Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Mad Libs

Don't you just hate grammar? In the Myers household we learn grammar by doing Mad Libs -- by Roger Price and Leonard Stern. We even try to improve the grammar of our house guests by doing Mad Libs with them. The result of all this play with words is a collection of outlandish little stories. We must give credit to the clever people who come up with the framework for the stories. (I want to meet someone who has that writing job!) Today my son and I did one especially for "The Blog."


Here is chef Allyson's award-plunging recipe for 
Roast Earlobe of Meerkat:  Choose an earlobe weighing about 421 knitting needles. Remove excess glue stick. Add 5 cloves of garlic, peeled and neglected. Season with 2 tablespoons of chopped split pea soup. Add a tablespoon of cough syrup. Sprinkle with a touch of putrefied salt. Add a pinch of ground puce hair clip. Cook at 350 flowerpots for 925 minutes. Remove from the oven when the skin is mauve. Serve with mashed mixing bowls and a lampshade.
 (note: Underlined words were added by us.)

Since it's June and still raining, try Mad Libs and create some indoor sunshine! If one of yours turns out especially funny, email it to me or type it in the comments section, and I will post it. Then we can all laugh!


  1. Mad Libs and your house will ALWAYS be associated in my brain. This one was good; I especially liked the part about 5 cloves of garlic, peeled and neglected. Haha! I need to go out and buy one of these books.

  2. Haha I love Mad Libs. I think my favorite part was about the neglected cloves of garlic too. :)

    I just found one that I did with my family a long, long time ago.

    Advice to Prospective Parents

    Congratulations to all of you *mildewed* mothers and *grungy fathers*. You are about to give birth to a *gold medal*. Remember, a happy child comes from a happy *seat belt*. The arrival of your *carburetor* will cause many *collapsed* changes in your life. You’ll probably have to get up at four a.m. to give the little *heater* its bottle of *leathery* milk and change his or her *bridges*. Later, when he or she is *1 million hundred* years old and able to walk, you’ll hear the patter of little *ethyl chloride drops* around the house. And in no time, your child will be talking *spookily* and calling you his or her “*pump organ*,” and saying things like, “*Holy torpedo juice!*” right to your face. It’s no wonder they are called little bundles of *squirrel gizzards*.


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