The Invitational Week 33: Ask Backwards XLII

We give the answers. You give the questions. Plus winning neologisms.

The answer: 100 cats in a two-bedroom apartment. What’s the question? See below. (Collage/jigsaw puzzle by Sergey Taran, PXPuzzles.com) 

Hello. Before we get to today’s Invitational, which is what you are all waiting for, we start with a Gene Pool Gene Poll, based on a reader’s suggestion. We are printing the reader’s entire rationale for the question because we found it compellingly curmudgeonly, particularly in today’s world:

I hate camping. I really do not understand the whole concept of investing time, money and energy in an effort to lower your immediate quality of life. I have done a lot of camping. A LOT of camping. Every single one of my family's vacations and weekend getaways when I was growing up involved camping. In tents, not RVs. I have hiked in the Rockies and the Smokies carrying all of my supplies for the coming days on my back. I have camped alone, in small groups and in big groups (usually of Boy Scouts). All of this when I was too young to know better. Then I grew up and realized that I hated camping then and I hate it now. Hence my question.

Okay, good. Now, the Invitational.

Q Cards: It’s Ask Backwards, Week 33

100 cats in a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment. 
Only black licorice.  
Barbie, Ken, and Kamala. 
Ploppenheimer. 
Oppenhopper.
No-Hit Wonder. 
Heirloom Twinkies. 
Donald Trump, PhD.  
Arguably, they’re the same. 
The Dirty Baker’s Dozen.
The 2024 Pantone Color of the Year.
Florida Dog.
A bad idea for an Invitational contest.

The last time The Invitational ran this contest, last November, it was unceremoniously yanked out from under us by The Washington Post — in a still unexplained rush to be rid of the Invite so quickly that we never had a chance to run the results.

We are indomitable. We fear nothing. We carry on. For Week 33: Above are the new answers; you follow them with the funny questions. Please use this Jeopardy-ish format: For each entry, first type the answer as above, followed by your question, in one long line; in other words, don’t push “Enter” between the answer and the question.

Click here for this week’s entry form, or go to bit.ly/inv-form-33. As usual, you can submit up to 25 entries for this week’s contest, preferably all on the same entry form.

Deadline is Saturday, Aug. 26, at 4 p.m. ET. Results will run here in The Gene Pool on Thursday, Aug. 31.

This week’s winner gets a sloth tea infuser — the cutest li’l sleepy-looking baby sloth that hangs over the rim of your teacup,  basically peeing in the pool. Donated by Dave Prevar.

Clearly it could use a little more tea. This week’s prize. (harryanddavid.com)

Runners-up get autographed fake money featuring the Czar or Empress, in one of ten nifty designs. Honorable mentions get bupkis, except for a sweet email from the E, plus the Fir Stink for First Ink for those who’ve just lost their Invite virginity.

The Rack Pack: New words from ScrabbleGrams letter sets

In Week 31 we once again asked you to coin your own words and phrases of six or seven letters from 33 old “racks” of the syndicated word game ScrabbleGrams.  The Tile Invitational, we call it. Too many Losers to credit arranged EEMPRTU to TRUMPEE, variously described as a victim of scams, a victim of cruel policies, and toxic orange-tinged urine.

Third runner-up: ADHINPS > HIND SPA: A bidet. (Tom Witte, Montgomery Village, Md.; Eric Nelkin, Silver Spring, Md.)

Second runner-up: DEFIILM > DEMILF: To make your mother less attractive to your friends. “Mom, where’s that bulky sweater with embroidered cats you look so good in?” (Jon Carter, Fredericksburg, Va.)

First runner-up: BEEGILL > LL BEIGE: The rap artist who wrote “Straight Outta Des Moines.” (Frank Osen, Pasadena, Calif.)

And the winner of the bananaduck: AALMPSS > LAMP-ASS: What the cockroaches called the firefly. (Jeff Contompasis, Ashburn, Va.)

ABHSTUW > HAW BUST: Honorable mentions

AAGILMY > MAGA-LY: “The current crop of Republican candidates try to present themselves as MAGA-ly as possible.” (Diane Lucitt, Ellicott City, Md.)

AAGILMY > GAYMAIL: Not sure what it is, but you definitely can’t send or receive it in Florida. (Seth Christenfeld, Briarcliff Manor, N.Y.)

AALMPSS > A.M. SLAPS:   An alarm clock for people who really have trouble waking up. No snooze button on this baby! (Tom Witte) 

 AALMPSS > ASS LAMP: What you need when you think maybe that’s your elbow. (Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)

AALMPSS > LAP MASS: The male package. “I dated Ralph for a while, but he was lacking in lap mass.” (Tom Witte)

AALMPSS > ALMPASS: To surreptitiously move the collection plate along without adding to it. (Jeff Contompasis)

AALMPSS > ASL-SPAM: A novel way to annoy deaf people. (Neil Kurland, Elkridge, Md.)

AALMPSS > MAP LASS: The new Scots option on Siri.  “Aye, Map Lass, find me the way to Gowkthrapple.” (Steve Smith, Potomac, Md.)

AAWHSND: WAND ASH:  The unfortunate ending of “Harry Potter and the Attempt to Roast Marshmallows.” (Gary Crockett, Chevy Chase, Md.)

ABHSTUW > WHAT USB?: A question you never want to hear after your spouse has cleaned out your office. (Karen Lambert, Chevy Chase, Md.)

ABILLNP > BALL-NIP: A disqualifying combo touch when playing Twister. (Jon Carter)

ACCILNO > COAL INC:  The conscience of Joe Manchin. (Jonathan Jensen, Baltimore) 

ACCILNO >  LOIN AC:  A string bikini. (Beverley Sharp)  

ADDILMN > DAMNLID: One of the many in your cabinet that fit no known container in your kitchen, but you don’t dare throw away in case you ever find their mates. (Pam Sweeney, Burlington, Mass.)

ADEGMNU > UGMEND: To add something awful. “The cake would have tasted great if she hadn’t ugmended it with fennel seeds.”  (Pam Shermeyer, Lathrup Village, Mich.)

ADEIMTY > DIET YAM: What can you serve along with Tofurky to ensure no one attends Thanksgiving at your house? (April Musser, Georgia)

ADHINPS > HADSNIP: Term for a neutered dog. “He’s now a hadsnip, so he’s happy to lie around the house even when the poodle across the street comes out.” (Sarah Walsh, Rockville, Md.)

ADHINPS > ANDSHIP: A polyamorous liaison. “My cousin Bob is married but also in a serious andship with a woman from the office.”  (Karen Lambert)

ADHINPS > NADSHIP: A fraternity. (Neil Kurland)

AENNRTT > RANT, TEN: Part A of a review of a diatribe. “Rudy’s hair-dye-dripping news conference received a ‘Rant, ten; looks, three’ from the press.” (Chris Doyle, Denton, Tex.)

AEUKLPM > PALM UKE: Instrument that Hawaiian teenage boys play instead of choking a chicken. (Roy Ashley, Washington, D.C.)

AINOORT > TOON AIR: Unique weather condition in which the atmosphere can suspend a large animal over the ground right up to the moment when it foolishly looks down.  (Lee Graham, Reston, Va.)

AINRSTT > ARNTIST:  Someone who’s not exactly the second coming of Van Gogh: “My, your son’s paintings are the work of a true arntist.” (Frank Osen; Karen Lambert)

AINRSTT > TIN STAR: “What we should give to CAPTURED soldiers!” – D.J.T. (Steve Smith)

AMOOPRT > ARMPOOT: “Mom, look what Jimmy taught me today during recess!” (Sarah Walsh)

AUYDLRN > YALDUN: What a Southern waitress asks before clearing your table. (Jesse Frankovich, Laingsburg, Mich.)

BEEGILL > LE BILGE: What the wine snob deemed the chardonnay you served at dinner. (Jonathan Jensen)

BEEGILL > LIB GLEE: According to the GOP, the emotion experienced while grooming children, witch hunting, and destroying America. (Karen Lambert)

BEHINOP > HI. NOPE!:  The world’s shortest blind date. (Jonathan Jensen)

BEHINOP > HOPE BIN: The box of clothing where you put the clothes that you’re sure will fit again next year.  (Pam Sweeney)

BEHORTT > THORBET: The best-selling frozen treat in Barcelona. (Jon Carter)

BEHORTT > THROBE: Garment designed to discreetly cover swelling genitalia. (Judy Freed, Deerfield Beach, Fla.)

CDEIISU > SUIDICE: A game whose goal is crapping out — permanently. (Jon Gearhart, Des Moines)

DEFIILM >  DeMILF: A softcore schlock director. “With ‘Roller Derby Nymphos,’ Arturo officially became a Cecil B. DeMilf.” (Frank Osen)

EGIMOST > SOGTIME: The period between combining milk with cereal and the latter turning to mush; with Rice Krispies, approximately 10 seconds. (Jeff Contompasis)

AOOPRTT > TOTO-RAP:
“You got the rains in Africa? I bless ’em
A hundred men or more could not repress ’em
So hear the drums, don’t tell me my mind’s narrow
I know the Serengeti ain’t near Kilimanjaro.” (Duncan Stevens, Vienna, Va.)

AOOPRTT >  TOTO-RAP:
So proud to be my owner’s pet
You mess wit’ her, you might get wet 
She’ll melt your ass before she’s through
So step off, witch, from her little dog too. (Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.)

Because of a big ol’ goof by the Empress, for about six hours after we posted this contest, the list of letter sets we offered was last year’s. But that was just long enough for Janet Hlatky of Herndon, Va., to send in a whole list of entries, including this eminently inkworthy one: ABBMOST > BM BOAST:  “Hello, Guinness Records?  I’ve just made the biggest . . .” Janet earns a Fir Stink for her first ink.

The headline “The Rack Pack” is by Jesse Frankovich; “Q Cards,” submitted by both Kevin Dopart and Nan Reiner, was the headline for the results of an earlier Ask Backwards contest. Jeff Contompasis wrote the honorable-mentions subhead.

Still running — deadline 4 p.m. ET Saturday, Aug. 19: Our Week 32 Limerixicon contest for limericks featuring words beginning “ho-.” Click here or type in bit.ly/inv-week-31. 

Okay, so now we entreat you: The Gene Pool has many thousands of people around the country and globe who read us weekly for free, and many hundreds who pay us a little money ($4.15 a month). Will you take the graceful, gazelle-like leap from the first group to the second, upgrading from “free” to “paid”? If you scratch our backs, we’ll scratch yours. Literally. Gene will come over to your house and scratch your back. Here’s how to arrange it:

So here comes the highly vaunted question / comments / answers part of the Gene Pool. We begin now. Many are in response to our request last weekend for “regrets” that you might have seen.

Q: (This is from Amy Lago, my good friend and VP of Licensing & Syndication at Counterpoint Media, which syndicates Barney & Clyde. She is one of the world’s few experts in editing comics.)

Regrets: Bob Guccione, the creator of Penthouse, started Penthouse Comix in the '90s, and my ex-husband was a contributor. We were invited to the “launch party,” but I refused to attend. I was fine with my husband working for the company, accepting their money, but I felt kinda creeped out going to the party.

What I did NOT know was that the party was not at some high-priced Manhattan restaurant but at Guccione’s NYC home. Had I known, I'd have swallowed my creeps and gone, because I knew something interesting (to me) about Guiccione: He had a priceless art collection. I'm not sure how I knew. But I did.

My (ex-)husband did not know and was gobsmacked. He walked into the entry and was greeted by a Botticelli. He raved about every. single. piece. (You can read more about the collection on Guccione's Wiki page.) Sadly, Penthouse Comix died an ignominious death not too long after the publisher committed suicide by jumping from the 45th floor of the Marriott Marquis atrium.

A: Excellent story. I would just like to point out, in defense of Amy’s ex-hubby, whom I never met but who was, by comparison to Larry Flynt, a saint — that before to the launch of Penthouse Comix, Hustler Magazine, Larry, “the Sultan of Smut,” launched “Chester the Molester,” a comic strip about a serial molester of pre-pubescent girls, who attempted to trick them into sexually compromising positions. These were different times, and the comic artist who created “Chester the Molester,” Dwaine Tinsley, was eventually convicted of having molested his own daughter. He continued drawing the strip from jail, with Larry’s approval. His conviction was eventually overturned because of a First-Amendment argument that his actions were in furtherance of his comic strip. I have not made any of this up.

TIMELY TIP: If you’re reading this right now on an email:   Click here to get to my webpage, then click on the top headline (In this case, “The Invitational…” ) for the full column, and comments, and real-time questions and answers. And you can refresh and see new questions and answers that appear as I regularly update the post from about noon to 1 p.m. ET today.

Q: Regrets: I was once in a gallery in the Phillips Collection in DC. A docent walked by who seemed to be giving a private tour to a very well dressed man, perhaps a rich patron. As they were leaving the room I was in I heard him ask her, "Was El Greco's first name really El?" I regret not having a tape recorder.

A: Yes, excellent.  I once was in a line outside a movie theater and heard an older man, overdressed, tell his younger date that Goethe was pronounced “GO-eth.”  I regret not having a Woody Allen Marshal McLuhan moment.  

Q: Kinda straightist (cis-het and all that) of you, init? Q: My stepmother went to high school with Goldie Hawn at Montgomery Blair in Silver Spring. She has never mentioned any Goldie-related regrets. A: Well, duh. (More like D’oh? Amirite? Sosumi!)

A: My presumption is that you stepmom was probably straight.  If this is unacceptable, please attribute it to my advanced age. 

Q: Why are the soccer announcers talking about the clock ticking down? This is soccer, the clock ticks up!

A: Good point.

Q: Whoa. I think that my only regret at this moment is that I do not have the talent of Valerie Holt.

A: Me, too. Or, honestly, anyone I know of similar age.

Q: Regrets? A few years ago I ran into Carol, whom I hadn't seen since the sixties. I told her what I should have said in 1965: I never asked her for a second date because on our first date she told me she could marry only someone Jewish. Now she informed me, laughing, that neither of her husbands had been Jewish. Regrets? It had not occurred to me in 1965 (1) that viewpoints of a 19-year-old might be mutable, and (2) that, while she had taken marriage off the table, she had said nothing about sex.

A: Yeah you were an idiot.  Nineteen year olds have no idea what they are talking about. 

Also, I do have something related, which I have to report with delicacy.   Many years ago, a writer at The Washington Post – a handsome, swashbuckling star who is still there – inquired of me about the possible sexual availability of a lissome young woman whom I edited.   She was beautiful and brilliant and seriously, commitedly Jewish.  I pointed to a copy editor who was approximately five foot five and 300 pounds.   I said, “He’d have a better shot at her than you would,” because he was Jewish and the inquiring horndog was not.   It gave me a great rush.

Please send us new questions. Here.

Q:  You corrected a reader in the comments for using "none" with a plural verb. That is because you are an ignoramus. The idea that "none" is always singular because it etymologically descends from "no one" is relatively modern and has no sound basis—it's one of those rules that was made up by busybodies at a time when the science of pedantry was outpacing the science of linguistics. See also the "rule" that you can't end a sentence with a preposition (not a real rule in English, although it is one in Latin) and the "p" in "ptarmigan" (which would make sense if it was a word of Greek origin, which it isn't). There's a good summary here: https://www.grammarphobia.com/blog/2019/08/none.html "As Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage says, 'The notion that it [none] is singular only is a myth of unknown origin that appears to have arisen in the 19th century. ... The Old English nan ‘none’ was in fact formed from ne ‘not’ and an ‘one,’ but Old English nan was inflected for both singular and plural. Hence it never has existed in the singular only; King Alfred the Great used it as a plural as long ago as A.D. 888.'" These days, many style guides recognize this. The Chicago Manual of Style, for instance, considers both plural and singular "none" acceptable usage.

A: I will accept your editing, though I deny I am an “ignoramus.”    I am a blockhead or a dimwit or a dunce or an imbecile. 

Q: Regarding industrial secrets: I plan events for a living, and once you get over 50 people at the event you care very little about the individual attendee and can only plan for the mass of attendees. When you tell us it’s too cold in the room, we will say we are working on it, but we aren’t. There are 500 other people in there…not everyone feels the same. Also, pricing is ridiculous. Buy a six pack of coke at Giant…$3, buy one soda in a hotel ballroom, upwards of $8 each when you figure the tax and 21-26% taxable service charge.

A: Thank you.  I always felt “event planner” would be the occupation for which I would be least qualified and competent, other than “prima ballerina.” I might have answered this question before. I admit that.

Q: My regret, I’d almost forgotten this. In December of 2000 just before Christmas, I was having lunch with my brother at the John Harvard brewpub in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We’ve never been close, and I guess this was an attempt by him to rectify this situation. I wasn’t particularly interested, and my attention was derailed by by a large group at a nearby table. There was an older gentleman and what I guessed was probably his son or daughter, along with their kids. Grandad looked very familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out who he was. Finally, it dawned on me. It was William Rehnquist. This was just a few days after the Supreme Court issued its decision to hand the presidency over to George W. Bush. Of course, I said nothing to him. As soon as I left I started to compose witty, articulate, and vicious things I should have said to him. On the spot, I was speechless.

A: I’ve always felt  that the best thing to say at a moment like that is something deeply vulgar but charming, as in ‘Hey, Bill, do your grandkids know you are a total asshole?”

Q: "Cats are probably terrible drunks" is a googlenope which kind of surprised me. I mean, of course cats would be terrible drunks, they puke everywhere when they're not drunk. Imagine a drunk cat. But the most disturbing part of this discovery was that Google suggested that I might have actually meant to search for "cats are probably terrible DRINKS." I think google called me a psychopath. And even more disturbing, further down the page under similar searches people have made is "how much alcohol does it take to get a cat drunk?" Apparently some people like cleaning up cat vomit more than I do.

A: See, I would think cats would be GREAT drunks.   They are naturally anuses, and the booze would bring that out even more.  Imagine a drunk cat, on a counter, with 100 things to knock off onto the floor. Or pee on.

Q: Hey -- you went to Great Wall Supermarket -- so you must be near it. We're near it too! As is every ethnic cuisine known to planet Earth: Ethiopian, Japanese, Korean, Korean, Thai. Turkish, Chinese, Indian, Cajun. Plus many multi-nation choices: dumplings, kebobs. So besides occasional large Loser gatherings, Czar/Empress should schedule Fairfax gathering and see who turns up.

A: Rachel’s parents live near it.  It’s a bit of a drive for us, but worth it.   Speaking of which Pat recently went to a restaurant called “The Ugly Dumpling.” In New Jersey. It was excellent.

Speaking of a “drive,” last week I promised to explain why I got very little sleep the other day.  Rachel and I were driving to Annapolis, where she was to perform in one of the final shows of “Love and Vinyl,”  in which she starred.    On the way, the car died, basically.   Huge billows of smoke from the engine.  Rachel, who is an optimist, felt the smoke came from somewhere UNDER the car, perhaps, a vent on the highway.   I — I am a pessimist — said, “Your car is going to go explode.”  We exited the vehicle. Blown radiator.    We had about an hour to get her onstage, and we were assisted by a tow-truck driver named Donnie, who had a lady-friend actor.  He understood the intensity of the situation, and got Rachel to her job in time, despite bathroom immediacies.  It was a long night.

Q: If your fake money invite prizes are autographed by the Czar and Empress, then my real money is autographed by the Secretary of the Treasury. When I was in elementary school, I once tried to sell a $1 bill autographed by the secretary of the treasury to my claassmate for $20 on the grounds that the autograph from such a high-ranking government official made it a collector's item and very valuable, but my teacher but a stop to it. But now that I'm an adult, I know not to try to trick anyone like that, and it probably wouldn't work anyway on anyone older than 8 (and if they're under 8 they probably don't know or care what a Treasury Secretary is.) So is it really an autograph if you issued the money? I say no. What say Gene and Pat of the money scheme?

A: Supposedly, Picasso paid for routine expenses – dinner bills, etc. – with checks because he knew no one would cash them.  They’d wind up framed, on a wall. 

Q:  I am almost exactly the same age as Donald Trump. Recently, I have regretted mightily the fact that, as a teenager, I didn't push him off a balcony somewhere. Does that make me a bad person?

A: No.  I regret not having killed Pol Pot. 

This is Gene. Very important issue involving Rachel’s car. It was a 2001 Honda Accord. She inherited it from her beloved grandma Libby after Libby died. At the time it was 12 years old and had 7,000 miles on it. Old lady. Only driven to church.

Q: I've learned some from experience, but I continue to wish that the "Write Like the News" class that was offered locally as an adult education class (given by one of the newspaper staff) didn't "make," and so I missed that opportunity as well.

A:  Don’t write like the news.  It’s a terrible practice, besotted by jargon and bullshit.  Write like you are telling it to a friend, but after thinking about it a little bit. 

Okay, we’re down! Please send in more comments and questions/observations.

Questions, observations here: