A couple of weeks ago, my lovely partner and I sent a giant book of Mad Libs to my nephew, Ben, as part of a birthday package. This morning I was thrilled to hear from my sister that Ben and his sister, Carolyn, have been in nonstop giggle-fits over such adjectives as stinky and slimy. Receiving this news was one of my proudest and happiest moments as an uncle; I felt as though I filled a previously undetected void in their lives.

Too bad we outgrow Mad Libs. Or do we?

I cobbled together these little narratives from phrases and images taken from previous Great Whatsit posts. I was hoping to reveal some of the more prevalent themes that find their way into our stories, just out of their normal contexts. I hope you get a giggle or two out of my effort:

You will not be surprised at my discovery that as a child everybody talked about you behind your back.

Curiously, I felt reflexive revulsion.

As a community-college English instructor, the most common argument I hear from liberals is so disengaged from the issues. I wonder, is Dexter’s detachment from everyone around him surprising? I mean THERE’S NOTHING THERE!

I can’t tell you much more about that, but last night I fucked up Thurston and his pals. I wrestled them with upwards of 20,000 other people.

When our fear was at a peak, a French telecommunications engineer announced that he had been admitted to the University Hospital in Albuquerque for the treatment of a large mass discovered in his belly. From a safe distance I was delighted to discover that the truly debauched man was actually five months pregnant.

Horror washes over me, but I still felt a fraternal bond in our violent act.

However, dear reader, you must deny yourself the juicy richness of blood.

That said, you should feel free to pay a prostitute for sex, and venture into the full orgasmic potential…it’s just so soothing.

I’m not a legal scholar, and I’m not what you’d call a patriot or a nationalist; I’m not proud of most of the things that the US has done, but deep down, I like patriotic men – I have been thinking of getting some play lately. Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong – I’m still trying to wrap my head around the concept.

Okay, a confession: It started with cocktails and music and chatting; we were in a well-appointed restaurant.

I blushed a shade at what I consider flattery. I’ll spare you the half-baked musings, and just tell you the truth: we did it.

It was everything we wanted, and lucky for us, Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road,” was playing along to the experience.

I discovered that despite his impeccable credentials as a conservative Republican he works at an abortion clinic. “Well of course this is bullshit,” I thought. But it’s totally true. What can I say? The man walks on water.

I acknowledge that most of this sounds like crazy-man-ranting, but over the last few weeks I’ve come gradually to realize how my pants are puffy.

Maybe I do need therapy; I’ve often wondered, would I benefit from some professional help? I hope that this exercise has done some good. Sometimes I just feel so backwards.