The ad: This single fault for Penn Titanium tennis balls.
The verdict: You know what Anna Kournikova looks like? These entries don't look like that.
Did they have a sign reading "Place your balls and any other metal objects in the plastic box for inspection"? Of course, if I had to have prosthetic balls, I would want them to be neon green, as big as tennis balls and made of titanium.
That sign routine is from an old Air Poland joke, John, and it's been banned by NATO, along with the "Don't eat the big mints" sign in Warsaw urinals, so don't ever use it again unless you're willing to risk an air strike.
The guy is obviously an account executive. Everyone knows they only have one ball.
And it's a prosthetic one, at that.
It's a secret message to all the freakin' terrorists out there. That's right, Penn has gone to the dark side. Damn, I should be working for the CIA or FBI!
Anthony, you flatter yourself. You should be Janet Reno's personal masseur.
Haven't you heard of the new Business Class section on Virgin Atlantic? Forget cradle seats, couches and Irish pubs. Now they have on-board tennis courts.
We'd prefer to think the ball was a bomb, along with Anthony, and we can only hope someone will be kind enough to stick it in Richard Branson's basket the next time he goes on one of those goddamn balloon trips.
To heck with the contest, honey! Just give me the prize! Tell that big ol' Johnny Mac to get his fuzzy balls over to my penthouse suite at the Shangri La. I'll be soaking in the jacuzzi in my hot pink Speedo waiting on my full body shave.
Mike, you won last month, and the excitement has obviously clouded your thinking. 1) Don't ever call us "honey," or you'll find yourself in Human Resources so fast you won't have time to take the Juggs pinups off your bulletin board. 2) It's a FULL body shave, so take off the pink Speedo. Unless you're an account exec, in which case we understand.
Titanium balls. Spiked racquets. James Caan. It's Rollerball II: U.S. Open Deathmatch!
That's a quaint e-mail name, Pat. Do they put paper down for you at the office?
What the ad doesn't show you is that the rest of security has rubber gloves on trying to retrieve the other tennis balls from his rectum. It's not illegal to carry metal tennis balls; the K-9 officer really wants them for his dog to play with.
Must be an American mongrel.
Obviously the owner of this carry-on has erotic fantasies of visits to the doctor, and he proudly thinks the titanium ball is a part of his anatomy. On the plane, he will enthusiastically squeeze it and say "cough."
There's a tasteless Dr. Renee Richards joke here that we're not going to make, since we're already on NATO's shitlist. But what's up with your mail handle, Doug? Does Hotmail have a 14-character limit on names? They wouldn't let you put the O in? If you sprung for an MSN account like Pat, you could put the O in. Just a friendly tip, Mr. Cheap-O.
Hey, is that a Penn Ti1 over there? Damn! I've been looking for that ball! I can't believe I hit it all the way to the airport. Sorry about that. Could you toss it back?
No way, we're keeping it. Hit a couple more, would you, Jane? Pat's coming over.
The owner of this ball had watched This Is Spinal Tap the previous evening -- particularly the scene in which the bass player is caught at an airport metal detector with a foil-wrapped zucchini in his trousers. Fearing the same fate . . .
If you stuffed your trousers with one tennis ball, Joel, wouldn't you be mistaken for an account executive?
Forced to empty his pockets at the metal detector, Brad also had to disclose the super-hard Penn Titanium he had lodged in the crotch of his chinos in hopes of catching the eye of the hunky steward who regularly served him Sprite on the Boston-to-Montreal shuttle.
Obey your thirst, indeed, Kihm! Unfortunately, the hunky steward never noticed Brad, since we were on that flight with a Saran-wrapped zucchini.
It takes real balls -- titanium ones at that -- to brave the overpriced food and religious fanatics at any major U.S. airport these days.
So true, Becky. We took out a home equity loan the other day from a special ATM machine just to get a ham and cheese sandwich at JFK, then these bouncing Hare Krishnas got us so upset we needed a drink in the Sky Lounge. We still haven't figured out how to tell our first-born he's been traded for a scotch and soda.
Huh-Huh. You said "tit."
Jeremy, you almost won with this. But it's only good, not great. We guess you hear that a lot at your shop.
It looks to me like the tennis ball was shat into a cat box. And then it's being taken away on the plane. You need to scan it because it's titanium cat poop and it could be explosive.
Doink! This is the pick of the kitty litter, Marc! We have no idea what you're talking about, but we're crazy about tuna fish. But keep your Speedo on. There's a formerly hirsute homeless man, sprawled on the corner of 33rd and Lexington, who's so head-to-toe smooth he looks like a homeless baby!
This Month's Contest
Make every Friday for the rest of your life an all-day happy hour, on us!
Now pay attention, this is "appropriately complex." There are these two people with circles on their faces, and where the circles intersect it says, "Ohio," "toothbrush" and "sarcasm." Where they don't intersect, it says things like "ceramics," "cuddling" and "ranch dressing" (him), and "hockey," "horses" and "flea markets" (her). Hennessy cognac appears in neither circle, though the woman seems to have a bottle attached to her shoulder. We're afraid the circle around our head and this ad don't intersect at all. Pour us a stiff one at firstname.lastname@example.org. Contest not open to sarcastic Ohio residents with