Witty-griddy: Word-find ne­ol­o­gisms

The Washington Post Sunday - - DIVERSIONS - BY PAT MYERS

In Week 1216 we pre­sented the ran­domly con­structed word search grid be­low, and asked you to “dis­cover” words by snaking a line through ad­ja­cent let­ters, in any or ev­ery di­rec­tion. The co­or­di­nates be­fore the en­tries mark the first let­ter; you can trace the word on the grid from there. 4th place B-4: DORKRIDER: A guy wear­ing a leather jacket on a Seg­way. (Bruce John­son, Church­ton, Md.) 3rd place L-11: LIAGRA: “I’m only tak­ing it to make it bet­ter for YOU.” (Todd DeLap, Fair­fax) 2nd place and the Toi­let Tunes elec­tronic key­board mat: J-4: SEMICOM: A punc­tu­a­tion mark de­not­ing the briefest pos­si­ble pause be­tween to­tally ran­dom thoughts. “I’m so up­set about los­ing Mar­sha [semicom] mmm, cup­cakes! (Frank Osen, Pasadena, Calif.) And the win­ner of the Inkin’ Me­mo­rial: H-6: IMPEACHIER: Less peachy. “The way things are go­ing in the White House couldn’t be any impeachier.” (Jesse Frankovich, Lans­ing, Mich.) Path-il­log­i­cal: hon­or­able men­tions F-6: EPATAPH: What they’re say­ing now for en­vi­ron­men­tal reg­u­la­tions. (Frank Osen) D-8: AARPED: Turned 50. “He AARPed on his last birth­day and it wasn’t pretty.” (Bev­er­ley Sharp, Mont­gomery, Ala.) H-5: ARFTIME: Mid-pro­gram break at the Puppy Bowl. (Frank Osen) I-5: FAMELIT: Books “au­thored” by celebri­ties who write only checks. (Lawrence McGuire, Wal­dorf, Md.) J-12 DIAREA: A jour­nal doc­u­ment­ing your ev­ery move­ment. (Jon Gearhart, Des Moines) J-13: COSAG: Grow old to­gether. (Joanne Free, Clifton, Va.) J-6: FACTTIME: An app that’s banned from all White House de­vices. (Kevin Dopart, Wash­ing­ton) J-7: ACUNERD: Some­one who points out ev­ery flawed tech­ni­cal de­tail. “Acunerd Neil DeGrasse Tyson noted the in­cor­rect con­stel­la­tions shown in ‘Ti­tanic.’ ” (Jeff Con­tom­pa­sis, Ash­burn, Va.) L-9: PMS RAGE: Non com­pos menses. (Chris Doyle, Den­ton, Tex.) N-4: ZILCCI: What you end up when you for­get to pack away moth­balls along with your ex­pen­sive Ital­ian suit. (Frank Osen) B-4: DORKKNOT: A man bun. (Jeff Con­tom­pa­sis) C-10: TYRUNT: A diminu­tive despot. A half-pint Hitler. A pocket Pol Pot. A mini Mao. Kim Jung Un. (Tom Witte, Mont­gomery Vil­lage, Md.; Mae Scan­lan, Wash­ing­ton)

C-16: MYMYMY: The start of a thinly veiled re­buke from your grand­mother: “Mymymy, that’s an in­ter­est­ing choice of out­fit for a fu­neral, dear.” (Hildy Zam­pella, Falls Church) E-14: NERDPX: The Ap­ple Store. (Frank Osen) F-7: PRALEAN: Low-fat con­fec­tion with “nuts,” “su­gar” and “cream.” (Hildy Zam­pella)

G-3 SNOTHURST: Coun­try Day School for the Pre­ten­tiously Rich. (Wil­liam Ken­nard, Ar­ling­ton) J-10: VIAGRA TIME: Of­ten fol­lows ex­ten­sive Miller Time. (Barry Koch, Catlett, Va.) J-6: FEARFIT: That hot new car­dio reg­i­men in which the in­struc­tor chases you around with a chain saw. (Amy Harris, Char­lottesville) J-6: FUTELLA: A low-sell­ing break­fast spread made of toe jam. (Ann Martin, Col­lege Park) J-9: LARDVAC: Li­po­suc­tion tool. “Your Mama’s so fat she needs the in­dus­trial lardvac.” (Chris Doyle) K-13: VIRGINN: A lodg­ing place that, alas, is not tak­ing book­ings. (Tom Witte) K-9: RAT-A-TAT-A-CLICK: The sound of an AK-47 run­ning out of ammo. (Chris Doyle) M-15: PLEBVIN: Snooty French term for Cal­i­for­nian wine (Sam Kyung-Gun Lim, Ur­bana, Ill., a First Of­fender) A-2: HUMIN: What to er is. (Ian Gra­ham, Orp-Jauche, Bel­gium) N-5: COXID: The op­po­site of flac­cid. (Stephen Dudzik, Ol­ney) O-2: SHARM: What the drunk in the pickup bar thinks he has. (Tom Pan­ther, Sharps, Va.) A-2: HUMIDORK: Guy who gives out cigars when his ger­bil has pups. (Tom Mur­phy, Bowie, Md.) P-15: BELT-IN-IN-ING: Stay­ing on your diet all year long. (Jack McB­room, Fort Val­ley, Va.) Q-3: TERMMOIL: We’ll have plenty of this the next four years. (Dave Sil­ber­stein, Col­lege Park) S-3: WETI: The Abom­inable Rain Man. (Mark Raffman, Re­ston) F-2: NO-INK REINCE: The White House chief of staff fails to im­press the Em­press of The Style In­vi­ta­tional. (Ed Ed­wards, Worces­ter Park, Eng­land) Still run­ning — dead­line Mon­day night, March 27: Our con­test for “lik the bred” po­ems. See bit.ly/ in­vite1219.

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