The verdict: The quality of this month's entries is about on the level of this joke we found on the Internet: "What do the island of Elba and the Heavenly Ski Lodge have in common? Bonoparts." Congrats to all.
Bonaparte N is the nom de plume of an East Village performance artist whose specialty is best left unexplained in a general-interest publication such as Creativity.
General-interest publication?! Why don't you go have a plate of yams with Karen Finley, Dave.
General Bonaparte gives new meaning to the term "insertion order." It appears that gerbils were not all the rage in the early 19th century.
New meaning? You haven't met our sales department. And don't ever say "gerbil" around here anymore, Tim!
Napoleon drank Chivas Regal. Napoleon had a penis that resembled a shriveled sea horse. Rasputin reportedly had a 12-inch penis. I believe Rasputin drank Olde English. Ladies, I drink Olde English too.
Chuck, we're so glad we could help you out with our Personals column! But we'd like to point out that you're a dead ringer for Rasputin, so, ladies, if you're looking for a huge, bushy-bearded, greasy-haired lunatic with cheap ale breath, e-mail Chuck today!
"Is that a Chivas in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?!"
This is probably the standard greeting at Fellers Advertising, huh, Beth?
Saaay, is that an unusually wide pelvic bone structure there?! Well, I'll be! Bonaparte N was actually a girl! Girly! Girly! Girly! Whoa, talk about poached egg on the French face.
It's even more embarrassing. Joan of Arc was a man. Joan Van Ark is really a guy too, but she's not French, so they don't care.
Heck, who needs Cindy Crawford or Michael Jordan when you can achieve the same effect using a fake X-ray of a dead little Frenchman who got his ass kicked all over Europe?
Jane, that was Hervé Villechaize.
This is Bonaparte as he passed through JFK's security check. They got the Chivas Regal. They didn't get the sword, which he used to open the rock hard bagel they gave him in coach.
Speaking of swords, Howie: Inch.com? You got the children's portion of beef Wellington, huh?
Mr. Bony-parts definitely "has it." Soon all of France will be "sitting Chivas" for him.
So the shiksa thought she'd slip her entry in with a little Yiddish for all the New York Jews here. We don't think so, Frenchie!
Napoleon was born without a penis, so he always packed a bottle of Chivas to give him that manly bulge.
A bottle that big simply makes a "manly" bulge, Julie? Chuck, she's not impressed.
We see this ancient X-ray of Napoleon holding his grossly deformed "Bonaparte" . . .
You think that's a grossly deformed "Bonaparte"? Julie thinks it's a normal-sized "Schiefelbein."
My name is Napoleon. I am an alcoholic and a compulsive eater and I have a problem with rage.
Ben, you need to enroll in the Olde English 12-step program.
Judging by his dense epaulets, the Little Corporal's calcium intake was superb. Avez-vous du lait?
We don't know what that means, Tracy, but it sounds filthy. Does it give you a milk mustache?
This is an ad for an upcoming Jerry Springer show entitled, "Exposing history's alcoholic despots."
The fighting will be faked, and anyway this Napoleon is actually the fifth Teletubby, Nippy-nappy.
It's obvious that the "it" refers to "the desire to don a scabbard and masturbate while rectally-muling a fifth of scotch."
Craig, we don't know what the hell goes on at Partners & Shackup, but you don't rectally mule anything around here, buddy, this is a general-interest publication! But you win anyway, 'cause you're so disgusting. A homeless man has taken up residence in your Chevy Corsica, and right now he's orally horsing around with a fifth of Georgi.
This Month's Contest
Win a weekend in Hong Kong with Frank Perdue!
Tyson Chick'n Chunks and Breast Tenders. The headline: "How do you handle a restless mob of hungry bikers?" The key copyline: "One taste and you're their motorcycle mama." The courageous tag: "We're chicken." Those are Tyson logos in the kids' mouths. We refuse to hazard a guess at how all this happened. Lay your best egg at email@example.com. Contest not open to Col. Sanders'