|
|
The Day the Invite Died
(To the tune of Don McLean's American Pie)
Lyrics by Duncan Stevens & Hildy Zampella
A long, long time ago, I can still remember
How the contest used to make me smile
And I knew if I’d stop and think
That I could get some blots of ink;
Those magnets made me happy for a while.
It’s Monday night—just one more tweak,
Then hit “Submit”, is this my week?
Was sometimes flabbergasted
To learn I was “And Last”ed.
I can’t convey just how upset
We Losers on the internet
Became to hear the paper’d let
Our dear Invite sunset.
So bye-bye our beloved SI,
Had a great run of first-rate fun, then got yanked on the sly.
Them Loser folks penned entries biting and wry—
We’re asking, why’d the Invitational die?
Why’d the Invitational die?
Did you ever Backwards Ask?
Or find Heads for Messing? What a task!
Breed some foals at Derby time?
Did you write odes for world renowned
Folks who are barely in the ground?
And did you pen some parodies with perfect rhyme?
Well, I know you were severely bummed
That taste depths would now go unplumbed.
It gave us all the blues
Not to mock George Santos news!
I was a corny source of dad-type jokes,
And naughty humor that provokes,
So I hoped to learn it was all a hoax,
The day the Invite died.
We started singing, bye-bye our beloved SI,
No more fictoids or predictoids, jabs at Previous Guy?
The wit it spawned was crude, outlandish, and dry.
We’re asking, why’d the Invitational die?
Why’d the Invitational die?
Well, for one month we were on our own,
To mock Dan Snyder all alone,
But lo, in 2023,
On a Substack ruled by the King and Queen,
The Czar and Empress, Pat and Gene,
Reborn: the ‘Vite (for a modest fee).
Now interspersed with rambling chat,
You might now see your jokes on scat—
The contest has returned!
(Just I, no S, I’ve learned.)
Ms. Myers, plus one rumpled dude
(Who shouldn’t write ‘bout Indian food)
Will judge bon mots arcane and rude;
The ‘Vite’s revivified.
So bye-bye, WaPo, thanks for the ride,
We brought guile to the Style, then got kicked to the side,
You cut us off; the Losers took it in stride,
We’re slingin’ bathroom jokes, silly humor that’s snide,
Stuff like that’s our trademark and pride.
Now here we are all ‘Stacked in place,
With pixels (if no ink) to chase,
No editors we have to please.
Just finished matching sires and dams,
We might soon craft some anagrams,
That make us count our ABCs.
Yes, okay, they bumped us off the page
To run ads for Arena Stage—
A most abrupt farewell.
Who cares, though? What the hell?
As long as there are jokes to write,
The fishwrap folks can’t snuff this light.
‘Cause over at the Gene Pool site
The ‘Vite’s revivified.
Bye-bye, WaPo, thanks for the ride,
Seems the paper bounced this caper, but our eyes are now dried.
Can’t kill us off, though the Lord knows they tried,
Nope, the Losers won’t let Bezos decide—
In darkness, ‘tain’t the Invite that died.
|