This is not the New Yorker

Well, it isn’t. The New Yorker has a cartoon captioning contest, which I have never won, at least in part because I have never entered it. Anyway, if I ever did enter it, this is what I might come up with.

“Which one of youse guys is called ‘Frenchie’?”

“That is so gay.”

“‘Cookie’ Lavegetto, huh? That’s real funny. ”

“And when I put my hand over my crotch, that means hard scrambled.”

“Yeah, it’s your fucking roux, but it’s my fucking dugout.”

“Reduce this, girlfriend.”

“Lose the toque, monsieur.”

“Oh, yeah? Oeufs dans le beurre brûlé from hell, maybe.”

“You’re a day early, fuckface. Bastille Day is tomorrow.”

“Well, if all of the other shortstops jumped off a cliff, would you do that too?”