Therefore, this installment marks the end of the historic LAURA's Cat Contest. A deeply felt "Thank you" to the thousands of participants in LAURA's Now Defunct Cat Contest, and a special, warm congratulations to all LAURA'S winners over the past several weeks. I feel we have grown together during this time, so much so that I am now ready for something more intimate with you.
The challenge I throw down is this: MAKE CONTEST QUEEN CRY. Tell me a story relating to the hideous traditions of the recent holidays. It must move this heart of stone to actual tears. If you succeed, your piece (200 words or less, please) will be posted here for a week (or longer if I feel like it-- I don't CARE what the rest of the staff says). Best of luck; you'll need it. (Enter submission below.)
In keeping with the roller coaster ride of the past month, this week's entries were a strange mix of clever, confusing, charming, and bizarrely off the mark. Difficult as this may be to believe, I must conclude that some of you who enjoy the text-only version of WORD (and are thus unable to view the images accompanying LAURA's Cat Contest) have determined to submit entries nevertheless. This flies in the face of common sense and all concern over others' opinions of you.
my cat he likes it.
but when I scratch him like this-
maybe like that...
well then, he just don't like that.
And so then we've got to go get it.
And only then shall we have it.
--kraut@falcon.cc.ukans.eduWhat the hell this has to do with the sock-hop portrayed in the last Cat Card I cannot say. In all fairness we must consider the possibility that English is not Mr./Ms.kraut-at-falcon-dot-cc-dot-ukans-dot-edu's first language. And then there is the undeniable fact of, well, Kansas.Here's another. This one is-- am I wrong?-- just plain weird:
on a black oak perch above me lit this empathic crow. he pushed and tugged my fat head by his drunken magnetics. he told me he was hieronymus bosch and asked that I take this visual to the people. how could I say no? I mean he was friggin' crazy... i wasn't going to argue. i said okay. next he dove for the shake 'n bake box on the muddy grass. the transmission ended. --fmspmjmf@teleport.com
You see what I have to deal with? The text-only version of WORD, English as a second language, insanity-- these could all be explanations. A more sinister possiblity is that Mr./Ms. kraut and cohorts are irreverent iconoclasts unwilling to follow Contest Queen's rules.UNWILLING TO FOLLOW CONTEST QUEEN'S RULES.
Let's just think about that for a minute.And move on. Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the Final Installment of the Historic LAURA's Cat Contest:
To some they were outcasts.
To themselves they were
"hygienically challenged."
But to the majority of their peers
they were simply the cats
who couldn't clean themselves.
Donning ever more elaborate frocks and
booties to conceal their matted,
malodorous coats, the cats became
caricatures, their very efforts to
conceal themselves only calling
attention to their shortcomings.
For many it was simple lack
of coordination-- they couldn't
apply their paws to the right spots.
Others spoke of an almost visceral
revulsion to licking one's own fur.
For a few, it served as a kind of
political statement. Whatever the reason,
at least here they could be themselves.
--dcd@merle.acne.nwu.edu
Congratulations, dcd-at-merle-dot-et-cetera!Laura Perry,
Now let's see you MAKE CONTEST QUEEN CRY.
