Overheard, in a café this morning. I didn't hear the question that provoked this answer, so I'm just offering it up as a contest. You compose the question, you know, like in
those New Yorker caption writing contests, which I despise. The reason I don't despise my own little contest is not (just) because it's mine, but because The New Yorker uses some damned picture that was drawn without a caption in mind, the readers come up with such poor ideas, and The New Yorker keeps doing it in spite of the nauseating mediocrity. On the other hand, I really did hear this quote, so there is a true answer somewhere out there lost in the past, and you will probably have some good ideas, and I'm not going to keep doing this if you don't.
IN THE COMMENTS: Lots of funny suggestions, but I'm going to declare a winner. It's
AJ Lynch for
"How come we get always get drunk before we have sex?"
49 comments:
Why do you only take pictures of me when I'm bent over the toilet?
Why do pictures of me look so ugly the next morning?
"How come I have to buy film every time I go the liquor store?"
Why do you insist that I drink a whole bottle of wine on our wedding day?
Second possibility - Why are all of these pictures of me so blurry?
"What about that porn site you said would make us so much money on the side? Why isn't that doing any better than your worm farm?"
Barney said - "Moe- how come you never use your camera until happy hour is over?"
How come we get always get drunk before we have sex?
"How come every picture in this album is of me exposing myself in some fashion?"
Why am I always wearing a lampshade?
Wait...
That's so cliche.
Why am I always wearing a marmot?
Why do I look so charming and witty in all these pictures?
Or
Why are there midgets and livestock in all these pictures?
Or
Why am I with a dead hooker in all these pictures?
Or
Why are you divorcing me?
Or
Why do you want to marry me?
Or
Why are you such a bitch?
Or
Why are you such an asshole?
Or
Why are you pointing that gun at me?
Or
Why did you sell my shoes?
Or
Why do always chew with your mouth open?
uhhh...trouble at home, Johnny?
I'm not married, Buddy. I swing, baby! The above are actually questions I overheard today.
LOL--and the sun ain't even set yet!
What can I tell you. This town is nuts!
Why is Dick Cheney in all these pictures?
Why do you keep submitting my nude pics to Modern Drunkard to be their centerfold?
Why don't we have any pictures of me that I can send to my mother?
Why are my clothes always stained in the pictures you take?
"Why do the only pictures you have of me feature leather, chains, whipped cream, and two midgets?"
Wow, Gerry - party at your house!
Our dinner party starts at six--the guests will be here any minute! Why aren't you helping?! Why did you put those HMIs in the living room? Why are you wandering around the house with that light meter? Why is your tripod laying on the kitchen counter?
Laura, why haven't you had the camera out since the night I choked on the pretzel?
"Why do I look like I forgive you for ruining my life, in all these pictures?"
How did you get a picture of me listening intently to Quuuuxxxxoo?
How come there aren't any pictures of me in Utah?
Ann says: "and The New Yorker keeps doing it in spite of the nauseating mediocrity."
Awww. Haven't been picked, huh?
"Why don't we have any pictures of me that I can send to my mother?"
I vote for this one.
Great answers! The sex theme is funny. I thought the most logical question, which no one's said yet, is: Why do I look drunk in every single picture you take of me?
The answer I think I like best... well, I'll wait to say. You can start voting. Keep adding more entries too. I'll pick a winner. The prize... ah, I don't know. A front page announcement of your answer... or question really. Hmmm.... this contest is like "Jeopardy."
I'm voting for:
How come we always get drunk before we have sex? aj Lynch
My runner up: (do I get one?)
Why is Dick Cheney in all these pictures? Jim
"Why am I wearing shorts in all these pictures?"
"If I'm not wrong, I'm the only likely person with a tattoo of minnie mouse on my crank, so why did I see a picture of MY (C word for penis) being stroked by a crackhead man posted on the Net?!"
"because you only let me take pictures of you when you're drunk"
"oh, okay, well, stop that, please"
"Why do you write poems about me when I'm sober?"
I know it's too late. But: "Why must you always side with the police?" Requires an emphasis, in the reply, on the word "me."
"Why does everyone I meet recently have intimate, personal, gynecological details about me?
Why don't carry my photo in your wallet?
Why do you always want to use her as your model?
vh: wwoozabi
" 'm f'l'n a little w-wooz[y], [b]abi!"
But my vote goes to this entry of Buddy's:
"How come I have to buy film every time I go the liquor store?"
"Why do I keep getting e-mail from guys calling me "Hot Momma Babe", and why's our internet bill so high?"
"How'd we get a 5 foot cake, 3 Chippendales dancers and a Llama in the same picture? At 3 different parties?"
My favorites:
"How come I have to buy film every time I go the liquor store?", "How come there aren't any pictures of me in Utah?", and "Why do I look like I forgive you for ruining my life, in all these pictures?"
Thanks for the beer, Gramma. How come you always buy me beer, anyway? Nobody else in my Cub Scout troop ever drank beer before.
Why do you keep spiking my wheatgrass and mango slushies?
"Hey, I'm not NEAR as think as you drunk I am!"
...one more & then i quit...a lawyer joke:
"What's the difference between a lawyer and a setting hen?"
A setting hen clucks defiance.
The reason I don't despise my own little contest is not (just) because it's mine, but because The New Yorker uses some damned picture that was drawn without a caption in mind, the readers come up with such poor ideas, and The New Yorker keeps doing it in spite of the nauseating mediocrity.
You know, I put in such good captions to that thing, but they always ignore them for the most obvious and mediocre ones. I know that there must be dozens of other people sending in much better captions than the ones chosen by the New Yorker before you're allowed to vote. What they should do is have a random program eliminate randomly every submission but 10, and allow a vote on those 10. The highest vote count (that isn't obscene) wins. The only judgment calls the New Yorker staff should be making are for obscenity.
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