WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE? WARPED VINYL

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The prize: An authentic Fabulous Fifties oxygen tent.

The ad: This broken "L-Pee" for Carlton.

The verdict: It's our fault, we miscalculated. We forgot for a moment that most of you are inveterate potty-minded filthmongers. So any ad about "number 1" is just a big pissing contest to you. Well, just like with the Monica avalanche for the Shout stain ad a few issues back, we're not running any entries from this flood. You can Depend on it.

This woman still has a Jaclyn Smith 'do and thinks it's chic to wear prim little flats. Those aren't thought bubbles coming out of her head, they're smoke rings!

Cynthia Maniglia

cmaniglia@dmw-w.com

So she has a hole in her head, in which case this answer makes no sense, Cynthia. Getting a trepanation is the essence of cool, it's 10 times hipper than an eyebrow piercing.

This woman is frantically trying to hold on to her past -- when vinyl ruled, one-color rooms were in good taste and smoking was cool.

Brian Gentrup

brian_gentrup@cremarcom.com

One-color rooms aren't in good taste? Then why the hell is our cube all-beige? Dammit, what's the extension for Human Resources!

What she's really thinking is how pissed she is that she lost the lid to her Close 'n' Play and now she can't listen to her Zamfir: Master of the Pan Flute collection.

Krista Kuehn

kkuehn@groupfour.com

Did you say "pissed"? That was a close one, Krista. By the way, Zamfir plays the pan pipes, and he rocks, especially when you listen to him in a one-color room.

The woman is my 4th grade music teacher. Smitten by her good looks and sophistication, I was unable to focus on anything else and wound up soiling myself during "Waltzing Matilda." Thanks to this timely reminder, I was able to go on a date last month to someplace other than a pool party.

John Carlton

jcarlton@beap.com

This is dangerously close to a "number 1" joke, John, but we'll let it slide 'cause your name's Carlton.

Watching the house for her parents while they vacation, Alicia puts on some LPs, lights up her first cigarette in 15 years, and toys with the deliciously tempting idea of phoning her old high school boyfriend, Carlton, to spend the afternoon in Mom and Dad's bed.

Kihm D. Winship

kwinship@chasedesign.net

Kihm, why does this sound so authentic? Mr. and Mrs. Winship, if you're reading this, please hire Barry Scheck to run a DNA analysis on your sheets.

I took a microscope to the record she's holding so suggestively in her lap. It's the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself."

Andy Stern

andyman3000@yahoo.com

Andy, that's disgusting! Why don't you take a microscope to your morals? No wonder you have a Yahoo address.

She's thinking: It's payback time, Carlton! After I sue you big, I'm finally gonna get some furniture and a new stereo for this dump!

Tim Zebo

timzebo@hotmail.com

You're probably right, Tim. You don't have to be dead or dying to win $70 million from a tobacco company anymore. You just need a mild cough and a little tooth discoloration.

She's a white upper-crust Manhattanite who DJs for the rap group 1MG, and she's dreaming of that No. 1 with a bullet.

Frank Ippolito

fippolit@c-k.com

Frank, that's phthin.

People are already sucking down flaming sticks of carcinogens. Selling them on how much tar is in a cig is like taking a few sprinkles off a donut and pimping it to diabetics as a low-sugar alternative.

Jason Fox

thefox@ionet.net

Hence the well-worn phrase, "Time to pimp the donuts."

A closer look at this ad shows that the model is, in fact, a made-over, thinner Monica Lewinsky. It's a celebrity endorsement, since Monica finds cigarettes much more "accommodating" than cigars.

Shaun Tatarka

statarka@wendt.com

Dammit, Shaun! No number 1 and no Monica! Does George Wendt have to yell at you like this, too?

3 a.m. and Donna is still up waiting for her boyfriend Dean Martin to come home from one of those hep-cat Rat Pack parties. Oh well, nothing to do but spin some discs, suck on a Carlton and dream about Sammy Davis Jr. How did he get that glass eye, anyhow?

Chris Jensen

cpjensen@aol.com

It sure wasn't poked out by your wit, Chris. The nerve, making a Sammy joke! We're getting nachas and shpilkes from you, man.

The records are what she coughs up after smoking a carton of Carlton Ultra Ultra Lights. God knows what she'd hack up if she smoked filterless cigarettes -- 8-tracks?

Kim Gross

kimberly_gross@deutschinc.com

You making fun of 8-tracks? What do you think our Zamfir collection is on?

After bidding for a vintage case of Luckies on Priceline.com, her near brush with William Shatner sends her reeling down memory lane. So she pulls out her 1968 Shatner a la Shore beach party LP and drifts back to the days when she didn't need a hole in her throat to whistle "Misty."

Andrew Jeske

ajeske@saatchiny.com

Andy, a designer tracheotomy is even cooler than getting trepanned, and nothing is hipper than a Bill Shatner record, except that 8-track where the young Al Gore reads highlights from Naked Lunch. Your oxygen tent is now a very stylish poncho on a homeless man sprawled under the arch at Washington Square.

This Month's Contest

Win six tons of guacamole and a pair of stretch pants!

Genuine California avocados: "Good with grilled chicken. Bad with goodbyes." Hello? We're totally disoriented by this. It's like we're at the salad bar and all the sneeze guards have been painted black. We went to avocado.org on the Web, but it was no help, though we did learn that avocados are "self-replicating with a little TLC." We always said those chicks were hot. Anyway, put your chip in the dip at creativitymag@sprintmail.com. Contest not open to anyone named Von

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