"The ambiguities of the meanings of words are not important just to puns
but to poetry and scriptures and to writing in general," he says.
"Sometimes the way that a pun affects the listener can be a miniature Zen
moment of enlightenment. It causes a little explosion inside your brain."

http://www.laweekly.com/2014-06-05/news/at-the-world-pun-championships-victory-is-easier-said-than-punned/?showFullText=true&src=longreads

At the World Pun Championships, Victory Is Easier Said Than Punned

*A*fter Ben Ziek won big at the 2013 world pun championships, his life
didn't change. He kept the same job he's had for 13 years, as a night
auditor at the Burbank Airport Marriott. He gets in at 11 p.m., helps
balance the books, does wake-up calls and deals with guest complaints
before leaving at 7:30 a.m.
“It was like somebody created a special Disneyland just for me. It’s a
whole weekend where you just don’t have normal conversations with anybody.”
—Diana Gruber

Co-worker Angelique, who sits at the desk nearby, does not appreciate his
punning. "She doesn't like it all," Ziek says. "For 13 years I've joked
that she doesn't have a sense of humor."

A 38-year-old gentle giant with a dark crew cut, Ziek has the fortune and
misfortune of being among the best in the world at something many people
disdain.
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   - PHOTO BY TED SOQUI
   - Ben Ziek


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More About

Matt Pollock
<http://www.laweekly.com/los-angeles/ArticleArchives?tag=Matt%20Pollock>

Ben Ziek
<http://www.laweekly.com/los-angeles/ArticleArchives?tag=Ben%20Ziek>

Diana Gruber
<http://www.laweekly.com/los-angeles/ArticleArchives?tag=Diana%20Gruber>

Arts, Entertainment, and Media
<http://www.laweekly.com/los-angeles/ArticleArchives?tag=Arts%2C%20Entertainment%2C%20and%20Media>

Entertainment
<http://www.laweekly.com/los-angeles/ArticleArchives?tag=Entertainment>

While puns often are derided as the lowest form of humor, they have a
storied history. The earliest known puns were cave carvings — from one
angle, they looked like a woman, from another an erect penis, according to
John Pollack's *The Pun Also Rises*. The form counts among its many famous
supporters Aristotle, Cicero, Jonathan Swift and, of course, Shakespeare,
who used thousands.

Puns tailed off with the Age of Enlightenment, when rationalists became
uncomfortable with puns' ambiguity, and the rise of the printing press
(puns are not as fun on the page). In America they were popular in the age
of Groucho Marx and Abbott & Costello but fell out of favor as comedy
became more subversive in the 1960s and '70s.

Now puns are enjoying a newfound acceptability.*Sex and the City* used them
("If you're tired, you take a napa, you don't move to Napa"), and *The
Daily Show*'s punny graphics get laughs. Rappers pun constantly, including
Eminem ("McDonald's bathroom, in a public stall, droppin' a football, so
every time someone walks in the John I get Madden") and André 3000 ("I
cc'ed every girl that I'd see-see around town").

The resurgence goes hand in hand with the mainstreaming of nerd culture.
Hollywood's nerd-in-chief, Joss Whedon, used them in *Buffy the Vampire
Slayer*. Everyone's a punster on Twitter through hashtag wars
(#RuinANurseryRhyme? Old Mother L. Ron Hubbard), which are a big part of
Chris Hardwick's Comedy Central show,*@midnight*. The Internet has helped
spread puns for subversive purposes, as when Chinese citizens spread the
meme "grass mud horse," which in Mandarin is a pun on "fuck your mother"
and a symbol of defiance against government censors.

The pun comeback has heightened visibility for the O. Henry Pun-Off World
Championships in Austin, Texas, where last year Ziek won both major events:
In Punniest of Show, judges rate a contestant's 90-second prepared routine.
In the Punslingers tournament, contestants face off one-on-one to see who
can come up with the most puns on words in a given category.

Newer competitions have popped up, such as Pundamonium, a "pun slam" that
has been held in Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Chicago and other cities. The
monthly Punderdome 3000 in Brooklyn draws up to 400 people.

Punderdome host Jo Firestone feels that the legitimacy of puns dovetails
with the rise of normcore. If it's cool to wear high-waist pants and
athletic socks, it's cool to geek out on wordplay. "Puns are something that
have always been a dad's joke," she says.

Still, in conversation, puns are more likely to draw groans than praise.
Ziek doesn't mind. "Groans are good," he says. "Laughs are great. Silence
is bad."

On May 10, he was back in Austin to defend his titles.

*The Pun-Off, held* annually since 1978, matches the peculiar energy of a
place where the unofficial slogan is "Keep Austin Weird." This is the city,
after all, that organizes Eeyore's Birthday Party, an outdoor costume party
honoring the depressed donkey from *Winnie-the-Pooh*.

The night before the Pun-Off, competitors gather for a dinner on the spot
where the event is set to take place — the park behind the O. Henry Museum,
dedicated to the author known for his wordplay and surprise endings. (The
Pun-Off is owned by the Austin Parks and Recreation Department.)

It's a reunion of legends past. Steve Brooks, a country singer with a mop
of gray hair, is the only other person besides Ziek to have won both
Punslingers and Punniest of Show in the same year. Retired from
competition, he now serves as a judge and emcee.

"I miss the adrenaline rush," he says. "Sometimes if I'm emceeing a couple
folks and their puns are crappy, I want to jump in and make some good ones
to show them how it's done. Or show them how it's pun."

Brooks has a sermon he performs in Unitarian churches on "pundamentalism."
"The ambiguities of the meanings of words are not important just to puns
but to poetry and scriptures and to writing in general," he says.
"Sometimes the way that a pun affects the listener can be a miniature Zen
moment of enlightenment. It causes a little explosion inside your brain."

Another judge is Jim Ertner, 67, a retired naval architect who lives in
Greensboro, North Carolina. "Noah was the world's first naval ark-itect,"
he adds. Working in shipbuilding, for a company of thousands, he would be
the go-to guy for roasting retiring employees. Ertner now writes joke
books, as does fellow judge Stan Kegel, a retired pediatric cardiologist in
Orange County.
“Doing puns and having a girlfriend is accomplishment enough. I may be the
only one [here with both].” —D’arren Walsh

In this world of gray-haired or socially awkward men, 39-year-old Diana
Gruber is conspicuous. About three years ago, her roommate asked her to
help with a dinner party, and she replied with a spray of punny texts: "OK,
whatever you say, chop chop." "When your guests get here they can hummus a
tune." Gruber's roommate told her, "There's an organization for people like
you."

Gruber first attended the Pun-Off in 2012. "It was like somebody created a
special Disneyland just for me," she says. "It's a whole weekend where you
just don't have normal conversations with anybody."

Gruber speaks six languages and can pun in them all. Last year she moved to
Monterey to get a master's in teaching a foreign language, but her fellow
students didn't always appreciate her puns — like when a linguist named Dr.
Walqui was giving a lecture, she went around asking if anyone was going to
the "Walqui talkie."

"Sometimes I'll make a pun that I expect the class to laugh at it and they
don't," she says. "We're all language geeks, so why aren't we appreciating
it more? But it may be I'm out of line and we're talking about something
else and it's not funny time, it's serious time." She recently left grad
school and moved to San Diego.

The dinner also attracts first-timers, such as a tall Brit wearing a name
tag that said D'arren Walsh. Does his name have an apostrophe? "No, I'm
just being a dick," he says.

Walsh says he won the U.K. Pun Championships, which took place in a comedy
club. "I was the organizer," he says. "I was also the judge."

In London, he's primarily a stand-up comic. "I have a very understanding
girlfriend. Doing puns and having a girlfriend is accomplishment enough,"
he says. Scanning the crowd, he adds, "I may be the only one."

Most participants appreciate an environment in which they can let their
puns loose without fear of glares. But there is pressure to measure up.
When one competitor, Lisa Bonos, meets Walsh by the vegetable platter, he
starts by saying things like, "There's a DIP in the conversation." She says
later, "I was wondering if I was punning enough."

At one point Gruber helps lead a discussion of favorite puns. One
competitor says, "What's *The Onion* newspaper's biggest competitor?" Ziek
quips, "Is it Wiki-Leeks?" The punster seems embarrassed as he reveals his
passable but inferior answer, the Garlic Press.

As the night wears on, the punsters form teams to play Schmovie, a board
game in which players try to create the best punny movie titles. One round
calls for a movie about a constipated basketball player.

A member of Ziek's team comes up with *Scottie Poopin'*, but Ziek overrules
him in favor of the more on-point *LeBrown Jams*. It's a tough round, but
his pick ultimately triumphs over another team's *Poop Dreams*.

*There is no formal* training for competitive punning in the way there is
for, say, baseball or chess. The Pun-Off is open to anyone who signs up
online; instead of fame or riches, the winner gets a trophy topped by a
golden horse's rear end.

But Ziek unintentionally put himself through exactly what rigorous pun
training might look like. Growing up in South New Jersey and then
Pennsylvania, he read books of riddles, limericks and Tom Swifties — punny
jokes that go something like, " 'I am so glad I had that cardiac surgery,'
Tom said whole-heartedly." Ziek has a photographic memory and was on the
Quiz Bowl team in high school. After moving to L.A. in 1999, he studied
short-form improv games at ComedySportz.

His Glendale apartment, shared with four roommates, looks like a dorm room
at game show college. On one wall are colored plaques with prizes and
prices from *The Price Is Right*. On another are photos of game show hosts
(Rip Taylor, Bill Cullen) and bookcases stuffed with game show–themed board
games such as Beat the Clock, the Gong Show Game and Remote Control.

All five roommates have been on game shows. Travis won a Cadillac on *The
Price Is Right*. Ethan won a Jeep Liberty on *Wheel of Fortune*. Ziek has
been on five, including *Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?*, where he
won $25,000, and *Win Ben Stein's Money*. Ziek's also performed in indie
professional wrestling, playing a punster wrestling manager named Lex Icon.

Along with a few other friends, the five roommates started Home Game
Enterprizes, a production company that pitches game show ideas to networks.
They also replicate game shows like *Family Feud* in game nights at bars
around L.A.

Ziek found out about the Pun-Off two decades ago, but he could never
scrounge enough cash for a ticket to Austin until 2009. To drill for its
Punslingers competition, he made a PowerPoint program that would select a
random topic and give him five seconds to make a pun. He came in second in
his first year of competition, and then won in 2010 and 2011.

Ziek lives in a world that devalues his particular blend of interests and
abilities. He's always wanted to be a game show host, but "I realized that
that was a long shot based on my looks," he says.

Still, his pun prowess has led to some of his life's greatest highs. "I
love the ones that take words and take a little twist, add a letter, drop a
letter, slur a letter," he adds. "There are so many things you can do with
a word."

*On Saturday at the* Pun-Off, check-in begins at 11 a.m., to the sounds of
a live band performing TV theme songs. Several hundred young locals and
families assemble on blankets and lawn chairs, cramming under the trees to
avoid the sun.

Gary Hallock runs around in khaki shorts and an American flag shirt. While
juggling a day job managing an Austin apartment complex, he has been
organizing the Pun-Off for 25 years.

He spends Saturday herding contestants and putting out fires. Occasionally
he'll go onstage to say something like, "There are awnings we bought on
sale. They're going to be given to the winners, so they'll be the winners
of our discount tents."

"It's not so much a passion for punning," he explains. "It's a passion for
attention. My wife tells me I'm a media hog." Ready to retire, he's
searching for his replacement.

The first event is Punniest of Show: 32 contestants present short, prepared
monologues, and judges rate them from 1 to 10. In the event's early years,
competitors would typically recite a shaggy-dog story — a long joke that
ends with a whopper. But as competition has grown stiffer, the routines
have become more pun-saturated, built around themes.

Steve Brooks once performed a legendary routine on "Tex-Mexistentialism"
featuring the philosopher "Juan-Paul Salsa." In 2000, Tiffany Wimberly won
by dressing as RaPUNzel: "When I was a young CURL, a jealous queen LOCKed
me in a tower. I was STRANDed ... at my SPLIT'S END ... truly a damsel in
THESE TRESSES."

As the competition begins, many contestants pun on foods, especially fruits
and vegetables. Some tell the story of a date that eventually gets raunchy.

Others are more distinctive. Gruber puns on social media ("He gets all up
in MySpace. That's no way to Tweet a girl") and Brandon Austin on video
games ("Can't we all just get a Pong?"). British champion Walsh arrives
dressed as a chicken ("I heard about this competition on Face-bok-bok-bok").

Ziek, in a blue Hawaiian shirt and jeans, watches his opponents from a lawn
chair next to his birth father and stepmom (he grew up with his mom and
adopted father). He starts to think about his monologue well in advance of
the competition and usually writes it about a month beforehand. Two years
ago, he used names of cheeses in a love song to a girl named Brie. Last
year his winning routine was titled "Seasonings of Love," the story of a
date using spices.

This year he considered punning on every space on a Monopoly board in
order, perhaps beginning with "I went to Iran and I Mediterranean," but he
scrapped it as too difficult. Instead he went with trees, in the persona of
a motivational speaker talking about "how to become more poplar with the
ladies."

He commits to his motivational-speaker persona — even using a prop headset
— and the tree names blend into his speech with ease: "A wise man doesn't
wait for an opportunity — hickory-ates one."

After Ziek comes Andy Balinsky, who cracks up the audience from the first
words of his flower-themed routine, as he holds up roses: "Bouquet, I'm
ready." But the biggest crowd-pleaser is Alexandra Petri, a young *Washington
Post* reporter, whose routine is a diatribe on how America needs a female
president, punning on all the U.S. presidents — in order: "Don't go LINCOLN
a JOHNSON to the highest office in the land."

At the end, Ziek, Petri and Balinsky tie with 39 points out of a possible
40, and the verdict is decided by audience clap-off. Petri is the
overwhelming winner. Ziek comes in second. "Her routine was amazing," he
acknowledges.

But he can still defend his title in Punslingers, the more challenging of
the two contests — and the more bizarre.

*In Punslingers, participants* have five seconds to make a pun on a word in
a given topic. Then it's their opponent's turn. They can't pun on a word
that's been used — if they do, they get a strike. Three strikes and they're
out. If they can't come up with anything, they're also out.

They can't use cliches or figurative uses of a word. If the category is
horses, for example, they can't say, "I'm saddled with a burden."

The puns in Punslingers don't have to be funny — they just have to be puns.
Yet it's far more entertaining than Punniest of Show. It's hard to be
patient with a performer who spends a year coming up with "lettuce go back
to my place." But it's impressive to see someone come up with a pun on the
spot that hits a comedic bull's-eye.

A nurse named Brian Oakley is head of the topic committee, an unofficial
title that he treats with the seriousness of a federal cabinet appointment.
Back when he won Punslingers three times, the categories were pretty
general, such as "food," but the committee has picked more elaborate topics
as competition has gotten stiffer. Last year, one category was "dessert (no
candy)" and another was "candy (no dessert)." The least successful category
Oakley can remember was "Words that start with P," which got too confusing
when the contestants departed from the hard "P" sound and moved on to
philosophy and psychiatry.

If you had the time, Oakley could spend hours feeding you Punslingers
strategy. "If the category is colors, don't start with fuchsia," he says,
"because he's going to be burning through green and blue and gray and
black."

Ziek's strategy is to immediately come up with two puns, one that he uses
right away and another that he keeps in the back of his mind in case he's
desperate. He look out at the crowd, at the trees, at the convention center
in the background, to see if something jogs his memory. Sometimes you can
play off your opponent — if the topic is magic, for instance, your opponent
may drift into mythology, which opens up more possibilities.

One of Ziek's rivals is the 2012 winner, Dav Wallace, 41, dressed in a
sea-green Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and sandals. He works in marketing
in Austin and has been known to pull off visual puns: In a category called
"farming and ranching," he took an audible exhale and then crouched: silo.

In the car with his wife on the way over, he punned on all the European
Union member states. "She's sick of this week," he says.

Another favorite is 2009 winner Matt Pollock, a 32-year-old systems
engineer who, like Ziek and Wallace, is an improv comedian on the side. He
grew up telling "horrible jokes" with his brother, he says. "We'd make our
parents sad." He and Ziek are like Federer and Nadal — they've faced each
other in each of the five previous years, with Ziek winning four times.

"He has an amazing vocabulary, and that's usually what determines who does
well," Pollock says of Ziek. "He doesn't usually run out of words."

In the first round, Ziek faces Adam Bass, a writer for Groupon in Chicago.
For Bass' whole life, he says, whenever he hears a word like scarf, he
thinks immediately of both neckwear and voracious eating: "People say, 'You
were born to do this.' "

His dad, Mike Bass, took him to the Pun-Off as a 30th-birthday present. The
former sports editor for the *St. Paul Pioneer Press* used to pun — but
when his sons started doing it, he realized its effect. "My head would be
spinning and I'd go, enough was enough," he says. "I had to stop. I had to
be the adult."

The category is "art and artists," and Bass' college art classes come in
handy. "I gotta get out of here, I have a Weegee," referencing the famous
photographer as he reaches back toward his underwear. But Ziek is always
quick to respond — "I'm excited for this competition. That's why I Rodin to
town early" — and eventually outlasts him.

Bass is satisfied. "It's like that boxer who wants to go five to 10 minutes
with the heavyweight champion," he says.

Ziek dispatches his next opponent in "holidays and celebrations": "People
in Switzerland, they're known for being neutral in the wars, but one time
we tried giving them guns — it was Arm-a-Swiss Day." He takes down another
in "weapons (no firearms)": "That's noose to me." (At one point the judges
remind contestants that an air strike is not allowed because it involves
the use of a projectile, a point of order so esoteric that an irritated
audience member yells, "Whaaat?!")

In the semifinals, Ziek dispatches Wallace in "groups (human & animal)."
Wallace: "Next year this category should be band."

Meanwhile, Pollock goes round after round churning out puns so well-crafted
you'd swear he's reading straight from a pile of candy wrappers. On
"medical devices": "I made a new machine to call my sibling. It's a
dial-a-sis." On "cleaning": "What does a Japanese person clean their ear
with? A wa-swab-i."

He wins a marathon battle with Petri on "correspondence." Petri: "I work
with graphs, but they don't listen to me. You can't TELL A GRAPH anything."
Pollock: "The port-a-potties over there will not let my wife in. DEAR JOHN,
LET HER." Every time he hears a gem, whether his or an opponent's, he does
a little leprechaun jig.

The flaw of Punslingers is that it occasionally feels more like a test of
vocabulary than one of punning ability. Competitors such as Ziek and
Pollock can take the syllables of just about any word or phrase, change
those sounds into a new word or phrase, and then reverse-engineer a
sentence to justify its existence.

Yet just enough comedy emerges to make the competition feel artful. The
best punsters may be so used to making puns for humor that they can't avoid
it, even when it's not necessary. Sometimes it's just easier to be funny.

In the final, Ziek faces his nemesis, Pollock, in "musical genres."

Pollock: "My friend Ray happens to have come out of the closet. RAY GAY."

Ziek: "Don't attack me with your gardening implement. Put the HOE DOWN."

Pollock. "My friend's a Luddite. TECH — NO!"

Ziek: "I taught my mother how to do archery. MOM BOW."

After a couple dozen times back and forth, Ziek draws a blank. There's
silence for several seconds, as the crowd, and maybe even the judges, seem
unable to concede that the champion has fallen. Pollock is the winner.

"The last six things, I had nothing," Pollock says afterward. "I started
talking and hoped that when my lips stopped moving I would have something."

Ziek is resigned, but his agitation shows. At one point he walks over to
Pollock.

"None of us said opera," he says.

Pollock answers, "What's wrong with us?"

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