The New Yorker has TiVo, and still breaks plans with friends when Private Practice is on. And they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“… Knock, bitch.”
The New Yorker wants to borrow the car, but they forged their last report card. And they refuse to publish my submissions to their “cartoon caption contest.”
SlapClap caption:
“One of us has a cocaine problem. Look. I’m not prepared to say who. But yesterday security showed me a tape of something that happened in the lobby, and… well… public display’s of affection are frowned upon in this office. Especially gross ones.”
The New Yorker has a plot to bring back Hitler, or at least D.W. Griffith. And they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“I’m out of order? You’re out of order! This whole sex vacation’s out of order!”
The New Yorker wants to tattoo your 16-year old daughter plus be her first, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“…then Juliette hits the bomb with a rock, and then it all goes white. But you still think Dollhouse is better?”
The New Yorker wears their underwear 2 days in a row, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“You move, I blow this whole damn place up. I don’t want your pity: I hear fake applause, I blow this whole damn place up. P.S., those fish were dead when I got here. You blame me for the fish, I blow this…”
The New Yorker are a bunch of dicks who refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
Anne: “Right away, don’t sass me.”
Sal: “Don’t sass the lady.”
Anne: “Ya heard that?”
Sal: “Ya heard her?”
The New Yorker hides missing children in their basement, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
Tell ya what. If it doesn’t fly out this window I’ll vote for Obama.
The New Yorker can’t tell the difference between euphoria and violence, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap caption:
“The U.S. dollar originated in 1792. So what the f@#k is this?”
The New Yorker has to pee in a cup every month, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why. This week was tough.
SlapClap Caption:
“Next week on Prison Break?”
The New Yorker throws their gum out on the sidewalk, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap Caption:
“You let him off easy, which means I let you off not at all. An extra $200 cut outta what you make this week and next time a cop threatens to haul you after blowning ‘em keep that trap shut until you tell Daddy- and Daddy’s friends will take care of it.”
The New Yorker can’t keep their hands off my wife, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap caption:
“To have human impulse is not unhealthy. What is unhealthy is to abuse through these impulses, yourself or others. Mr. Hansen and Dateline brought you here for a reason. To get you better. Little Becky next to me is a reminder of the past you must all own up to publicly. And don’t worry Becky you’re very safe. This is being recorded and there are men behind those doors.”
No New Yorker caption this week. Seemed rather pointless to satirize the bad cartoon inside the magazine when … you know. Instead SlapClap “slapped” together this video tribute dedicated to the Barack Obama New Yorker cover. We hope you enjoy.
The New Yorker chooses Long John Silver over Red Lobster, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap caption:
“We think big here. Big pencils, big erasers. Big problems, big solutions. I’ve got a staff of over 500 employees. They get me coffee, they answer my phones; they send out faxes, they lie to my wife; they order my giant #2’s, they wipe my ass if I take a giant #2. Strike that. They don’t wipe my ass. That’s where you come in …”
The New Yorker likes the movie Lawnmower Man 2, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap Caption:
“A better title for M. Night Shyamalan’s The Happening would be The Not Happening, or The What’s Happening?, as in ‘what’s happening in this movie? I fell asleep watching the movie Signs 6 years ago and just woke up.’ This hard R ‘thriller’ is proof — as if there ever needed to be — that brown men are not meant to be behind the camera.”
Film critic Scott McLumpnellan
Racist at the Movies
The Aryan Spectator
The New Yorker has never had to work a day, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest. I have no idea why.
SlapClap Caption:
“You work and you work and you work. You meet with people you don’t like, that you don’t know, that you don’t even want to know. And you try to sell them things and they try to sell you things, you go home, you listen to the wife nag and the kids bitch. You turn off the T.V., you wake up the next day and you do it all over again. But I’ll tell you, the only thing that keeps me going is this chick. I’ve got this incredible chick on the side you see, and she is so hot, I can hardly believe it. She’s got one of those heart-shaped asses. Have you ever had a chick with a heart-shaped ass?”
The New Yorker does the gum chomping thing when they sleep, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“Ma’am it’s not for me to say which deity looks most like a colored. Now who stole your car radio?”
The New Yorker want to feed baby sharks baby seals, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“Move to strike your honor! The defendant’s acquaintance with Mrs. Haze has no bearing whatsoever on his ‘alleged’ proclivity for underage girls.”
Cassidy captions:
“That whale was lying! There is no link between toxic loads in adult female blubber and telekinesis in young orcas. End of story.”
“Just answer the question. When did you tell your wife you were undergoing radiation-based hominid transmog therapy?”
“My client MC Krill doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of an East Coast-West Coast rivalry.”
The New Yorker never buys more beer, and they refuse to publish my submissions to their cartoon caption contest.
SlapClap caption:
“Your resume is impeccable, but I’m afraid we can’t offer you the position Dr. Hitler. This is a Jewish hospital.”
My name is Michael Neal and I hope that we can both, together, appreciate what I've done here.
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