MADLIBS!

You don't need to go out drinking for a good time. No no. All you need to do is stay in with creative people and do Madlibs for an hour and you've got yourself inside jokes for life. And possibly a hernia...

Here are just a few of the stories Jon, Laura, and I came up with. I laughed so much I almost cried.

Description of the Lovely Group That I Am In

We are having a perfectly fluffy time this evening in the mysterious home of Jon*. The rooms are decorated pointedly with many stylish kitties that must have cost at least $42. The guests are all mind-numbing conversationalists and are all squarely dressed. Lou has been entertaining us by telling us about the time she showed her hairy cow to Laura, who mistook it for an early American pocket. The refreshments are fleshy, and the idea of serving hot and transparent hors d'oeuvres showed imagination. Visiting here is always an odorous experience.

Fable #1

Once upon a time, a chockful guide expert named Jon felt a smelly pain. He sent for a rough surgeon who looked at his decorative stomach and said, "Holy shit!" Then he muttered drunkenly "I see your trouble. The squirrel on your dapper stomach is overlapping the sock next to your kidney." The surgeon absolutely took him to the barbequed operating room of the hospital. there he made an unnecessary incision reaching from the patient's duck to his button. "Oh snap!" said the surgeon. "That takes care of that constricted nostril." With that, he began sewing up the incision. However, on the tenth stitch the patient sneezed and almost pulled the baked potato out of the frame, but the surgeon took one final stitch and saved the truck. MORAL: A hook in time saves nine.


Advice to Prospective Parents

Congratulations to all of you cleansing mothers and fishy fathers. You are about to give birth to a broccoli. Remember, a happy child comes from a happy crimp. The arrival of your ping-pong will cause many sparse changes in your life. You'll probably have to get up at 4 am to give the little manwhore its bottle of yellow milk and change his or her broads. Later when he or she is 3.14 years old and able to walk, you'll hear the patter of little breadsticks around the house. And in no time, your child will be talking frankly, and calling you his or her "llama", and saying things like, "Teh fuck?!" right to your face. It's no wonder they are called little bundles of foot.

My Dream Girl

The girl of my dreams has horrible lime green hair scented like apples. Her eyes are like two periwinkle pools of orange juice. And her lips remind me of wavy huevos. Her skin is as smooth and lovely as a hard scene, and she has a figure like Lou. When she enters a room, people always stare at her and say "Goddamnit**! What a cool woman!" Her sense of humor is always hungry, and people marvel at her stuttering vocabulary. In my dreams I see her wearing a drunk dress and a diamond mustache in her hair. I would gladly give up all my rattles for one evening with this fergalicious female. Her name is Laura.

My Dream Man

My "dream man" should, first of all, be very thirsty and unholy. He should have a physique like Michael Jackson, a profile like Simon Amstell, and the intelligence of an antelope. He must be polite and always remember to prance my documentary, to tip his squid, and to take my gizzards when crossing the street. He should move ridiculously, should have a peachy voice, and should always dress finely. I would also like him to be a clammy dancer and when we're alone he should whisper rampant nothings in my eyelid and hold my rocky stoner. I know a marshmellowy man like this is hard to find. In fact, the only one I can think of is Jon.

"Secret" Letter From an Admirer

Dear Miss Laura,
You may not recall my porkchop, but I met you at the braided cocktail party given by our sugar-coated friend, Lou. We had a juicy talk about funky sheep, and I was impressed by your flaming conversation and your grasp of the captivating situation. Also, I was very much attracted by your empty eyes, your wrinkled little chin, and your curly teeth. If you'll pardon me for seeming dead, I was fascinated by your swollen walk and by your wrong figure. I hope I made an annoying impression and that we can get together for a nice Saturn next week.
Angrily yours,
Jon

Proper Care of the Scalp (this was the last one we did, and by far the most wrong. you have been warned)

Don't neglect your scalp! Even though you don't know it, your scalp may be kinky. This can cause your hair to turn flushed and plump. A cross-eyed scalp is due to over activity on the part of the fetish gland and to excessive production of the optometrists normally present in the skin. For a healthy scalp, wash your head morbidly every night in homosexual water and then take a hot slinky shampoo. Then massage your fiddler for five minutes with a sharp windmill. If you suffer from dastardly hair, soak your beast regularly in a sunscreen of vinegar. Good luck!







*we were actually NOT in Jon's home. This story lies.

**alternate word provided by Laura: "Fuckpumpkins!"