The Invitational Week 34: A Mirthday Party
Link two people who share a birthday. Plus winning 'ho-' limericks.
Hello. Today we begin with a Gene Pool Gene Poll, before eliding elegantly into the Invitational, on the day Donald Trump surrenders to authorities, no doubt in his usual classy, self-effacing way. So the Poll involves passing gas.
Okay, here comes the new Invitational, suggested in the Style Invitational Devotees Facebook Group by Claire Keeler. For Week 34: Make some humorous connection, in verse or otherwise, between two people, living or dead, who share the same birthday. You can find coincidental birthdays all over the internet; we had luck Googling, not in quotes, things like famous birthdays Sept 15. Don’t forget to tell us the date of the birthday!
Mohandas K. Gandhi and StinkyRatTicTok
For both Mahatma Gandhi and this twerking can of corn
Fame arrived, approached and beckoned.
(Plus, we note that both were born
On October the second.)
We disclose that Oct. 2 also happens to be the birthday of the Invitational Czar, which deftly leads to the Czar’s alternative example, not in rhyme, coinciding with the Nov. 24 birthday of the Empress: “Pat Myers and former Beatle drummer Pete Best: Both vanished into ignominy and irrelevance because of unwise career choices.”
Click here for this week’s entry form, or go to bit.ly/inv-form-34. As usual, you can submit up to 25 entries for this week’s contest, preferably all on the same entry form.
Deadline is Saturday, Sept. 2, at 4 p.m. ET. Results will run here in The Gene Pool on Thursday, Sept. 7.
The winner gets a birthday cake from a mix. Pick it up at the Empress’s house, Mount Vermin. Alternatively, the Empress will eat the cake in your honor and you get instead a pair of teeny earrings of a shark chewing on your earlobe. They’re on order but are supposed to look something like this.
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.
Ho-word Bound: Winning limericks from Week 32
In our 20th annual Limerixicon — our first since being freed of the requirement not to offend any Washington Post readers — we asked you to create limericks featuring words beginning with “ho-.” We received perhaps a hundred honorably honed five-liners, hundreds more ho-hums, and a few dozen horrids. Now that we’re announcing the results, feel free to submit your ho- limericks — inking or not — to OEDILF.com, the Omnificent English Dictionary. (If you did get ink here, note that with your submission.)
Third runner-up:
For Matt Groening, success arrived slow.
Would he make it? The answer seemed no.
But then one day he drew
Homer Simpson and knew
From then on, he’d be rolling in d’oh!
(Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.)
Second runner-up:
The trailer for Maestro is out,
And now Hollywood’s talking about
A prosthesis so grand
The Academy’s planned
For the Oscar to go to a snout.
(Chris Doyle, Denton, Tex.)
First runner-up:
Since Grandma was sick, nearly dead,
I poured thoroughbred pee in her bed.
When her doctor found out,
His response was to shout,
“You should put her in HOSPICE, I said!”
(Jesse Frankovich, Laingsburg, Mich.)
And the winner of the two Bigfoot car air fresheners:
All the African countries, he tells
Us, are cesspools — a fact that compels
Us to note we can take
The word “shitholes” and make,
With its letters, the phrase “HIS HOTELS.”
(Chris Doyle)
Ho- contraire: Honorable mentions
On a yacht, in a luxury suite,
You can hobnob among the elite,
And the happiest thing:
They’re all super-right-wing!
And they say, “Justice T, it’s our treat!”
(Mark Raffman)
What they use in the food that we call
A hot dog is apt to appall.
Lips and gristle add taste
To the mystery paste;
Nothing’s wasted — the wiener takes all.
(Jesse Frankovich)
In Philly, a kid from Muskogee
Called ladies “old hag!” gents “old fogey!”
Shrugged the locals, “Let live!”
But they couldn’t forgive
When he ordered a “sub,” not a hoagie.
(Coleman Glenn, Huntingdon Valley, Pa.)
Said the critic on “Horror Film Chatter”:
“All the recent flicks couldn’t fall flatter.
Though resplendent in blood,
The plots land with a thud —
I’m just partial to mind over splatter.”
(Mark Raffman)
Even though you’ve done national harm,
I will toast you with requisite smarm
For the added excitement
Of your latest indictment —
Here’s hoping the fourth time’s the charm.
(Kevin Dopart, Washington, D.C.)
A horse who appeared in dismay
Found a bar and walked in. Right away,
The guy tending the place
Asked him, “Why the long face?”
He replied: “I proposed. She said neigh.”
(Jesse Frankovich)
“Today, I would like to begin on
The charges you soon will put spin on:
Your ludicrous claim
About witch hunts is lame,
So eff you and that hoax you rode in on.”
(Chris Doyle)
Even though he’d no interest in money,
Greedy Winnie-the-Pooh got a gun; he
Went into a store
And yelled, “Down on the floor!
It’s a robbery! Show me the honey!”
(Jesse Frankovich)
My kid’s teachers now all go by Mx.
Well and good – we’re no MAGA-hat hx!
Yet I’ve nary a clue
How to say it — this new
Honorific puts me in a fx.
(Karen Lambert, Chevy Chase, Md.)
A hoe can be used among roses,
While a ho strikes some come-hither poses.
One makes garden tracks
While one jumps in all sacks,
But both homonyms work next to “hoses.”
(Leif Picoult, Rockville, Md.)
What makes Holmes so exhausted he’s plotzin’?
No, it’s not his untangling the knots in
Each mystery and crime,
But the hours of time
That it takes to explain them to Watson.
(Chris Doyle)
“It’s a hoax!” is the best line you’ve got
When your other defenses look shot.
Though the snowflakes won’t buy it,
Your base will — just try it!
(Oh, also say “Hunter” a lot.) — D.J.T.
(Melissa Balmain, Rochester, N.Y.)
There once was a resident horndog
Who frequently misused a corndog.
She tended to slide it
Where no one should hide it
Until it became quite a worn dog.
(Leif Picoult)
Who plays hockey? The hardiest souls!
While they’re out on the ice scoring goals,
It’s more odds than bad luck
They’ll get hit with the puck,
So instead of some teeth they’ve got holes.
(Mark Raffman)
We gorge on the fattiest chow,
Like fried hog maws and bowls of kung pao,
Food that’s dripping with grease.
We are uber-obese —
In the midst of Aporkalypse Now.
(Chris Doyle)
An optometrist working in Guelph
Had a grinder attached to a shelf.
Made a horrible squeal
When he fell on the wheel
And a spectacle out of himself.
(Jeff Contompasis, Ashburn, Va.)
The priest told the plumber, “A bit
Of an unpleasant smell. I admit
That the john, so to speak,
Hasn’t flushed in a week.”
“Yes, I see,” plumber said. “Holy shit!”
(Rob Cohen, Potomac, Md.)
On our first wedded night, there were scenes:
My new bride wriggled out of her jeans
And revealed her bare rear
With a sticky gold smear.
“No, that’s not, dear, what honeymoon means.”
(Duncan Stevens, Vienna, Va.)
Said the pirate, his arm feeling sore
From a horrible moment of gore,
“I am going to look
For a suitable hook
In my neighborhood second-hand store.”
(Jesse Frankovich)
For a Valentine’s Day sweet surprise,
I got Twinkies — a box, jumbo size.
So endlessly thrilling,
That sweet Hostess filling!
Now I wear his love on my thighs.
(Judy Freed, Deerfield Beach, Fla.)
“What’s that smell that your work boots secrete?”
“Ankle-deep at the beer plant, my sweet,
Were those bittering flowers—
The cleanup took hours!
So that’s why I’ve got hoppy feet.”
(Duncan Stevens)
This limerick’s really a little
Bit silly—it’s hollow — so it’ll
Be missing the part in the middle. (Jesse Frankovich gets 0.6 ink.)
The headline “Ho-word Bound” is by Jesse Frankovich; Kevin Dopart wrote the honorable-mentions subhead.
Still running — deadline 4 p.m. ET Saturday, Aug. 26: Our Week 33 Ask Backwards contest. Click here or type in bit.ly/inv-week-33.
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. Many involve our previous calls for stories about Googlenopes, peeing, theater, overdone meat, and personal regrets.
Q: My brief internet search using two different search engines suggests that “Pavlov's doggerel” is a Googlenope. That seems unlikely to me, but I'm not an expert on this (or any other) topic. There may be a myspace profile by that uses Pavlov’s doggerel. Does that knock it out of Googlenopeland?
A: Writing now:
There once was a fella named Ivan
Who did studies involving saliva in
Doggos, and smell
(He won a Nobel)
Drool’s the field he would finally thrive in.
So, not a Googlenope no more.
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.
Hey, I want to note the passing of Warren Hoge, former writer and editor for the New York Times, and, earlier, the New York Post. Warren gave me my first big career boost. I was a writer in Albany, New York. He was city editor of the New York Post. He brought me in for a week’s tryout, based on my proposal to spend a day panhandling in NYC and write about it. The story got a big famous, because I made a lot of money, and it established how well panhandlers could do back in the early days of begging. It became a question on Jeopardy!
My favorite moment was outside the Port Authority when a guy started stacking $20 bills into my palm, one after another, and after the third or fourth, I said, “wait, what?” And he said, “You know what I want.” So I gave him the money back and walked away. When I reported this to Warren at the end of the day, he looked at me and deadpanned, “You should have taken one for the team, kid.”
He was a funny, elegant man. He didn’t hire me, though. Probably used good judgment.
Okay, here we go.
Q: Some of us can't really stomach the blood involved in meat-eating. I order a steak medium and get a red bloody mess in the center. It kills my appetite every time and I bring the steak home to cook more thoroughly. So I ask for well done - not expecting charred, but meat that doesn't involve pooled blood beneath it.
A: That is not blood, exactly. It is myoglobin. I can merely ask you to read this. .
Q: Gene, you might know this travel tip already, but I'm sharing it just in case. I know how much you hate it when passengers recline on planes. I just flew Spirit Airlines, and the seats DO NOT RECLINE. The airline, in a bid to strip air travel to its barest essentials, has taken out seatback TV screens, free drinks, and the seat recliner mechanisms. They also, strangely, sell food and beverages in narrow time windows. I tried to order a snack pack five minutes after they rolled the food/beverage cart down the aisle, and the stewardess said, "Oh, we just finished our food service." For some reason, it was too much of a burden for her to make a sale. Pretty much every other airline I've flown will get me food or drinks whenever I want (especially if I'm paying for them). So I ended up eating a free snack that a DIFFERENT AIRLINE had generously given me on my previous flight. So another airline treated me better on a Spirit flight than Spirit did. But if seat reclining (or lack thereof) is your main concern, Spirit is for you.
A: Many years ago, I created this notice for my column/chat.
Q: Can you comment on the Yankees’ season so far?
A: They blow like a monsoon in February in Singapore. Also, to be more specific, Giancarlo Stanton, who “earns” $188 million, is hitting like Eddie Gaedel.
Q: Your views on steak are disgusting. I enjoy steak that is charred beyond recognition as being made of actual protein, and I resent any implication that this makes me a Phallustine.
A: Thank you, Mr. Trump. Good luck today.
Q: Who do you think won the Republican debate?
A: Trump, (small) hands down.
Q: What do you think of the Republican field?
A: Oddly serious answer: They are all deceased, horribly compromised and exposed as cowards. They basically all said they would support Trump if he were in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit, convicted of what amounts to treason. Oh, and then there is Trump.
Q: Is it a jersey foul when Yankees fans add the player’s name to their jersey?
A: Yes, it is. But actual Jersey fowls are much prettier. This is appalling.
Q: The Spelling Bee game doesn't accept words that the Times deems to be obscure or offensive, such as "bimbo." However, one of today's (8/23) accepted answers was "fellate." So apparently the Times won't give the job title, but will allow one of the duties.
A: Thank you. I should note that I once researched this and discovered that “bimbo” is not misogynistic. It can refer to a man.
Q: My husband was a bowtie wearer - not quiet bowties, but bowties with personality - his personality, and it was a big one. He left behind 100 bowties when he died. I counted of course, and set aside 10 that had special meaning. I've been offering the rest to anyone I have ever seen in a bowtie (black tie events don't count). No takers. My big regret: Some years ago, this big-hearted guy flew across the country to attend the funeral of a giant in our profession, a fellow bowtie wearer. After the funeral, the widow invited everyone back to their house for lunch. She had laid out scores of the deceased's bowties on a hall bannister and invited everyone to take a memento. My husband picked out his favorite, and wore it ever after with pride. The problem: I can't remember which one it is!! I dread giving away by mistake our esteemed colleague's tie that my husband treasured so much, somehow dishonoring the two of them and the friendship they shared. ...(Putting away handkerchief) So, does anyone out there want 90 silk bowties? (Extra credit to anyone who might figure out who our colleague was.)
A: Wow. You know, we’d be delighted to parcel these out as Invitational prizes, in honor of your husband.
Q: On the general subject of drunken cats: I am a cat-person of long standing, and were my wife not allergic to them, I would have many of them now. I well remember the time I had a group of friends over, and there were many people drinking beer. One of my cats, Yang, developed a taste for it. We were all drunk and somewhat stoned, so we began putting beer in saucers, which Yang lapped up. He got thoroughly wasted. After a while, he rolled off the couch (yes, he tried to land on all fours and almost made it), waddled across the room, bumping into various things just like a human drunk would do, and eventually fell asleep in the litterbox. Cats are sloppy drunks.
A: I think cats, indeed, make better drunks than dogs. Dogs just fall immediately asleep. No preceding moments of joy.
Q: Out of college, I taught a top private boys boarding school. I regret that I left there well before Trump sent his two mini-trumps there. I'd like to think I may have had a somewhat more positive influence on them.
A: Those guys? They were ruined at six. No way you would have made a difference, and that’s no criticism of you.
Q: Regret story: One more regret story. Summer 2007 I was interviewing for jobs in NYC. I had an appointment to meet with a prospective employer at a fancy restaurant in midtown for a pre-interview interview. I got there a little early and waited at the bar with a glass of iced tea. While I was waiting, the bartender brought me a cocktail and said it was from someone, gesturing vaguely to the other side of a large, crowded bar. I should add that at the time I was 31, fairly good-looking and in very good shape, and wearing a nice suit for the occasion. Anyway, even though this wasn't really a formal interview, I still thought it would be a bad idea to be knocking back highballs beforehand, so I declined. Looking back now I feel like the bartender may have given me an "are you f**king serious??" look, but that might just be a trick of memory.
Anyway, drink was taken away, prospective employer arrived, we had a nice dinner and a good conversation, ultimately it was mutually decided that it wasn't a good fit and I got a job elsewhere, and that was the end of that. Except ... flash forward a few months. I'm reading a magazine, and there's an interview with a famous (and famously beautiful) actress who was promoting a movie that had just come out. In the article, she talks about how much she loves New York and how it makes her feel grounded, and she relates a recent story about how she was recently at a restaurant and tried to buy a cute guy a drink and was rebuffed. Now, obviously the odds that she was talking about me are extremely low. She didn't identify the restaurant. She didn't say when it happened. She didn't describe any identifying features of the guy. Maybe her publicist made up the story out of thin air to make her seem more grounded. Etc. etc. etc. But all things considered, I regret not accepting that drink.
A: WAS IT GOLDIE HAWN?
Q: Old Zeb here... Pondering the uber-rich types -- you know, the folks who don't buy their own underwear and socks -- who have people who automatically toss their old underwear and and socks out at end of service life. They don't buy their own toothpaste either and their staff will replenish it before it runs out. I was wondering: How flat do the toothpaste tubes of the rich and famous get before being replaced with new? I can't picture DJT using the side of his toothbrush to smoosh the last bit from the tube. (To be honest, I can't picture him brushing his teeth.) Jus' askin'....
A: I roll the tube into a tight knot, like it was the lid of a can of sardines.
Q: Far from the deepest, darkest regret ever, but I regret that I hadn't ridden my bike on the bike path from Pittsburgh to DC while I had all the time in the world to do so. I'm 53 now and I have a four-year-old. I may have time again to do this, and the kid may enjoy being my companion on the trip. But there's also a small chance that when I have time to go I'll be too decrepit for it.
A: I regret never jogging. No, that’s a lie. I am proud of never jogging. The Empress of the Invitational walks something like 20 miles a day. I deeply respect that, but I believe she is clinically insane.
Q: As a very late bloomer with the ladies, I could regret all the chances I had for companionship (or just plain coitus) that I apparently wasn't ready for. But then again, almost everything everyone does seems like a good idea at the time. So on that score I regret nothing.
A: I never had a one-night stand. Ever. On some deep-seated toxic macho level, this embarrasses me. And it further embarrasses me that it embarrasses me.
Q: Classic restaurant waiter jokes: Waiter: How would you like your steak, sir? Customer: Like winning an argument with my wife. Waiter: Good choice, rare it is.
Second one: : Jesus and his disciples walk into a restaurant. Jesus asks for a table for 26. Headwaiter: But there’s only 13 of you? Jesus: Yeah, we’re all going to sit on the same side.
A: Never heard that last one. I like it.
Q: I saw Rachel in that play at KA-CHUNK Records on August 3rd, and she was amazing! (It was actually my second time meeting her, as we worked together on “White House Plumbers” also - she is a great talent, and super nice!) No real question or comment, except perhaps to wonder how you punched this far beyond your weight at least two times in your life?? (I know a couple Pulitzer Prizes must count for something, but come on :) )
A: Rachel is unimpressed with Pulitzer Prizes. I can only assume that in a previous life I saved kittens and puppies from burning buildings.
Q: I once ate at Chick and Ruth’s day, (which I had trouble finding, as I was typing Chicken Ruth’s into Google Maps, so I second your observation) - the crab cake sandwich was the size of my head, and was the second best I’ve ever had, only behind G&Ms in Linthicum
A: Apparently it is a delicious hot mess, and, yes, the size of your head. My head is a little bigger. .
Q: A recipe for your Fud Feature: Prepare a marinade with equal parts pineapple juice and soy sauce. Grate ginger into it. Marinade a flank steak for a couple of hours, flipping once during that time to soak both sides. Grill the steak until done. Serve sliced thin, with whatever you want on the side, I go for rice pilaf and green beans.
A: Thank you. Well done. Er, nicely done. And only four sentences. We may try it tonight.
Q: I grew up believing that it was impolite/inappropriate to even admit that gas had been passed, and that even saying "excuse me" violated the "we're just going to ignore it" social contract, whereas spouse grew up believing that any detectable gas release required an "excuse me".
A: I kind of agree with your view, even though it is anathema to honesty and good journalism.
Q: What was the Jeopardy! question?
A: It was I think “What did a NY Post reporter do to make $37 in cash in a day.” Or something.
Q: Never had a one-night stand? Do orgies count, if you connected with some women you never saw again?
A: Orgies would count, but I never participated in one. And I lived through the 1960s! Pathetic.
Okay, i am calling us down. Please send it comments and particularly questions. Questions here:
I don’t think that Pete Best made that big career choice. I am no drumming expert, but from what I have read about the Beatles (which is a whole, whole, whole, whole, lot) the others made a good choice. I did however meet Pete’s brother Rory when he toured us through Casbah and he was a lovely fellow.
The comment that failing to admit having farted was anathema not just to honesty, but also to “good journalism” adds a new dimension to the phrase “breaking news”.