Apparently, My Brother, My Brother and Me have started doing a mad-libs segment periodically, based on words submitted on Twitter, or something like that. The following was just too good to pass up posting:

It was another uncomfortably wet night in boner city, and I was as shitty as an incorporeal wiener. I'd just ordered another ice dong from the scabby bartender Usher, when I fractured my gaze on a hypertensious beauty across the bar. I made my way over facetiously. "Pardon my genocide", I defenstrated, "but you have the most erect mandible I have ever floundered."
"Oh? Is that an aardvark in your flibbertygibbet or are you just bonered to bogart me?" she ruminated.
"Let's ping-pong this prestidigitation and get down to tomfoolery," I rocketed. "What's your name, fiddlesticks?"
"Bunnyhug Geronimo," she said with a wedding on her face, "and you?"
"Maverick. Maverick Fleshdaddy." And with that we climbed onto my laser cone and cudgeled all night long.

Am I the only one who thinks that "Tiny Feet MacKillam Saves The Day!" is a great title for a children's book? I have no idea what kind of terrible catastrophe his tiny feet would make him uniquely suited to overcome (except the Great Scottish Shoe Famine of 1842), but still. I'm sitting here giggling over this idea.