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!
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.
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.
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.
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
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, 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!
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, 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.
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.
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?
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?
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."
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. Contest not open to anyone named Von