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The Washington Post's Mensa invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are the 2009 winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor ( n.): The colour you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Continued …….

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

(If anything, I think these are even funnier than the previous 17!)

And the winners are:

1. Coffee , n. The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.

6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph, v. To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavoured mouthwash.

9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.

1. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon, n.. A Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of jockey shorts worn by Jewish men.

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..... a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...
 
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry...
 
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... a good piece of furniture not  previously owned by anyone else in her family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a  meal, that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... a feeling of control over her destiny...
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to quit a job, break up with a lover,  and confront a friend without; ruining the friendship...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... that she can't change the length of her calves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... what she would and wouldn't do for love or  more...
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to live alone... even if she  doesn't like it...
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. . whom she can trust, whom she can't, and why she shouldn't take it personally...
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... where to go... be it to her best friend's kitchen table.. or a charming Inn in the woods... when her soul needs soothing...
 
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... What she can and can't  accomplish in a day... a month...and a year...

Live life backwards

In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your
pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous,
then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in
luxurious spa like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an organism! I rest my case.
-Woody Allen

CAKE OR BED

A HUSBAND IS AT HOME WATCHING A
FOOTBALL GAME WHEN HIS WIFE INTERRUPTS,

HONEY,
COULD YOU FIX THE LIGHT IN THE HALLWAY?
IT'S BEEN FLICKERING FOR WEEKS NOW.

HE LOOKS AT HER AND SAYS ANGRILY,
FIX THE LIGHTS NOW?
DOES IT LOOK LIKE I HAVE
GE WRITTEN ON MY FOREHEAD?
I DON'T THINK SO.

FINE,

THEN THE WIFE ASKS,
WELL THEN, COULD YOU FIX THE FRIDGE DOOR?
IT WON'T CLOSE RIGHT

TO WHICH HE REPLIED,
FIX THE FRIDGE DOOR?
DOES IT LOOK LIKE I HAVE WESTINGHOUSE
WRITTEN ON MY FOREHEAD?
I DON'T THINK SO

FINE, SHE SAYS
THEN YOU COULD AT LEAST FIX THE STEPS
TO THE FRONT DOOR?
THEY ARE ABOUT TO BREAK

I'M NOT A CARPENTER AND I DON'T
WANT TO FIX STEPS
HE SAYS, DOES IT LOOK LIKE I HAVE
ACE HARDWARE WRITTEN ON MY FOREHEAD?
I DON'T THINK SO
I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU.
I'M GOING TO THE BAR!!!!

SO HE GOES TO THE BAR AND DRINKS FOR A
COUPLE OF HOURS...............................

HE STARTS TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT HOW
HE TREATED HIS WIFE, AND DECIDES
TO GO HOME

AS HE WALKS INTO THE HOUSE HE NOTICES
THAT THE STEPS ARE ALREADY FIXED.

AS HE ENTERS THE HOUSE , HE SEES THE
HALL LIGHT IS WORKING

AS HE GOES TO GET A BEER, HE NOTICES
THE FRIDGE DOOR IS FIXED.

HONEY, HE ASKS, HOW'D ALL THIS GET FIXED?
SHE SAID, WELL, WHEN YOU LEFT I SAT
OUTSIDE AND CRIED.

JUST THEN A NICE YOUNG MAN ASKED ME
WHAT WAS WRONG, AND I TOLD HIM.

HE OFFERED TO DO ALL THE REPAIRS, AND
ALL I HAD TO DO WAS EITHER
GO TO BED WITH HIM OR BAKE A CAKE.

HE SAID,
SO WHAT KIND OF CAKE DID YOU BAKE?

SHE REPLIED,
HELLOOOOO..
DO YOU SEE SARA LEE WRITTEN
ON MY FOREHEAD?
I DON'T THINK SO!

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mum all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of choc.bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any colour, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the lolly aisle in the grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mummy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare tomato sauce a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment
as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe
trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always, MUM...!

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children happy, healthy and always believing.

The computer swallowed grandma.
Yes, honestly its true.
She pressed 'control' and 'enter'
And disappeared from view.
It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm. !
I've searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I've even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.
In desperation, I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found 'online.'
So, if inside your 'Inbox,'
My Grandma you should see,
Please 'Copy,''Scan' and 'Paste' her
And send her back to me!
This is a tribute to all the Grandmas who have been fearless and
Learned to use the computer........ They are the greatest!!!
We do not stop playing because we grow old;
We grow old because we stop playing.
Never Be The First To Get Old!

My thighs were stolen from me during the night. It was just that quick.
I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs. The new ones were the texture of lumpy porridge. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years?  Whose thighs were these and what had happened to mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs.

Finally, hurt and angry I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and those tights that pull everything in.

Then, just when my guard was down the thieves struck again. My bum was next!

I knew it was the same gang, because they took the pain to match my new rear end to the thighs they had lumbered me with earlier. I couldn't believe it my new bum was attached at least three inches lower than my original.  Now, my rear complemented my thighs lump for lump. Frantically I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion.

Last year I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was brushing my hair when I watched horrified, but fascinated, as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was getting really scary. My body was being replaced one section at a time. How clever and fiendish!

AGE?  Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to creep up unnoticed, something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked repeatedly and without warning. In despair I have given up short sleeved t-shirts.

Last month my neck disappeared faster than the Christmas turkey, which it now  resembled. That's why I have decided to tell my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself.

WOMEN OF THE WORLD WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE!!!

That really isn't plastic those surgeons are using. You KNOW where they are getting those replacement parts, don't you? The next time you suspect someone has had a face 'lifted' - look again. Was it 'lifted' from you.  I think I finally found my thighs and I hope Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!!

P.S. Last night I thought someone had stolen my breasts. I was lying in bed and they were gone! As I jumped out of bed I was relieved to find that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept. Now I am keeping them safely hidden in my waistband!

Isnt this just so true – the girls know ….

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on theFLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume " The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would haveKNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto theTOILET SEAT . It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don'tKNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when youNEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!