GFG Mad Lib

Inspired by Miss H's Fill-in-the-blank single mom blog and the many highlights from GFG's blog, I made three versions, using three of my favorite stories (I was also tempted by the grass-eating and some of the salacious descriptions of food, but this seemed like enough). For the second one I actually wanted the one where she mocked people in the supermarket, but I couldn't find it.


Was originally about: The inherent coolness of root vegetables

Some {category of food - plural} are easy to love. {3 foods in the category} are no-brainers. They are like {simile}. It's easy to see what they have on offer.

But {a couple of other foods in the category} with their {unattractive physical attribute}? They're like the {adjective} girl in school, the one with her own sense of {noun}: {adjective} {noun} and {adjective} {noun}. You think she's too {noun}. But when she starts {verb}, you find out she's {noun} and doesn't give a damn if you {verb} her. Suddenly, she's far more {noun}.

You realize that those other {repeat earlier category of food - plural} are {adjective}.


Was originally about: observing a woman drinking beer

The {wallet name} and I were stopped. We looked over to watch a {adjective} {adjective} {spawn} {verb} on the sidewalk outside a restaurant. When I glanced at his mother, sipping a {drink} and looking {noun}, I pointed her out to {wallet name}. "See that woman?" I said. "She has {a disease}."

"How do you know?" he said, peering at her.

"Look at her {body part}," I said as I gestured. After she lowered her glass of {drink} to the table, we could both see her {adjective} {body part - repeat}, the {adjective} skin around it, the {adjective} eyes. She looked like nearly every photograph of me taken before {length of time} ago.

We had been going through photographs, earlier that {time of day}, as preparation for packing. Mostly, it was an excuse to show each other photographs from our past. As we toured through photographs from my {...}, and the awkward {...}, the mis-begotten {noun} of my {...}, and my time on {...} and in {...}, we were struck by this. In every {cardinal number} photograph I look {adjective} and {adjective}, {color} and {adjective} {noun}. "You must have eaten {period of time} before this one," he said of a particularly bad photograph, my face as {color} and {color} as {simile}. Even photographs of me at {age} look like I'm in the middle of a {disease, noun, or adjective} episode.

"That woman has {disease}," he said, after he looked at her for a moment. As we started to drive away, I wished that I could somehow stop, and tell her, "Please put down that drink. {preachy phrase}."



Was originally about: ginger

The smell of {adjective} {noun} is one of my favorite {...} experiences in the world. Lean down toward the {noun} and drink in the sharp whiff of {adjective} {adjective} {verb made into a noun} and everything else {cliche}. No matter where I am, or how {...}, that smell brings me right {...}. I had to give {shitling name} that experience.

Since she was {age, in minutes} old, and home from the {place}, we have been putting {noun} under {shitling name}'s {body part}. During those first {amount of time}, she lay in a {noun} as we {verb} on the other side of the kitchen. Now, she sits in her {noun}, {verb} her {bodypart} in time to the music playing and we are all {verb} together. At first, sniffing was a passive experience. Now, she leans in, takes real whiffs, repeatedly, and smiles. She's not fond of {noun} or {noun}. But {noun}, {noun}, and {noun}? Those make her {bodypart} go {...}, and she leans back in for another smell.

I snapped off a {part} of {something}, tucking the other part in the bottom of our cart. Removing a {adjective} {noun} or two, I sniffed the {something}, and then passed it under {shitling name}'s nose. Her {body part} {verb} as she gulped in the air before her. She looked at me, and then {did something}. She sniffed and sniffed, transfixed. And then she threw her {body part} {verb} and let out a {adjective} {type of noise}, a {description} sound of {...} and {...}.

{wallet name} rushed back, {noun - plural} in his {body part}. "Was that her?"

"It was," I said, {bodily fluid} {optional: verb} in my {body part}. "She loved this smell."

The one about the supermarket can be found by googling her blog for "the way we eat around here." Unless she's removed it. I got a "page not found" when I looked for it the other day.

Ok, I'm in. I had my husband blindly help with about half of it, so it's a little bit strange:

The Bogart and I were stopped. We looked over to watch a simple, idiotic crotchfruit fuck on the sidewalk outside a restaurant. When I glanced at his mother, sipping a Tom Collins and looking sour, I pointed her out to Bogart. "See that woman?" I said. "She has Restless Leg Syndrome."

"How do you know?" he said, peering at her.

"Look at her bottom lip," I said as I gestured. After she lowered her glass of Tom Collins to the table, we could both see her leery bottom lip, the droopy skin around it, the crazy eyes. She looked like nearly every photograph of me taken before 10 days ago.

We had been going through photographs, earlier that afternoon, as preparation for packing. Mostly, it was an excuse to show each other photographs from our past. As we toured through photographs from my visit to the local nursing home, and the awkward chicken dance at the bar downtown, the mis-begotten haircut of my 7th grade year, and my time on methamphetamines and in London, we were struck by this. In every 5th photograph I look swollen and sexy, purple and bitchy cat. "You must have eaten a day before this one," he said of a particularly bad photograph, my face as black and pink as Gandalf. Even photographs of me at 28 look like I'm in the middle of a Jaundice episode.

"That woman has Restless Leg Syndrome," he said, after he looked at her for a moment. As we started to drive away, I wished that I could somehow stop, and tell her, "Please put down that drink. What would Jesus do?"

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CatsPajamas
Ok, I'm in. I had my husband blindly help with about half of it, so it's a little bit strange:

Perhaps my instructions need adjusting, but I think it all made sense, except for I look swollen and sexy, purple and bitchy cat. It made me laugh, anyway!

Going to ask my SO to contribute one. I didn't tell him what he was contributing to, so it reads rather oddly.

The smell of cheap perfume is one of my favorite blue experiences in the world. Lean down toward the fart and drink in the sharp whiff of large gray park and everything else I don't know. No matter where I am, or how strong, that smell brings me right to Peru. I had to give Janet Jackson that experience.

Since she was 10^6 minutes old, and home from the Alps, we have been putting experience under Janet's Achilles heel. During those first jiffies, she lay in a forest as we stereotyped on the other side of the kitchen. Now, she sits in her dictionary, sculpting her hand in time to the music playing and we are all masticate together. At first, sniffing was a passive experience. Now, she leans in, takes real whiffs, repeatedly, and smiles. She's not fond of dinner or lamps. But cats, windows, and bars? Those make her hippocampus remember, and she leans back in for another smell.

I snapped off a sodium of a catalyst, tucking the other part in the bottom of our cart. Removing a warm sodium or two, I sniffed the catalyst, and then passed it under Janet's nose. Her eye blinked as she gulped in the air before her. She looked at me, and then procreated. She sniffed and sniffed, transfixed. And then she threw her hair loose and let out a preposterous squeal, a smothering sound of Africa and slaves.

John rushed back, heart in his torso. "Was that her?"

"It was," I said, blood flowing in my skin. "She loved this smell."

Yeah, the wording was a bit awkward. We had fun with it, though!

I yurble soooo much!

:biggrin2