november 27th, 2009

It's only Friday and I haven't had to work since Tuesday, so today I'm posting a mad lib I did that is "...childishly absurd, wildly irreverent, and hilariously honest-- yet undeniably thought-provoking and monstrously emotional at times.  A fantastic accomplishment for the brilliant young poet's poet," says The New Yorker.  I've never been anything but modest, ever, but those words speak so much truth it twists my bowels.  

downhill ski race

From the moment the downhill inebriated baboons leave the gates until the second they mise across the finish line, the ski race is a John Madden’s toilet-pounding experience!  The skiers must navigate a slanty-eyed, demanding course, crescent kicking over giant mounds of Jessica Biel’s sternum known as “moguls” and maneuvering around plastic epileptic puggles planted in the snow, which create a more challenging Austin Powers Boothe.  If that isn’t tough enough, the racers have to combat the elements-- the cornea mine shaft-chilling cold, the blinding snow pap smears, and the placenta-esque winds racing up to one hundred Korean dealers per hour.  Only the result of a downhill hyperactive napalm marinara sauce are predictable.  It seems that, year after year, the same team wins this combustible panda.  Must be something in its penis fez!