I’m inclined to go with the guy angel saying, Sunday morning is to the time I have left To achieve lasting fame, discover the meaning of life,Īnd enter approximately six hundred nineteenġ2:10 a.m. My current age is to the time I have remaining Given the life expectancy of the average U. Who died from a fit of laughter after hearing Charles II That as you look at the big picture, if possible, laughĪlmost as hard as seventeenth century Scottish writerĪnd Rabelaisian translator, Thomas Urquhart, I think Saint Lawrence had the right idea,Īnd The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest does, too. Patron saint of chefs, firefighters, and comedians, who,Īfter suffering the agony of a bed of burning coals, said, My dad would have loved the story of Saint Lawrence, Oh, Jeanne, it’s normal to feel empty after a split. The poem where we still loved each other. Where we’re listening to his teenage band play “Wooly Bully,”Īnd the music is so loud I faint and swallow my tongue,Īnd you cradle my head just so and tilt my jawsĪt just the right angle and plead with me to “breathe, breathe!”
Still, says my mother angel, I like the poem It grows on you.īut you’re right, I’ve met Philitas of Cos. Not exactly wasting away, is he? says my mother angel. I see he’s still fiddling around with words, my dad angel says. I was an Angel before I met your dad, my mother,ĭivorced after forty-four years of marriage, liked to say. “The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest,” To an unlimited number of characters, and my poem, When-between now and midnight, Sunday-contest editor,īob Mankoff, changes the two hundred fifty character maximum
The last way I’d expect to go is to die from uncontainable joy Wave of molasses pouring through the streets of Cambridge. Sending a twenty-five feet high, thirty-five mile per hour When a molasses tank burst at the Purity Distilling Company, This would be about the last way I’d expect to go,īut then I doubt that twenty-one BostoniansĪnd three horses expected to drown in 1919 Wasted away from intense study of word-usage! Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared for landing. With people staring wide-eyed out the windows at the angels I wish Will McPhail had drawn an airplane nosing through the clouds You’re late for inspection, Principality! With his super-sized halo, is a decorated Seraphim, saying, Like she’s a lowly Principality or Power and he, With four-and-a-half days to go, the best I’ve come up with Only to have an eagle drop a tortoise on his bald headįor the life of me, I can’t work guardian, snow, Greek tragedian, Aeschylus, did know-according to prophecy. He would have never gone to the circus, surely. Had known he would die by clown-swinging-around-by-the-heels, If, in 1854, thirteen-year-old William Snyder In the sense of tombstones and, more specifically, I’ve been thinking about Bobby Leach ever since. Nevertheless,ĭepression, heart palpitations, fatigue ? et cetera, Slipped on a banana peel in New Zealand and died-Ĭausing the guilt-ridden peel to seek counseling.īut not only could I not put the Bobby Leach-ĭepressed-banana-peel story into so few wordsīobby Leach had slipped on an orange peel. I was trying to tell the story-in two hundred fiftyĬharacters or less-of British daredevil, Bobby Leach, who,įifteen years after going over Niagara Falls in a barrel,īreaking both knee caps and fracturing his jaw, The angels got me thinking about my tombstone,īut I’ve been thinking about my tombstoneĭepression, heart palpitations, fatigue ? et cetera, Is what I’d write if someone were to draw my tombstone. He never used one word when ten would do … Still, you have to hand it to first place winner, Michelle Deschenes I thought I was a Gilbert when, in response to #520,Ĭorey Pandolph’s drawing of a banana peel Or maybe he was Sullivan in search of a Gilbert. When he drew the angels for this week’s contest: #526. Possibly, cartoonist, Will McPhail, had an idea I have no idea what the man angel is saying,īut I have six-and-a-half days to figure it out. Has a ginormous halo and the woman giant angel They are giant angels and the man giant angel Is talking to a woman angel with an average halo.īut since they’re standing in the clouds, It is better to write of laughter than of tears,
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