I did allow for a little variation from the template. If this rankles you, please derankle yourself. Nobody else cares except you and that other huffy person who bothers even you.
Today’s Inkin’ Memorial winner isn’t a First Offender, but he’s close: Robert Falk got his first and only previous Invite ink eight weeks ago in Week 1026: “You might need to do some shopping. . . if the 7-Eleven won’t serve you unless you remove your shirt and shoes.” Today his multiple-parallel comparisons get him both the first and the last entries on the list. And talk about currying favor: comparing the Empress to a prostitute is such a brownnosing move.
The runners-up are all thorough Invite recidivists: Edmund Conti gets Ink No. 78, his eighth “above the fold,” for a joke about his in-laws, who must, by the way, be biblically ancient, seeing as how Edmund was born in 1929.. Mark Richardson gets his seventh piece of Top 4 detritus, and Gary Crockett his 17th out of 156 inks with his totally, delightfully ludicrous line about carnal knowledge, lack of stamina, and clowns.
(A host of unprintable entries appears in the last section of this column. If you don’t want to see offensive humor, please don’t look at it.)
Two upcoming Loser sightings
I won’t be at this Sunday’s Loser Brunch at the Front Page, in Arlington’s Ballston section, but a Loser contingent will gather at noon this Sunday; there’s a very nice buffet plus a Bloody Mary bar, along with a regular menu. RSVP to Elden Carnahan here so he can get a head count.
And Loser Bill Spencer rounded up a group to join him last night at the Bare Bones pub in Ellicott City, Md., southwest of Baltimore, and team up for a trivia competition. They’re hoping that other people join them next time; reply to this post on the Style Invitational Devotees page on Facebook.
I like my unprintable entries the way I like risking my job ...
It’s a crude genre, and the Loser Community didn’t spare me the crudity. Here are some unprintables of varying degrees of unprintability:
I like my BMWs the way I like my condoms: as a part of sheer driving pleasure. (Jeff Contompasis)
I like juries like I like my partners: hung and in groups of 12 -- Jenna Jameson (Mike Gips)
I like my sex partners the way I like my Congressmen: with greasy palms. (Neal Starkman)
I like the Kardashians how I like my liver and onions : curbside in a plastic bag getting gnawed on by raccoons. (Bird Waring)
I like my college football teams like I like my maxipads -- whatever can stop the Crimson Tide. (Mark Raffman)
I like my socks like I like my lovers: casual and woolly. (Tom Witte)
I like my women like I like my Thanksgiving turkey: warm and juicy, with succulent breasts and thighs, and easily carved. (Tom Witte)
I like my mornings like I like my dining room floors: with impressive, quality hardwood. (Tom Witte)
I like women the way I like golf: there’s nothing more exciting than a hole in one. (Brian Allgar)
I like my men like I like my weekend refreshment: Liquid and stiff. (Nan Reiner)
I like my men like I like my crossword puzzles: Doable and deliciously hard. (Nan Reiner)
I like my women the way I like Rap songs: they suck. (Brian Allgar)
I like my Linda Lovelace biographies the way I like my boxing match analyses: blow-by-blow accounts. (Chris Doyle)
I like my sex the way I like my poker hands: inside straight. (Brendan Beary)
I like my children like I like my cake mix: easy to raise, with only minimal beating. (Mike Fransella)
I like my women like I like my ear -- slightly hairy and wiggly when I stick in my pinky. (Kevin Cuddihy)