Contest Entries

Here are the entries awaiting your vote. The winner will be determined by simple majority of votes in the comment section of this post. Voting is open through midnight (PST) Monday, May 7. Voting is restricted to contestants and previous commenters of this blog; although anyone is more than welcome to express appreciation.
The winner will be announced Tuesday and the Mini Stonehenge will be mailed forthwith (as in, as soon as I get to it).

Here ya are!


SUSIE

Nigel once told us in song
the sun never sweats
always think larger than 'henge
WRECKLESS

Oh for those stones

to make them me owns

I'd sound like the Irish

Or give you this kitsch

I don't know about particle strings and I don't like haiku

I'm nice, and so can't talk about a wild romp with you

But really I'm smart and somewhat quite clever

That stonehenge I want as bad as forever

I'm feinin' and jonesin' I want it real bad

But this is my problem, my jeremiad

I'm stuck in this class that I have to teach

Creativity is out of my reach

Time will expireand I'll be left

bereft.
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SNAVY

All words she finds delicious

my sweet west coast friend

Tis why she's Logolicious

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DORKY DAD

There once was a chick named Logo
Who chased women down on a pogo

She bounced up and down
Like a silly red-haired clown

Shouting "Oh where, oh where did that Ho go?"
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MR. FABULOUS

I heard her long before I saw her. Her approach was heralded by the gradually increasingly loud roar of a motorcycle. Then, as if from a dream she burst from the fog and stopped the snarling beast of a machine a mere inches from my trembling frame.
She was a vision of most beguiling beauty. Her red hair was blazing and bright, not unlike the flames of a burning chemical plant. Her alabaster skin was flawless almost as if she was a statue come to life. Her breasts were golden globes of pulsating and undulating magnificence, rising and falling almost in unison. Her wondrous child-bearing hips were…
“Beware, mortal!” she bellowed, “Gaze not upon my golden globes of pulsating and undulating magnificence that are rising and falling almost in unison, lest I strike you down and force you to eat several jars of pickles!”
“A thousand pardons, M’lady,” I stammered as I quickly averted my eyes. “It is just that I have never…well…you are so…I mean…”“Silence, you fool!” she bellowed (she obviously liked to bellow. "My husband reads this blog and if he catches you staring at me like that he will snap you like a twig, for he is a Burly He-Man and a Snappy Dresser!"
"I beg your forgiveness, Oh Fetching One," I managed.
"What?" she bellowed, "Did you say FELTCHING?"
"No, no!" I exclaimed, "Fetching, I said fetching! May I ask who you are?"
“I am the incomparable Logophile," she proclaimed, "The Tutankhamen of Trivia, the Mistress of Minutia, The Sultaness of Senseless Knowledge"
I immediately lay down in the street. "Ravage me!" I begged.
She laughed heartily, stepped down off the motorcycle, and kicked me between the legs. And as I lay there, curled up in a fetal position, sobbing, I am pretty sure she poured a bottle of tepid Mountain Dew on my head. Either that or she peed on me.
And then she was gone.
ARM

It was a dark, stormy, summer night. I was curled up in my chofa (not a chair, not a sofa…a chofa) trying to read with my cat planted comfortably on my lap. Mr. ARM had just left to go out of town for the weekend on a camping trip with his buddies. I liked having the house to myself, but with the storm, my overactive imagination was working overtime. Every sound inside the house and out made me tense up and I kept imagining myself falling victim to some horrific scenario.

After a particularly loud clap of thunder that made my cat jump off my lap and hide under the coffee table, my phone started ringing. I thought it was Mr. ARM checking in after arriving at his friend’s house before they left for their camping excursion. But I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the wonderful Logo.

“ARM!” She exclaimed when I answered the phone. “Pack your bags and get on the next flight to Vegas.”

“Wha?…who?…wait,” I stuttered, “Vegas?”

“Yes! Vegas!” she exclaimed. “You. Me. This weekend. You said Mr. ARM was out of town & Mr. Logo offered to stay at home with the Things. So? You game?”

I was already out of my chofa and in my room trying to find my bag and looking through my pile of laundry sitting in the basket on the floor of my room. Thankfully I had done some laundry earlier that day, so I actually had clean clothes. “Ok,” I said, “let’s do it…but, what are we going to do?”

“That’s the wrong question to ask, silly girl,” I could tell Logo was shaking her head on the other end of the phone. “The question is: ‘what aren’t we doing to do?’”

I laughed. “Ok, I’m in, but whatever you have planned better include lots of drinks with umbrellas, lots of shopping, lots of gossip, and the boys from Thunder from Down Under as eye candy.”

“Don’t you worry,” she laughed in her “I’ve got something crazy planned” laugh. “Just be there.”

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THE GRUNT

Oh, to have life's rich and giving source to fall upon my face.

How succulent it be, the nurturing pillow upon which I wish to find comfort.
Perchance, I will be blessed with its serendipitous presence in an unexpected setting.
Yea, thine will be done.

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Feel free to comment on whatever you like, including Mr. Logo's fabulous new hat,

innit he a snappy dresser?

Then if you will please make your vote very clear at the end of your comment I will be very appreciative. Thank you!