Kevin Smith Enters The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest
his might be fun. I checked the link, and it is still good. There are new faces and smart people amongst since I put this up last year.
Try your wit against filmmaker and raconteur Kevin Smith. In this video from The New Yorker, Smith takes on the handicap of working off of the top of his head. After the video displays each of the seven cartoons full-frame, pause it and take your shot just ahead of him.
Perhaps your results will be more even than my hit-or-miss rejoinders, listed below.
And, if you don't like Smith, or you just want a do-over, search "new yorker caption contest". Alternates include Jim Gaffigan, Bill Hader and an amazing nine year-old girl.
Of course, I really want to see your captions. Please comment below.
"Why, for all the buzz and the stinging commentary."
"Next week on Survivor Hades ..."
"In your case, we can't be too literal about the process."
"If we really did get along so well, I might never crack."
"All we can do now is compare notes."
"Not deep enough. At least, it wasn't when I was a kid."
"... in my twelve year-old daughter's bedroom at two in the morning. What would you have done?" Or, "The meat was fantastic!"
ou don't need an attorney, but here I am.
I am here to sell you whatever you want, just tell me. Give me a hint and I'll give you a pitch.
You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and PornHub.
I will never take more than your judgment. When you find out how small those monthly settlement payments will be, my unlisted partner will buy out your annuity for dimes on the dollar.
I know six ways to spell "shyster", including the Yiddish words and my last name.
My dog will roll over, heel, sit and beg, but he will never speak to the police.
At the end of the day, you will have learned so much about the law that none of it will make sense.
You can't say "NDA", no you can't even say ...
Disclaimer(s. voce): I am a non-attorney spokesperson. I went to law school, but I blew the bar exam.
it at a time, it has grown. Nothing to call for a grand announcement, but I think I have found the right one to complete the "bookend" pair, the right notes to open and close the composition.
One reviewer urged me to make all of the aphorisms the same length. I tried. Adding spaces did not work. Adding exes and ohs made it a little breathless. Emojis, well ...
Every piece should have an internal rhythm. Progress of further work.
n the days when even Ape served Man, Horse came to the Creator.
"How is it that I serve Man?"
"I am larger, stronger and faster. How am I bound?"
"Man has hands."
Horse had prepared. "I do not serve Ape."
The Creator considered. "Man has seen that you do not lie down."
Horse went meditating on his ways.
Dog came to the Creator. "How is it that I serve Man?"
Dog settled on his haunches, briefly whined.
"Man has seen that you run alone, but walk at his heel."
Dog went meditating on his ways.
Woman came to the Creator. "How is it that I serve Man?"
"Sit and have tea. It is most sublime."
Over the dregs, Woman asked again, "How is it that I serve Man?"
"How progresses the naming of My creatures?"
"He named Jackass, which should be his own. How is it that I serve Man?"
"Damn it, Dad."
"Daughter of mine, Man has seen that you love."
his is not an aphorism. It's just a wisecrack that tells why I use to lose most of our arguments.
It's built like an aphorism in that it poses an apparent contradiction. Anyone who's ever been in a relationship for more than few weeks will see right through the words.
Then there's this little quirk in English. I like to call it Shakespeare's Secret. The emphasis commonly falls on the first syllable. English words that take the primary accent on the second, or even third, syllable stand out like chives in cream sauce.
So what? Ah-h. This quirk lends to English a subtle sing-song quality. Whatever songs may spring from prose, this is the rhythm track. Count the syllables to detect pentameter. In this sentence of monosyllables, the emphasis naturally falls into alternation. Iamb automatic.
Maybe it is an aphorism. She was a passionate creature above all. To think I would concede just to restore our truce ... She would have had none of it.
And, looking toward the back of my head, I find a deep blind spot.
abin fever breeds the most surreal nightmares. I am bobbing amid waves of red ball caps. I have a flask to share, a flask of bourbon, bourbon laced with pentothal.
I offer a few sips to a middle-aged woman who has decorated her hat with photobuttons of her cats, stick-on flowers to match her muu-muu, and a fiendish plaid pattern in needlepoint. How are you doing?
Sip. "Counting the days. One more election and we'll stop every abortion south of New York City." Nod and sip. So what do you think of him?
Deep sip. "I'd climb in with him for a hunner'n thirty thousand. I wouldn't let out a giggle, jus' close my eyes." Flask upturned. Thank you, ma'am. Uh, ma'am ...?
"Oh! This little buddy is yours, isn't it ..."
Somehow, it is still full to the neck.
His hat is heavily faded. It's crown has collapsed, and the bill is joined to it by a rime of sweatsalt. ... you ...?
"' Love these church barbeques. Keep the young'ns right under the old thumb. I'm on the outside of a six-pack, and the deppities won't even look at me so long as I haul ever'body straight home. And this is some good sh --" ... him?
Glug. "Well, I'm an atheist, y'know. But he's m' Jesus. You' better take this, uh ... okay now."
She carries her brand new hat folded in her hand, despite the declining angle of the sun. The bag over her shoulder is outsized, and bulging. She wears a loop of ribbon, yellow edged in black, high on her bodice. She declines the flask. ... you ...?
"Mister, can you get me out of here? Please! I'll do ... I'll do anything you want."
"Then take a sip."
It does take a moment. "Last night, I ... I hung a noose in my closet."
"Okay, let's go."
"You' got to hide me."
"Church event. The sheriff's deputies won't look twice."
I leave the flask on the self-service bar.