Welcome back, after our brief hiatus, to the New York Magazine Competition. On alternate Mondays (or, this week, Tuesday), we lay out a challenge and offer sample responses. Enter in the comments section or on Twitter with the hashtag we’ve provided, and the editors will select a winner. Criteria are highly subjective, but heavily retweeted and favorited posts will have an advantage. The prize is a year’s subscription to New York in print or a two-year subscription to the iPad edition (winner’s choice). Full rules are here.
COMPETITION NO. 69: “LAST-WORD DEFLATION.” Please ruin the effect of a familiar title or phrase by adding a word at the end. For example:
MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN ALREADY
“LOUIS, I THINK THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP BRACELET.”
“HASTA LA VISTA, BABY GAP.”
“YOU TALKING TO ME? THEN WHO THE HELL ELSE ARE YOU TALKING TO—YOU TALKING TO ME? WELL, I’M THE ONLY ONE HERE … HELLO?”
Enter on Twitter with the hashtag #lastworddeflation, or in the comments thread below, by April 21.
HONORABLE MENTION TO:
If you see something, say “sandwiches!”
I made him sandwiches he couldn’t refuse.
Say hello to my little sandwiches.
Nobody puts Baby in a sandwich!
Sandwiches and Sensibility
She’s my sister, my sandwich! She’s my sister and my sandwich!
I did not have sandwiches with that woman.
Remembrance of Sandwiches Past (or, In Search of Lost Sandwiches)
I did Nazi that sandwich.
Chicken Soup for the Sandwich
Sticks and stones may break my bones but sandwiches will never hurt me.
Yesterday I shot a sandwich in my pajamas. How it got in there, I’ll never know.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their sandwiches.
We built this sandwich on rock and roll.
These are not the sandwiches you’re looking for.
Make sandwiches great again.
Baseball is 90% mental and the other half is sandwiches.
Hell is other sandwiches.
When life gives you sandwiches, make lemonade.
And I guess that was your sandwich in the woodchipper.
God does not play dice with sandwiches.
Mother! Oh, God, Mother! Sandwiches! Sandwiches!
At night, all sandwiches are gray.
I have eaten
the sandwiches that were in
and which you were probably
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a sandwich runs through it.
Eternal Sunshine of the Sandwich Mind
“I want the sandwiches!”
“You can’t handle the sandwiches!”
AND THE WINNER IS:
It puts the sandwiches in the basket.