank of Crosby,
Tex. The Honorable Mentions name is by Mark Eckenwiler.

Report From Week 662, in which we gave the assignment to "humiliate yourself for ink." That
could consist of sucking up to the Empress or just embarrassing yourself
in general in front of your neighbors and a million-plus other readers of
The Washington Post.

Some Losers thought they could get by with Rodney
Dangerfield-type self-deprecating but fictional one-liners, like this one
(well, we assume it's fictional) from Kyle Hendrickson of Frederick:
"Once I got excited at a public pool while wearing nothing but a Speedo.
And nobody could tell." These all fail -- they're not humiliating until
they're used as facts in your obituary.

3 The winner in the embarrassing- anecdote category: When my daughter was
a toddler, our family went to the beach. Dressed in a bright red bathing
suit with Snoopy on the front and her hair in a ponytail, she ran away
from me as fast as she could go. As I started off to catch her, a woman
called out: "What a beautiful child! She must be adopted." (Rochelle
Zohn, McLean)

2 The winner in the Suck Up to the Empress category, winner of the bottle
of HydroDog dog water:

To My Empress

To just say I'm your servant leaves a lot to be desired:
Please use me as your gelding when your darling feet get tired.
I'll buy you jewels, I'll scrub your floors -- the things that good
slaves do.
I'll chew the Dentyne from your mouth (or underneath your shoe).
And while you eat your chocolate truffles, supine on your couch,
I'll stand at rapt attention wearing nothing but a pouch.
And, so you know for sure that of my pride there is no trace,
Please put your five-inch high heels on, and tap-dance on my face.
I'd love to wash your dishes, ma'am, while on your throne you sit.
I'd eagerly lick forks and spoons for traces of your spit.
So, tell me I am worthless, I am ugly, that I stink.
Hell, call me a Republican! Please, ANYTHING for Ink!
(G. Smith, Reston)

And the Winner of the Inker

Looking Down Toward My Feet (Fred Dawson, Beltsville)

The Ig-Nominees

For a 1989 physical, I collected, um, fecal samples, put the strip up on
top of a bookshelf to dry, and forgot about it for 12 years. On my 43rd
birthday, I rediscovered the sample -- mounted in a frame, as a gift from
my wife. (Jeff Brechlin, Eagan, Minn.)

I still have every pair of eyeglasses I have ever owned, going back to
the first set from 1962. (Elden Carnahan, Laurel)

When we moved into our house, a billing mix-up led to our gas being shut
off for a few days. We took sponge baths from bowls of water heated in
the microwave. When the serviceman came to turn the gas back on, he
looked at me and said: "Uh, ma'am, that's an electric water heater."
(Jennifer LaFleur, Rosemont, Tex.)

I was a member of the Duke men's lacrosse team. The 1957 team, but still.
Plus, we went 2-7. (Howard Walderman, Columbia)

For ink I'll stitch my Style Invitational prize magnets into a loincloth
and parade before the gathered Losers. Don't worry about anything
showing, though: I'll have you know that I already have three magnets.
(Wilson Varga, Alexandria)

If you Google "poop" and "dopart," four of the six hits are by me. The
others are (1) a typo and (2) in Dutch. (Kevin Dopart, Washington)

When I agree with what's coming out of his mouth, I find Dubya kinda
sexy! (Christina Courtney, Ocean City)

As the sixth-place finisher in the 1974 National Spelling Bee, I got to
meet Pat Nixon at the White House. It only looks as if I'm ogling the
national assets. (Mark Eckenwiler, Washington)

I have been a writer all my life. I was teaching journalism at a major
university when the Empress was still working on her high school paper,
and the only time I can get my damn name in The Washington Post is in
this stinking column. (Ira Allen, Bethesda)

My college application essay was about winning Rookie of the Year in The
Style Invitational. (Beth Baniszewski, Somerville, Mass.)

Every single week, I send in my Style Invitational entries with an e-mail
beginning "O Empress, My Empress," followed by a rhyming poem begging for
ink, like this one in Week 660: "After all these pretty rhymes / And many
wonderful times / With you I willingly flirt / Just for a loser T-Shirt .
. ." (Drew Bennett, Alexandria) [This is true -- and they're always that
bad.]

Years ago at a party, I used the hallway bathroom just off the crowded
living room. When I turned around while zipping up, I saw that the door
had swung halfway open. There was only minor applause. (Dave Prevar,
Annapolis)

I sent in an entry calling the Empress "a whore" and later I met her in
person and she asked me about it. (Elliott Schiff, Allentown, Pa.)

Inspired by the selfless heroism of David Blaine, I will immerse myself
alive in the bathtub for eight days. I'm just sad I have to pretend to
humiliate myself just to get a little publicity for this amazing feat,
especially since I am doing it as a plea for world peace and an end to
hunger. (Cecil J. Clark, Asheville, N.C.)

Humiliation has to be public. My private hell -- 114 failed attempts to
get ink from the Empress -- is private, so it doesn't count. (Ross
Elliffe, Picton, New Zealand)

Next Week: Worth at Least a Dozen Words, or Litter of the Pics