Okay! Here are the results of our Holiday Mad Libs. :-D :-D :-D Maybe it's the cold meds, but
I found these pretty funny.
Our "winners" are....
Margie with this delicious and delectable offering:
Using a fork and a small hermit, I mashed the craisins
and walnuts, added thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps
left, I rode the mixture into one of those small pastry buffaloes fitted with a
quarter inch round plain igloo.
All the time I worked, I snuggled. I was waiting for
the moment when Henry admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Alexander to cook
a romantic Christmas Eve dragon for seventeen. But they were eliciting more quietly, so I had only their trees to go by.
Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night
he had asked me back to his ornament.
And wonderfully I didn’t want to hear anymore.
I tried to pipe the latkes filling into each olive,
but my toes were damp and the olives were chilly and they kept shooting across
the snow. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately,
I got a little too aggressive and hid one of the olives. I drew a long breath
and tried again. Fucking eureka. The caviar stayed in the olive and the olive
stayed in my finger.
Not for long though. The olive frolicked away as Rocky
said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He
sounded snowy, almost frosty.
Binkabunny with her finest work to date:
Using a fork and a small hat, I mashed the hot fudge cake and ribeye steak, added thyme and the lemon zest.
When there were no lumps left, I swiped the mixture into one of those small
pastry kittens fitted with a quarter inch round plain snow.
All the time I worked, I swam. I was waiting for the
moment when Sam admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Jake to cook a romantic
Christmas Eve flower for
eighty-eight. But they were driving more
quietly, so I had only their blankets to go by. Louis still sounded nervous.
Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his train.
And recklessly I didn’t want to hear anymore.
I tried to pipe the loaded baked potato filling into
each olive, but my shoulders were damp and the olives were defiant and they
kept shooting across the stadium. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and
started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and stretched
one of the olives. I drew a long breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The cranberries
stayed in the olive and the olive stayed in my toe.
Not for long though. The olive trotted away as Rocky
said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He
sounded voracious, almost caught.
And finally the first of the Susan submissions with her erotic masterpiece:
Using a fork and a small mansion, I mashed the chili and
pasta, added thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps left, I saved
the mixture into one of those small pastry friends fitted with a quarter inch
round plain fever.
All the time I worked, I crushed. I was waiting for
the moment when Shane admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Devon to cook a
romantic Christmas Eve floor for three. But they were relating more
quietly, so I had only their boots to go by. Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky
sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his money.
And willingly I didn’t want to hear anymore.
I tried to pipe the taco filling into each olive, but
my legs were damp and the olives were beautiful and they kept shooting across
the sunshine. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately,
I got a little too aggressive and killed one of the olives. I drew a long
breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The quiche stayed in the olive and the
olive stayed in my shoulder.
Not for long though. The olive loved away as Rocky
said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He
sounded amazing, almost cruel.
Oh! And the original text? It's the cooking scene from
Baby, it's Cold.
Using a fork and a small bowl,
I mashed the gorgonzola and ricotta cheeses, add thyme and the lemon zest. When
there were no lumps left, I spooned the mixture
into one of those small pastry bags fitted with
a quarter inch round plain tip.
All the
time I worked, I listened. I was waiting for the
moment when Louis admitted to Rocky that he had
not hired Poppy to cook a romantic Christmas Eve dinner for two. But
they were speaking more quietly, so I had only
their tones to go by. Louis still sounded
nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me
back to his place.
And suddenly I didn’t want to hear anymore.
I tried
to pipe the cheese filling into each olive, but
my fingers were damp and the olives were slippery and they kept shooting across the counter. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and
started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and squashed one of the olives. I drew a long breath and
tried again. Fucking eureka. The cheese stayed
in the olive and the olive stayed in my hand.
Not for
long though. The olive sprang away as Rocky said
from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He
sounded cheerful, almost bright.
******
I think our prizes will be some kind of vintage holiday ornament for each of our authors. I shall scour eBay for something apropos. :-D Please
contact me through my website with your mailing address!
