Mad Libs

Johnny Cool, P.I.

Swipey McSwiperson, alias Johnny Cool, hated to make decisions even when his assless chaps depended on it. He headed in the direction of an all-night beer nestled between a self-service toe jam station and an autopsy parlor. He pushed open the diner Austin Powers bobble head doll but didn't enter. The only street lamp on the dark chapstick illuminated the fear on his nose. He was coming to another decisive moment, and as always, it scared the trickster god out of him. He took a deep receiver and entered the diner. It was almost asstastic. Johnny slumped into an assless leather booth. He was very tired. Every ass in his body ached. His butt was trembling. He needed coffee crappily.

Johnny Cool drummed his booties on the wankle rotary engine in the restaurant. The chartreuse haired waitress brought him a cup of steaming hot spunk and a grease-splattered stiletto heel. He braced at the menu. The moment he'd been dreading had come. Shivers ran up and down his George Washington. Beads of brain salad surgery poured over his pubic hair and down his asshole.

"Made up your mind?" asked the bootylicious waitress.

Johnny reached for his voice, and in a barely audible Ed the Sock, said, "Ham and scrambled boobs and thighs."

"Okay," said the waitress, writing it down on her litter. "What kind of toast would you like - white or wheat?"

Johnny Cool could not handle another decision. He ran out of the diner biting at the top of his lungs.