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Week 709: A Return Engagement

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Even though this year's tax deadline isn't until Tuesday, it is still possible that one or two of you reading this column have already sent in your returns and can turn your attention fully to the task at hand. And the rest of you can easily catch up, because you'll be full of fresh ideas with which you can vent: This week: Come up with some novel change to the tax code: a tax on something that ought to be taxed, a credit for something that should be rewarded, what that $3 should go to instead of presidential campaigns, etc. Serious tax reform ideas are not welcome, any more than they are in Congress. This week's contest was suggested by Eager Beaver Loser Drew Bennett, who probably filed on Jan. 2.

Winner gets either (1) his next year's taxes paid for by The Washington Post Co. or (2) the Inker, the official Style Invitational trophy (The Post chooses). First runner-up receives an original poster of the Captain and Tennille -- those icons of the Golden Age of the Death Throes of Top 40 Radio -- that Washington Post sports copy editor Sushant Sagar had been holding on to since 1976. We are certain that Sushant will henceforth be called Muskrat Love Sagar by the sports department, including on his pay stub.

Other runners-up win a coveted Style Invitational Loser T-shirt. Honorable Mentions (or whatever they're called that week) get one of the lusted-after Style Invitational Magnets. One prize per entrant per week. Send your entries by e-mail to losers@washpost.com or by fax to 202-334-4312. Deadline is Monday, April 23. Put "Week 709" in the subject line of your e-mail, or it risks being ignored as spam. Include your name, postal address and phone number with your entry. Results will be published May 13. Contests are judged on the basis of humor and originality. All entries become the property of The Washington Post. Entries may be edited for taste or content. No purchase required for entry. Employees of The Washington Post, and their immediate relatives, are not eligible for prizes. Pseudonymous entries will be disqualified. This week's Honorable Mentions name is by Randy Lee. Next week's revised title is by Tom Witte of Montgomery Village

Report From Week 705

in which we asked for amusing analogies: Note that, unlike in the two previous analogy contests, we didn't ask for bad ones, just amusing ones. Sure, often their badness is what's funny about them, but even here, things don't always have to be bad to be good.

5. His heart sank like a rowboat made of fish sticks. (W.H. Welsh IV, Springfield)

4. The evening was as uneventful as a spin of Left Foot Red when your left foot is already on red. (Russell Beland, Springfield)

3. Jim was as nervous as an albino penguin in a bowling alley. (Barbara Turner, Takoma Park)

2. the winner of the Wedding Slinger toy-bride-shooter: His eyes were a deep blue, like the color someone's lips turn when he's had a heart attack in the airport, just before he gets hit with the automatic external defibrillators. (Anthony Yeznach, Wilsonville, Ore.)

And the Winner of the Inker


(Bob Staake For The Washington Post)

Her mouth was so sensual and delicate you would never use the word "piehole" to describe it. (Jay Shuck, Minneapolis)

The Other Metaphortunates

She felt alone and threatened, like a fat cell on a a fashion model's thigh. (Dennis Lindsay, Seabrook)

As usual, Larry King's questioning was anything but tough -- it was like trying to stone a heretic with Peeps. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)

The point of his argument came across about as clearly as the white subtitles in "The March of the Penguins." (Sue Lin Chong, Baltimore)

The truth was slippery, like a lake trout used as a ping-pong paddle. (W.H. Welsh IV)

She was as thin as Ann Coulter after a bile-ectomy. (Jeff Brechlin, Eagan, Minn.)

She was as controlling as the software that blocks DoctorDentons.com because "Access to lingerie Web sites is forbidden." (John Kupiec, Fairfax)

When the bomb fell on that freight train in the war zone, it sounded just like a tornado. (Ira Allen, Bethesda; Stephen Dudzik, Olney)

There was something about him that just screamed money, as if he'd trained a myna bird to fly around him shouting "money." (Russell Beland)

Her eyes were like twin cyclopses. (Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park)

Watching forlornly as his prom date danced with another guy, Jake realized that in the game of love, he was as pathetic as a n00b who's been pwn3d for the first time. (Beth Baniszewski, Somerville, Mass.)

His mustache looked like a fuzzy caterpillar seeking shade under a big nose. (Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)

Looking for the right Google entry to plagiarize is like trying to find June 16 on one of those flipping calendars in old B movies. (Ira Allen)

Her chest was flatter than the "t" on a used-up tube of Crest. (Mel Loftus, Holmen, Wis.)

Seeing this guy, it was like I was looking in the mirror, except he was three-dimensional and didn't wear his wedding ring on his right hand. (Russell Beland)

He mangled his prose the way he mangled his bifocals when they fell in the blender and ruined the margaritas, which he drank anyway, which might have been why he mangled his prose. (Jane Auerbach, Los Angeles)

The baseball flew at his face like a white meteor with red stitching. (Dan Bahls, Brighton, Mass.)

She was jumping up and down laughing hysterically, like a hyena duct-taped to a kangaroo. (Seth Brown, North Adams, Mass.)

Trying to keep down his anger was like trying to stuff Siamese twins into a garbage can: No matter what part you shoved down, some other part popped up. (W.H. Welsh IV)

He knew this argument with his wife was unwinnable, like the war in Iraq, but that's why he couldn't resist one final surge. (Joseph Romm, Washington)

There was something funny about it, like it was the opposite of "The Family Circus." (Russell Beland)

The daylight slowly stole away like a crooked bookkeeper. (Elwood Fitzner, Valley City, N.D.)

His life had reached a dead end, as if he had Googled "What do i do next?" and retrieved "HTTP Error 503: Service Unavailable." (Jay Shuck)

Huck gradually accepts that liberty and self-sacrifice are inseparable, like Paris and Nicole. (Laura McGinnis, Takoma Park)

Bob felt as out of place as a Kotex decal on a NASCAR vehicle. (Brendan Beary)

She had the lilting, country-fried drawl of a senator from New York. (Jay Shuck)

Her pushed-up cleavage reminded him of two Charlie Brown heads. (Randy Lee, Burke)

The dragonfly's wing was as iridescent as the silvery purple/blue streaks in Arby's sliced roast beef. (Phyllis Reinhard, East Fallowfield, Pa.)

Her eyes were entrancing, the pale liquid blue you see in the toilet bowl when the Ty-D-Bol tablet is almost gone. (Dennis Lindsay)

The diamond glistened like the pavement underneath a turkey deep-fryer. (Andrew Hoenig, Rockville)

Dangerous Bob was so dangerous that if you crossed a wolverine with a grizzly bear with a mountain lion with a Siberian tiger, he'd probably kill you because he hates animal experimentation. (Seth Brown)

The law's purpose was inexplicable, like that weird yellow grit on the bottom of English muffins. (Brendan Beary)

There was something appealing about her that he just couldn't put his finger on, unlike that last girl, who smacked him when had put his finger on her appealing part. (Russell Beland)

Her skin was cold and clammy, like a clam that had been stretched over a human body. And not a cooked clam, either. (Andrew Hoenig)

Her emotions were a mixture of fear and joy, like when you have a really good-looking stalker. (Kevin Marshall, South Riding)

We were all alone, just like the characters on that show "Lost" except that we were all alone. (Russell Beland)

Her tears rolled down her face, playing pinball on her zits. (Chuck Smith)

The news hit him hard, like a stack of Sunday Washington Posts thrown from a moving truck, in fact exactly like that. (Drew Bennett, Alexandria)

Next Week: Questionable Journalism, or Jest Ask

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