New Yorker cartoon contest

ny-cartoon 8.3.15ENTRIES FOR CAPTION CONTEST #484

This week’s drawing by Liam Francis Walsh (for the caption contest dated Aug. 3, 2015) is a tough one. Usually, it is pretty clear who is speaking in the image — a little more ambiguous here.

Some images inspire a flood of ideas, but I found this one much more challenging.

I only thought of one decent caption this week (top secret until the deadline passes).

Here are a few losers:

You call soccer “football” one more time and we got a problem.

The cucumber finger sandwiches are half off during happy hour.

Here at Emmett’s, there’s a right way and a wrong way to ask for a tea bag.

Looks like you owe me another 50 quid, Harry Poppins.

Hmm, tell me more about this Dowager Countess.

Who you callin’ Yank, you bleeding wanker?

Name’s Cletus. Pleased to meet you, Jeeves.

No shit, Sherlock.

*   *   *

ENTRIES FOR CAPTION CONTEST #483

ny-cartoon 7.27.15Like most humans, I stink at figuring out what kind of caption the folks at the New Yorker find funny for their cartoon contest. Nevertheless, I plan to update this page every week — brainstorming a batch of captions for the latest cartoon — until I lose at least 20 times.

What can you say about this week’s cartoon by Carolita Johnson (Contest #483; dated July 27, 2015) depicting God grabbing some therapy while kicking back on a cloud instead of a couch? I will probably submit one of these two:

*   *   *

We must address this devil fixation before I can help You help Yourself.

Sorry, they don’t make a purple pill for omnipotence dysfunction.

*   *   *

Actually, I think a God complex is the least of Your worries.

Yes, I am perfectly well aware that You created Sigmund Freud.

These constant reminders that You created me really aren’t helping.

Just breathe, trust Your instincts and put Your faith in … You.

Sounds stressful … but once they finish destroying it, can’t you just make a new one?

*   *   *

Why all the questions about primal scream therapy?

I hear Johns Hopkins has a new study linking omniscience and ADHD.

Could you please focus on being omnipresent here for just 45 minutes.

I think You just need a little R&R. What are you doing this Sunday?

Tell me more about these feelings of wrath.

*   *   *

OMG, I can’t believe that wily SOB asked You to call him Luke.

George Burns was fantastic, but I’m more of a Morgan Freeman man.

Sure You wouldn’t be more comfortable in the reclining Tempurpedic throne?

There now, that’s the spirit.

Hey, nobody’s perfect.

*   *   *

ny-cartoon 7.20.15aENTRIES FOR CAPTION CONTEST #482

It all started the other day when ace creative artist Lars Trodson proposed a fun brainstorming challenge. We’d team up to try to create a caption for the New Yorker’s cartoon contest. We thought we had a pretty good one but, as expected, were not surprised when it was rejected in favor of one excellent entry and two that made us scratch our heads.

Be inspired by rejection, they say. This time I was inspired to obsessively overthink the puzzle by imagining 30-something captions for this week’s cartoon. I invite you to please chime in with thoughts, critiques and of course captions.

UPDATE: Uh-oh, now I can’t stop writing them. Current top contenders for my entry …

My shrink says I’m a textbook Alpha Centauri male.

Trump’s the only one telling it like it is about those lousy undocumented cosmonauts.

*    *    *

Five, four, three, two … Aw, never mind.

I’m gonna leave those stupid Joneses in the dust with this baby.

Mars, Saturn, maybe Jupiter. I really haven’t decided yet.

It’s supposed to help me with emission control.

Can I get you anything? I’m gonna go grab another Tang and Tanqueray.

*    *    *

I’ve dedicated the last six months to checking off items on my rocket list.

Can you believe it? Just two years ago I thought Branson, Missouri, was the final frontier.

Still waiting to hear back from those jerks down at NASA.

Some people call me Maurice.

Because it’s there.

*    *    *

Part of it is that I’m no longer afraid to incinerate everything and everybody in my orbit.

He coulda been born on Mars for all I care, as long as he keeps rocket fuel under 300 bucks a gallon.

Bottom line: A man can only take so much taxation without representation.

Small step, giant leap. It’s really a question of semantics.

Icarus who?

*    *    *

Duh! Of course I’m going to bring my selfie stick.

Copernicus, Co-schmernicus. My theory is that everything revolves around me.

So then I opened a little satellite office in Austin.

I swear to God, re-entry is like jet lag times a thousand.

A couple years ago, the wife and I bought a little retirement cabin on the Sea of Tranquility.

*    *    *

Basically, I got sick of having all my news filtered by the mainstream meteor.

But what really put everything into perspective was reading “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

I always base my vote on who takes the hardest line against those lousy cosmonauts.

The real breakthrough came when God assured me that faith and science can actually co-exist.

Actually have to I thank Walt Disney for inspiring my fascination with Pluto.

*    *    *

Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamed of peeing my initials onto the lunar surface.

If I told you you had a celestial body would you hold it against me?

Excuse me, what did you say about my anus?

Gordon’s the name. Defying gravity is my game.

Long story short, that’s what’s on the horizon for me.

 

RELATED READING:

New Yorker cartoon editor Robert “Bob” Mankoff writes:
How to “win” the New Yorker cartoon caption contest

More from Mr. Mankoff here (Nov. 8, 2014)

Patrick House penned this 2008 analysis for Slate.com

Also, script for “Seinfeld” episode entitled “The Cartoon”

 

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