The Invitational Week 37: Do You Have to Spell It Out for Us?

You do. Give us 'backronyms.' Plus severed-body-parts 'Muldoon' verses.

Help Us Morons Misuse Earth’s Resources: Clearly what the name of this vehicle stands for, right? It’s time for another backronym contest, below

Hello. Today you get a NEW (Not Everyone Wins) Invitational contest, and the delightful results from the old one. But first, as always, Gene presents a Gene Pool Gene Poll, this time with explanation. Last night he was a patron of a restaurant in D.C.’s Chinatown, a good restaurant unfortunately named “Wok and Roll.” Outside, the place has this plaque on the wall, which identifies it as the former row house where John Wilkes Booth and his co-conspirators planned the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.

The row house has long ago been gutted, which is, frankly, dreadfully stupid city planning — it’s as though Dallas had permitted Dealey Plaza to be turned into a waterslide amusement park. Now the house that launched the most heinous crime in American history looks just like a modern Chinese restaurant. Neon. Plastic. Etc.

But that’s not the point of this Gene Poll. In one of the two unisex bathrooms in Wok and Roll is somebody’s freelance Sharpie drawing on the wall. Here it is.

And the Poll:

Second poll:

Now, an important cultural note. New Years’ Eve ends at sundown tomorrow, Friday, at 7:30 p.m. At that hour, all Jews must get kissed under a sprig of a bitter herbs.

Okay, ask questions, make observations, here:

We’re Baaaaack…. The New Contest

HUMMER: Help Us Morons Misuse Earth’s Resources (Elwood Fitzner)

METRO: More Efficient Than Renting Oxen (Michael Reinemer)

SNOWDEN: Spy, Nerd Or Whistleblower, Drives Everyone Nuts (Gary
Crockett)

WAR AND PEACE: Who Actually Reads All Ninety Dozen Pages? Eggheads — And Counterfeit Eggheads. (Melissa Balmain)

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For Invitational Week 37: Take the name of any person, place, or thing and write a snarky description of it by using each of its letters, in order, as the first letters of your snark, as in the examples above, which were taken from long-ago Style Invitational results. It’s been seven years since we last did this.

For guidance and inspiration — and to be sure you’re not using a joke someone else already got ink for — check out our previous Style Invitational backronym results: Week 632 (2005); Week 1025 (2013); and Week 1169 (2016). (Scroll down past each of those weeks’ new contests.) We’ll be partial to contemporary references, but not dismissive of others, if they are good.

Click here for this week’s entry form. Or go to bit.ly/inv-form-37. As usual, you can submit up to 25 entries for this week’s contest, preferably all on the same entry form. See the form for how to format your entries.

Deadline is Saturday, Sept. 23, at 4 p.m. ET. Results will run here in The Gene Pool on Thursday, Sept. 28.

The winner gets a plush foamy jesterish hat in Mardi Gras colors, in plenty of time for you to contrive some clever purpose for it as part of a Halloween costume. Brand new and donated by the Ever-Donatin’ Dave Prevar.

Be just as jolly as this mannequin with this week’s festive prize.

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

Meanwhile, we need questions / ruminations / observations that Gene can answer in real time. Send ’em here:

Arse Poetica: Winning  ‘Muldoons’ from Week 35

In Week 35 we asked you to write what we called Muldoons, in honor of the wonderfully alliterative Pulitzer prizewinning Princeton poet Paul P. Muldoon, who once wrote Muldoons, and/or something very much like them. A Muldoon had to be four lines long and include (1) a geographical location — a term that we were generous enough to accept “the Underworld,” but not Mar-a-Lago, Sotheby’s or “the produce aisle” — and (2) two body parts; and (3) at least one rhyme. Also, we do not believe Mr. Muldoon’s middle name begins with a P, but we liked the continued alliteration.

Third runner-up:  
He unpacked his bag and unbuttoned his coat;
He had a red nose and a very sore throat.
So no one got presents and no one got coal;
’Twas the first case of Covid to hit the North Pole.
(Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.) 

Second runner-up: 
In New York he was famed
For smart anti-crime stands,
Now Rudy can’t pinpoint
His ass with both hands.
(Stephen Gold, London)  

First runner-up:
The Michelin Man was pale and wan, so to his face I spoke:
“You are so fun and jolly — why not cheer us with a joke?”
“I’ve been on worldwide jaunts to all the company’s suppliers.
I just flew in from Katmandu, and boy, are my arms tires.”
(Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park, Md.)

And the winner of the pen with the poop emoji that pops off the top:
The task of eating pizza in New York
Is done with hands, and never knife and fork.
Don’t break the rules and cause a massive eye roll —
Just fold it up and shove it in your piehole.
(Jonathan Jensen, Baltimore)

Nothin’ ’doon:  Honorable mentions

An ogre from the Underworld had feelings most unpleasant:
“My reflux has come back — I couldn’t eat another peasant!
My eyes were bigger than my tum,’ digestion’s not so spry.
I ought to chew before I gulp —” Then he heaved a heavy thigh.
(Jonathan Paul)  

A farmer hailed an alien whose spaceship came to Earth,
He shook the creature’s giant hand for all that he was worth.
The strange being screamed as if he suffered a great harm.
“Uh-oh,” thought the farmer, “I don’t think that was his arm.” 
(Pam Shermeyer, Lathrup Village, Mich.)  

In Fulton County they snapped his mug
in a look unpresidential.
If the trial be fair, then his derriere
soon will be there, residential. 
(Leslie Franson, Ellicott City, Md., a First Offender)

On the Texas frontier, he rides up to my rear,
Says my ass is so lovely to stare at.
So I bid him draw near, and I say in his ear,
“If you like you can give it a carrot.”
(Jonathan Paul) 

It’s not his heart.
It’s not his head.
Mitch froze in D.C.
From existential dread. 
(Sam Mertens, Silver Spring, Md.)   

When reporting to the court he claimed a weight of 215.
The clerk said, “With all due respect, you don’t appear that lean.”
“I got weighed last week in Palm Beach!” declared defendant Trump.
The clerk asked, “Did that sum include your belly and your rump?”
(Rick Bromberg, Fairfax, Va.)   

An actress of the California kind 
Lost face when people laughed at her behind.
“My tuchus has begun to sag, I fear:
I'll need a surgeon to bring up the rear.”
(Beverley Sharp) 

In Paradise, Nevada, on a cool November night,
When Holyfield and Tyson got together for a fight,
The referee yelled, “Stop! This bout’s gone seriously south!” 
“Huh, what’d you say?” Evander cried. “My ear is in his mouth!”
(Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.) 

I offer a riddle: can you name the mollusk
That’s often discovered on Washington beaches?
A “duck” without wings, just one very long foot,
Which resembles the phallus of mammalian creatures.
(Sarah Walsh, Rockville, Md.)

A urologist’s finger.
A prostate massage.
Spermatozoa
Erupt like Krakatoa.
(Chris Doyle, Denton, Tex.)   

A man from Muskogee desired a fresh start;
Went into the hospital for a new heart.
“Oh, no!” cried the surgeon, who said with a shiver,
“My scalpel just slipped — hope he’s fond of chopped liver.”
(Beverley Sharp)

A bumbling doc from Dubuque
Was retrained by the med school at Duke.
The dean was impressed and said, “Wow —
He knows his glutes from his cubitus now.”
(Kevin Dopart, Naxos, Greece)

On the beach in Daytona one year on spring break,
She caught my eye and made my knees quake.
I kissed her sweet lips; their taste seemed to linger.
I gave her my heart but she gave me the finger.
(Jon Gearhart, Des Moines)

I dreamed I was a Labrador retriever.
My wife said, “Yes, I know,” and I said “What?”
With twinkling eyes, she said I should believe her —
Last night in bed, I turned and sniffed her butt.
(Mark Raffman)

A would-be poet lived in Spain;
In vain he daily strained his brain.
But all his efforts were kaput:
He didn’t have a metric foot. (Beverley Sharp)

At Kentucky Fried Chicken, I said, “Here to eat!
But I’ve major aversions to undercooked meat.
Are your leg pieces fully cooked through, every one?”
“Oh, yes,” they assured me. “Sir, thigh will be done.”  
(Duncan Stevens, Vienna, Va.)

Some devils went down to Georgia
Lookin’ to put a thumb on the scale
They were in a bind, their candidate behind —
Now their asses are headin’ to jail. (Jon Carter, Fredericksburg, Va.)

That Captain in Neverland’s in for a shock —
He’s about to encounter that croc with the clock.
At the end of the day, he’ll need more than a peg:
The bloodbath will cost him an arm and a leg.  (Beverley Sharp)

Hot ruby lips, mascaraed eyes,
A penchant for outrageous lies.
Who knew a drag queen from Brazil
Could steal the show on Capitol Hill?  (Jonathan Jensen)  

The Galapagos Islands — a natural museum!
So get off your butt and make haste to go see ’em.
But don’t look for diamonds or sapphires or rubies;
Just keep your eyes open (in case you like boobies).  (Beverley Sharp)

Her eyes shine bright as planet Venus —
A perfect match, say those who’ve seen us.
Her accent will not come between us
When she says she wants “ha-penis.” (Rob Cohen, Potomac, Md.)

Said the Limerick lady, “This verse
Makes me sick to my stomach, or worse.
It’s a pain in the brain
To write a quatrain.
(With no fifth line, the thing’s just too terse.)” (Mark Raffman)

And Last: To the Empress:
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as your knee.
Your elbow crests fair Beauty’s arc.
(Please send my prize to Garrett Park.)  
(Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park, Md.)

The headline “Arse Poetica” was submitted by both Chris Doyle and Jonathan Paul; Tom Witte wrote the honorable-mentions subhead.

Still running — deadline 4 p.m. ET Saturday, Sept. 16: Our Week 36 contest for reasons to be respectful and compassionate toward Trumpers. Click here or type in bit.ly/inv-week-36. 

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 renowned real-time questions / observations / answers part of the Gene Pool. Today’s will include sosumis, things you dislike that others like, and Nickelbacks, things you like that others don’t, and dreams, and sentencing for January 6 convicts, and all bunch of extraneous things. Please remember that if you are reading this in real time, you should keep refreshing your screen for new questions and answers.

Send questions / observations here, and Gene will respond to them, if they are any good. That is a challenge:

Q: About the insurrectionists, hang ‘em. Hang them from every lamppost in DC. Hang everyone who crossed the perimeter on January 6th. Build more lampposts if we run out. Hang all the supporters in the tent. Hang any member of Congress who failed to support impeachment or the commission into the insurrection as a conspirator. Festoon the bridges over the Potomac with the heads of former White House personnel and cabinet members.

A: You sound like someone in authority from the Handmaid’s Tale.  Go away. I’ll happily refund your subscription. I’ll double the refund.

Q:   I *wanted* to prefer dark chocolate, since it was being touted as healthier, even hipper a few years back. Then I read that most of it contains heavy metals, so now I'm happy to admit milk chocolate is best

A: It’s true!   You made my day.

Q: Never forgot the dream I had during finals week where i got to the exam room for my 11 am final only to be told it started at 9 and was now over. But that’s a common-type dream, the anxiety dream. On the other hand I dreamed once that I had a pet elephant Who used its trunk to clean under dressers for me. Melissa from Comments 

A: Made me laugh. 

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 Week 37 … “ ) 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 roughly 1 p.m. ET today.

Also, howzabout you pay to subscribe? We live or die on these.

Q: I'm a mid-thirties lefty, not sympathetic to the rioters' politics at all, but I have to feel squeamish when, to quote the Times, someone's sentence gets a terrorism enhancement that "emerged from a charge in which he was found guilty of damaging a government-owned fence in a way that allowed other rioters to surge forward." Fifteen to twenty years in a US prison is a really long time, especially for those (not all) who weren't accused of committing violence themselves.

A: Not sure I agree on that last point.  Hitler never visited a concentration camp.  However, I agree with your main point, and I was surprised so few readers didn’t.  The case you cite is about Proud Boy Joseph Biggs, who was a key planner of the riot but never entered the Capitol or physically assaulted anyone.  Even the judge said he was uncomfortable applying the terrorism enhancement, but he did, and sentenced Biggs to 17 years. 

Seventeen years is a very long time. 

Q: Of course those sentences are ridiculously harsh, especially given the light sentences typically handed out to the psychopathic thugs that actually terrorize real citizens ( rather than the pampered and well-protected empty suits in Congress). The sentences aren’t quite Ethel Rosenberg harsh but they reflect the same establishment paranoia and insecurity that led to her execution.

A: I’m not sure they are “ridiculously harsh,” but they are harsh and seem disturbingly third-world, to me. 

Q: I wonder if the few other people who found the sentences for the January 6 people appropriate  know anyone who is or has been incarcerated, and has any familiarity with the process. The first thing I learned after my daughter was sentenced to prison for 5 years for a nonviolent crime—damaging a police car during the George Floyd protests—was that every single person I know believes that prison sentences aren't real, and if the person convicted is ever sent to a federal correction institution, they will have a relaxing break followed by an almost immediate release. These sentences will be served in their entirety, and when they are over, if the convicts are still alive, their lives will be completely ruined. We have the capacity as a society to improve lives. Why don't we? Would we not be better served by any of the other tools we have? Anything at all? I'm not a complete abolitionist, but I can confidently say I don't know anyone, apart from people who have served time, who fully comprehends how wasteful our medieval prison system is.

Q: Last night's dream - It was dark. Three tall white men dressed in pastel golf course cashmere and sporting menacing sneers approached me on the patio of someone's unit where I was sitting at a table with my 90-yr-old uncle, the only person with me. I made an attempt to give them pause by yelling into the unit window, "Hey, Tommy! C'mere." They weren't deterred, just slowly walking toward me blocking any exit I had. I tried to get up from the table, but the closest one pushed me in the stomach and I grabbed his arm. It was as cold and strong as steel. I knew I was done, so my only recourse was to scream for help. I screamed as loudly as I could, "HELP ME!" and it woke me up, as I'd actually verbalized it in my sleep. I saw the new kitten, who'd been sleeping next to me, standing up doing that arched-back sideways crab-walk thing, moving away from me. The other 16-pound ginger cat came running and jumped up on the bed, his eyes wide. I was still too scared to move. After a few minutes to calm down, I burst out laughing at the little one looking like she'd just watched "The Exorcist," and the big guy looking like "Oh, no! Don't kill the can opener!"

A: Again, the last line made this worthwhile. 

Q: I saw this: and my first question does “musical” rhyme with “pharmaceutical”?

A: It does not except possibly in Boebert’s case. 

Q: Dreams; The funny thing about mine is that their deeper meaning is blindingly obvious - no deep subtleties here: I dream I'm lost. Frequently. Typically I am alone, traveling around somewhere I have been before and can't find the way home. I am usually looking for my wife. I cannot seem to find my way back to her, even though I know the general area. The specifics will vary; sometimes I am lost in a city, sometimes in a rural setting; one memorable dream involved endless train connections. There is usually some reason I am anxious about this. I may be very late, or she may have cause to worry about my safety, or I may really need to be home soon for some important reason. Clearly I unconsciously feel lost in some way. But these buggers disturb me inordinately. I suspect I am on the cusp of some great, self-revealing discovery, here, but no revelations yet.

A: If it helps, you are me.  This is my most frequent dream.  What bothers me is the simple fact that we all tend to dream the same things.  We are pathetic, unoriginal, paranoic, insecure creatures.

Q: Thank you for using the poll I suggested about crossing one's arms. The results surprised me too that it's entirely random. Now I have a suggestion that's not quite a sosumi or a Nickelback. Is there something that irritates you although it's extremely minor and most people wouldn't even think about it. My example: when I buy bananas and put them in the fruit bowl I have to peel off the little labels. Can't stand them being there although I don't care about them UNTIL they hit the fruit bowl. Love from Jill in Utah, a three-time Loser.

A: This is a very good idea.  Think about yours, people, because it may be coming up. 

Q: Is there such a thing as a "contra-aptonym"? The Dodgers have a pitcher named Walker Buehler and an outfielder named James Outman, who has been hitting pretty darned well these days. By the way, Outman is supposedly 6'3" and 215 pounds, but that can't be true because you-know-who looks a lot bigger at the supposedly same height and weight. I guess that means Outman is lying about his weight and is only 115 pounds.

A: I hear he has admitted he is 117. 

This is Gene.  On Tuesday, I published an astoundingly incorrect article written by Google Bard, the most inept AI site on the Web, about me.   It was filled with flat-out inaccuracies and inventions, which I highlighted in bold.  The same reader who submitted it also submitted one on the Style Invitational, which I reprint below, similarly highlighted. This one is even worse. Here it is:

The Style Invitational is a weekly humor contest in The Washington Post that has been running since 1982. It is known for its outrageous and often offensive entries, which have occasionally led to scandals. One of the most famous scandals involving The Style Invitational was the "Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest" in 1983. The contest asked contestants to write the worst possible opening sentence for a novel. The winning entry was "It was a dark and stormy night." This sentence has since become a classic of bad writing. Another scandal involved the "Poetry by the Nose" contest in 1992. The contest asked contestants to write poems that could be smelled. The winning entry was "The Smell of Death" by John Barrasso. This poem was so offensive that it was banned from the Style Invitational website. In 2002, there was a scandal involving the "Missing Persons" contest. The contest asked contestants to write about people who had disappeared without a trace. One of the entries was about a man who had disappeared after being accused of child molestation. This entry was so disturbing that it was removed from the Style Invitational website.

 In 2012, there was a scandal involving the "Plagiarism" contest. The contest asked contestants to write entries that were plagiarized from other sources. One of the entries was a verbatim copy of an article from The New York Times. This entry was disqualified from the contest. These are just a few of the scandals that have involved The Style Invitational. The contest has a long history of controversy, but it remains one of the most popular humor contests in the world. In addition to the scandals mentioned above, there have been other controversies involving The Style Invitational. In 2007, the contest was criticized for its use of racial and ethnic stereotypes. In 2013, the contest was accused of being sexist. And in 2018, the contest was criticized for its lack of diversity. Despite these controversies, The Style Invitational remains a popular and successful contest. It has been praised for its creativity and humor. And it has helped to launch the careers of many comedy writers. The Style Invitational is a unique and irreverent contest that pushes the boundaries of good taste. It is not for everyone, but it is sure to entertain those who are willing to laugh at the absurd. Here are some additional thoughts on the scandals involving The Style Invitational: Some people believe that the scandals are a sign that the contest has gone too far. They argue that the contest should focus on humor that is more lighthearted and less offensive. Others believe that the scandals are a necessary part of the contest's identity. They argue that the contest should be allowed to push the boundaries of good taste, even if it means offending some people. Ultimately, the question of whether or not the scandals are a problem is a matter of opinion. There is no right or wrong answer. The Style Invitational is a controversial contest, but it is also a unique and important part of American culture. It has helped to launch the careers of many comedy writers, and it has provided a platform for people to express their creativity and humor. The scandals involving the contest are a reminder that humor is a powerful force, and that it can be used to both entertain and offend.

This is Gene, again.  Another item, by the same website, tasked to explain the Style Invitational, said that The Empress has stolen another entrant’s idea, submitted it as her own, and accepted the “prize money.” I am sure you are all thrilled to know there is prize money.  It does lead to the question, can one sue a machine for defamation?  And if one did, wouldn’t the libel have to have been disseminated to a broad audience, and, no, YOU could not have been the disseminator.

Q: I am not surprised that Twitter wouldn’t help you get back on Twitter. X is famously unreceptive to user complaints.  

A: I forgot to mention something on Tuesday. When I got bizarrely banished from Twitter, and found Twitter unresponsive, I went online and found a half dozen sites to get you back on.  I tried the first one.  It said it was staffed by a dozen people, names and pictures included, and that they specialized in that, and would do it within minutes, and charge $1 but refund it after you are reinstated, and asked for my PayPal.  One dollar?  Refund?    Only then did I search on their service.  They bill you $50 and don’t ever contact Twitter.  

Q: I was listening to a podcast recently about a cult leader who wanted to collect 144,000 male virgins. What’s the collective noun for such a group? A “wank” or a “gross?” Both the podcaster and I agree that’s too many virgins.

A: It is a “celebration” of male virgins.  

Q: I apologize for a submission that is at least a month overdue. I had been wondering whether to write about it. While it’s far from the biggest regret of my life, it is the regret most appropriate to this forum. There’s no way to say it artfully, so I’ll be direct: I regret passing up the chance to fart in Mitch McConnell’s face.

TIME: Mid May 2008, late afternoon to early evening PLACE: Busy upscale Southern cuisine restaurant on Capitol Hill, name forgotten CHARACTERS: Niece who has just graduated from American University, her best friend, her older sister and fiancé, her parents, and me and my wife OCCASION: Post-graduation dinner for niece and her best friend SITUATION: My back was to the wall, and I was able to survey the entire dining room.

Our dinner party was finishing our appetizers and awaiting our entrees. The maitre d’ was showing a couple to their booth. The couple looked familiar; it took me several moments to recognize them: Mitch McConnell and his wife, Elaine Chao. Recognition turned to resentment. How dare that God Damned Turtle and the Dragon Lady degrade our dinner by dining in the same restaurant!! I pointed them out to the rest of our party. Several of them wrinkled their noses like they were smelling something offensive. Their expressions gave me an idea. I quietly told my wife that the McConnells’ booth was on the way to the Men’s Room, and described a What-If scenario. What if I walked by their booth on the way to use the Men’s Room, pretended to drop something in the aisle in front of their booth, and while bending over to pick up the imaginary item, let one rip? If I were to bend from the waist, my rear end would be just below the level of Mitch McConnell’s face.

My wife cautioned me that doing so would almost certainly get me thrown out of the restaurant, and might get our entire dinner party thrown out, too. She said that it would be most inconsiderate of me to spoil my niece’s graduation dinner with such a sophomoric prank. I grudgingly nodded my acceptance of her advice. EPILOGUE: My wife continues to insist that she and the rest of my family would have been forever embarrassed by my aborted antics. My sister and my niece said that while they would have been angry with me for creating a scene and endangering their dinner, that maybe I should have gone through with it. I could have had a special place in family lore. My niece says that it would have been great to tell her kids about her crazy Uncle John, who did things like getting the entire family thrown out of a restaurant when he farted in Mitch McConnell’s face. SUMMARY: By avoiding the risk of spoiling a special occasion dinner for my extended family, I passed up the chance to pass gas in Mitch McConnell’s face. 

A: Not surprisingly, I let this run full length, even though it is too long.  I don’t understand why you feel that you’d have been thrown out.  The beauty of a fart – the only beauty of a fart – is that it is impossible to prove intent, unless you did it with a flourish. 

Q: I fell asleep on the couch while my wife was watching TV. At one point I "awakened" to realize I had been tied up and was about to be attacked. I could hear the TV, opened my eyes enough that I could peripherally see my wife sitting in her chair. The attack part of the dream quickly faded, yet I couldn't move. I tried calling for help, moving my arms, kicking my legs, feet, anything. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I managed to make enough mumbled noise that my wife finally came over and as soon as she touched me, I became fully awake. I believe this is known as sleep paralysis. It is what actually stops you from sleepwalking.

A: I am not sure you’re right about that last point; I could find no literature suggesting that it’s basically Darwinian, but it makes intuitive sense.  Once or twice, in the middle of a nightmare, I have called out for help.  But my mouth is sleep-paralyzed and it comes out something like “Houipph”

Q: I was so exhausted that showering was a big accomplishment. One morning, I awoke and struggled into the shower which made me feel much better but left me totally sapped. I got back into bed and slept several more hours. When I finally awoke, I was annoyed that much of the day was gone. “ At least,” I consoled myself, “ I already had a shower today and don’t have to struggle through that labor. “ Then I realized that my shower had been nothing but a delirious dream and that I was still a disgusting, sweaty mess.

A: I once was in a hotel in New York the night before I was to be interviewed on National TV.  I was nervous and could not get to sleep.   I kept complaining to my editor, who was with me, in the second bed, that I could not sleep, and was afraid I would be exhausted.  He was not helpful. He also couldn’t sleep.  This went on for what seemed like hours!  Finally, I woke up.  I had been asleep, dreaming it all.  My editor was not with me.  There was no second bed.  And despite having slept, I was exhausted from the ordeal. 

Q: I have dreams that I remember pretty much every single night, and I have a lot of recurring dreams. Some are standard anxiety dreams: I forgot to prepare my lessons, I forgot to get dressed and went to school naked, I forgot where my classroom is, etc. (I'm a teacher.) But I have one concerning recurring dream: I'm chewing gum and I keep pulling but I can't get it out of my mouth. I've had this one off and on for years and have even giving up chewing gum because it freaks me out so much. Does this mean I grind my teeth or am doing anything strange with my mouth while I sleep? I hate it!

A: My teeth fall out.  But my most disgusting recurrent dream – I had it for years – was that I was in some public event and had to poop, but there was no bathroom, so I pooped in my hand and tried to hide it.  I am not a completely sane person. 

Q: Nickelback – Driving stick shift, even in heavy traffic. As electric vehicles become the norm, manual transmissions will lose all purpose and go away. I will not mourn the internal combustion engine, but I will mourn that.

A: Agreed, obviously. My current hatred is Whole Foods, an excellent urban supermarket that has a ticket system for parking.  To leave, your car has to climb up a 25-degree incline, then stop at a machine to insert your ticket.  If you have a stick-shift car, as I do, this is hell on your clutch.  Then you continue climbing the incline, until you get to street level, where, if people are walking by, you have to stop and start AGAIN.   Ninety-two percent of you will have no idea what a pain in the ass this is.

Q: Male virgins are rarer than one would imagine. No matter how repulsive a guy is, no matter how infrequently he bathes, no matter how obnoxious his behavior, no matter how physically unattractive, observation shows there is SOME woman out there who finds him compellingly irresistable. After all, MAGAs have female companions.

A: Hm. I suspect male virgins are more common. Gina Barreca once told me “all women can get laid if they want to, not all men can,” and I believe she was right.

This is Gene. I copy us down. Please keep sending in questions / observations here. I will respond to them on Tuesday.