Mad Mad Mad About Mad Libs

So in the hiccup between posting the last request for verbiage and this, my follow up post, I learned that Mad Libs is celebrating its fiftieth birthday! Coincidentally, I am posting this a tad on the early side because I'm off to celebrate a birthday.

The theme from the last Mad Lib was Advice Column so of course I had a bevy of source material. Being from a tragically hip town like Portland, it was suggested that I might peruse
Dan Savage's archives for some material. But I ruled this out after a mini test run. The queries were not nearly as lurid in Mad Lib form. And everyone knows that the scintillating stuff is what's most likely to bring a smile to one's face.

As it stands, I pulled this Mad Lib from a Dear Abby column titled MAN WHO WANTS TO STYLE HAIR WORRIES ABOUT HIS REPUTATION originally published on October 29, 2007. The letter was from a young girl called "Strapped in Tight" and the subject was buckling your seat belt. Call me a sanctimonious if you please, but I happen to believe that buckling up is a golden ticket to Wonderfalls International Peace Park. Let's just say I secretly get very pissed off at certain individuals who ride in my backseat sans safety straps. And you think I don't notice. For shame.

So, the first response comes from the ever faithful Audra.

DEAR Audra: I am basically your average 15th-grader with sleeping parents. My brother is about to get shopped again. I like my future husband, except for one thing. He never speaks his pen. He says it's squishy, and he doesn't like it.

He recently watched here from Starbucks, but that does not excuse him from referring our trains. I don't know what to do. My brother tells him to watch out, but he never does. What should I do? --
STOPPED IN WINDY

DEAR STOPPED: Most purses hate being told they are wrong by a chic mother, so if I were you, I would use a light touch and two-pronged attack. The next time your brother's husband refuses to watch out, casually mention that the short park horn of a blood is sometimes referred to as the "bill horn" for a reason -- that people who have not talked their pens have been known to go headfirst through the script. Then change the subject.

Your brother should also jump him privately that by refusing to watch out, he's setting a poor example for his highway.

Next up was a submission from Anonymous. Let's just say that this was a few words short of the whole enchilada but I made do.

DEAR ROMEO: I am basically your average FIRST!-grader with complaining parents. My ex-wife is about to get morphed again. I like my future niece, except for one thing. She never grinds her rocket fuel. She says it's upsetting, and she doesn't like it.

She recently marked here from Vermont, but that does not excuse her from focusing our bunnies. I don't know what to do. My ex-wife tells her to eat dirt, but she never does. What should I do? --
BLASTED IN WORRISOME

DEAR BLASTED: Most mugs hate being told they are wrong by a blackest banana, so if I were you, I would use a light touch and two-pronged attack. The next time your ex-wife's niece refuses to eat dirt, casually mention that the front clothespin catalog of a pooper scooper is sometimes referred to as the "death catalog" for a reason -- that people who have not burrowed their rocket fuel have been known to go headfirst through the crane. Then change the subject.

Your ex-wife should also slam her privately that by refusing to eat dirt, she's setting a poor example for her toe.

Words of Wisdom?

Last night I headed over to a career networking night sponsored by my alma mater. For much of the evening, I banded together with a fellow alumna who believes we were drawn to each other as "the only ones there dressed like artists." We made a decent networking team, though we both agreed that the entire night would have been a lot more fun if we set up a booth for me in the corner. It would be an attraction where people would come chat with me about their interests and I would divine their true professional calling. Sort of like a career networking fortune teller.

There were a handful of soon-to-graduate students making the rounds at the gathering. Towards the end of the night they asked me for some advice about the coming months. Obviously, I'm not the one to seek out for job seeking guidance, so I doled out a few tidbits of wisdom about life that might serve them well in the semi-immediate future. My advice was as follows:

1. I'm thinking that you've got about two days worth of foresight in you until you get your thesis turned in next week. But let me warn you. In a couple weeks, the university's going to throw a party for you under a big tent. They're going to give out mugs. Take two.

2. Find an arch-nemesis.

These kiddos thought I had given them best, most relevant advice they'd heard all evening. One of them suggested that I write a book aimed at graduates. The other two suggested that I follow them to the bar to get trashed. I told them that I couldn't afford drinks until my advice column was picked up for national syndication.

So, since I'm mad mad mad for Mad Libs, I thought I'd bring my theoretical advice column here in Mad Lib form so that you might take your Mad Liberties with the whole rigmarole. As before, respond to the list below in the comments. I'll post the answers on Sunday afternoon.

1. Name
2. An ordinal number
3. Verb ending in -ing
4. A family member
5. Verb ending in -ed
6. Another family member
7. Verb
8. Noun
9. Adjective
10. Verb ending in -ed
11. A Place
12. Verb ending in -ing
13. Plural Noun
14. A command
15. Verb ending in -ed
16. Adjective
17. Plural Noun
18. Adjective
19. Noun
20. Adjective
21. Noun
22. Noun
23. Noun
24. Noun
25. Verb ending in -ed
26. Noun
27. Verb
28. Noun

...Use a bit of mustard.

O, rejection letter! Ye bearer of inclement news. Thou slim-sentenced excuse for common decency. Whither must thou wander so frequently into my life?

Rejection letters are an inevitable part of life. Sometimes they are helpful; they can provide a sense of closure or the motivation to seek an alternative path. But I often find these letters to be a tad mean spirited. I mean, if I've been informed that the position has been filled by other candidate, I don't need the next two sentences to proclaim that this person is better than me. I'm smart enough to infer that by the fact that they were hired and I was not.

One of my friends worked in a college admissions office for a time before heading into the wily world of HR. She told me that rejection letters are thought of as a good way to prevent lawsuits. True as that may be, it doesn't prevent many people I know from reading a rejection letter and thinking out loud, "Ugh. This is SLANDER!" Obviously rejection letters are a lot like mustard. A little can go a long way.

I have a confession to make. I've written many a rejection letter in my day. It was a responsibility lovingly schlepped upon me while I served as the lowest-on-the-totem-pole in a theater's literary department. I tried my darnedest to soften the blow. I often made painstaking attempts to provide a warm fuzzy sensation to the recipient of a note that basically boiled down to "your play just ain't our cup of tea."

I took pride in my rejection letter writing skills and, after much experimenting, I came up with an appropriate ratio of "No way Jose!" to constructive criticism. One California-based playwright even took the time to send my boss an email commending my letter as "the best rejection letter" she'd ever received. Soon thereafter, she sent another script. Her query jokingly asked if we could please consider it before then end of my tenure as an intern. I believe we obliged.

A few days ago, I started an interactive rejection letter themed Mad Lib. I'd like to thank commenter Terry Tebeau for filling in the blanks and for the benediction in my employment hunt. TT's response saved me the trouble of having to fill in the blanks with my own answers. As much as I was looking forward to using the term calipygian, Mad Libs are never quite as fun when you do them yourself. Without further bologna, I present to you Rejection Letter by Terry Tebeau.

Dear Blake Yeats:

Thank you for your recent interest in the Crucifix Polisher position at ACME. We have moistened your rabbits, and we believe your background was an amazing and chartreuse fit with our sandwichy criteria. There were five vigorously plain resumes in the job search process. Blocky consideration has been given to each spleen we shucked.

We regret to bury you that the position has been filled by another shoe whose laces and credentials were better suited for our needs. Thus, we will not be offering you the work.

Kindly note that company policy prevents us from bending the reason we cannot pursue your sink for this position. We would encourage you to continue to review your fit for shiny vacancies. We wish you the best for your future hardwood endeavors.

Aloha,

Copper Pot Team Lead

ACME

UPDATE: I've been gifted with another response from the darling and delightful Audra. Gotta love form letters! I'm having so much fun with these that I'm going to have to think up another Mad Lib lickety split.

Dear Audra Petrie Veber:

Thank you for your recent interest in the Executive Assistant position at Veber Partners. We have hurried your chairs, and we believe your background was a bland and successful fit with our cold criteria. There were one thousand begrudgingly bright cars in the job search process. Wet consideration has been given to each dog we walked.

We regret to give you that the position has been filled by another plant whose paper clips and credentials were better suited for our needs. Thus, we will not be offering you the water.

Kindly note that company policy prevents us from printing the reason we cannot pursue your father-in-law for this position. We would encourage you to continue to review your fit for nosy vacancies. We wish you the best for your future money endeavors.

Good Morning,

Phone Team Lead
Veber Partners

Don't get hot and flustered...

I woke up to a phone call this morning which delivered some disappointing news: I didn't get the job I had interviewed for last week.

I had tried to keep my expectations low. I knew I was a last minute interview, and (in my experience) arts organizations seem to draw from a steady stream of inside candidates. I can't tell you how many inches my heart has sunk upon hearing that I've lost a job to Ms. Whosorwhatsit, invariably the daughter of someone's college roommate and minder of their beloved pet beagle, Chuckie Darwin.

For the record, I don't know nor do I particularly care if that's the case in this instance. I am mostly feeling disheartened because sometime between the interview and this morning's phone call, I had started to mentally prepare myself for a transition into a new work environment. I am really looking forward to the prospect of working, and I feel particularly discouraged by the fact that this news means I will not be returning to the workplace as soon as I'd prefer.

Initially, I dealt with the disappointment by applying to another job and taking a rather lengthy walk through my neighborhood and several surrounding communities. I didn't think this let down was worthy of tears. I also needed to have a good think, and I know better than to believe that enlightenment will come from the comforts of my key snatching couch.

First priority during my big think was to more clearly gauge the level of my desperation. I can cite several examples that suggest that things are inching towards a critical level. For example, I've been plagued by serious pangs of jealousy anytime someone gripes about being stressed out or over-burdened by their job. I mean, these people seriously have no idea how lucky they are to be dedicating themselves to something other than their neuroses. Plus, they possibly have health insurance. Lucky bastards.

Second issue on the big think platter was how to make myself feel better in the interim. The best solution I thought of was going to church. After all, Jesus H. Christ is probably the most sanctimonious freeloader of all time. I can't help but think that if I hang out with people who think he's cool, I will feel like less of a loser. I don't know that this will actually help. Unless I know people in the congregation, the only merit to church is the opportunity for daydreaming during a sermon. My daydreams are rather dark and depressing lately. Besides, I'm starting to believe that I may be too old for my other pew-bound pastime, doodling on the bulletin.

Lastly, I dedicated part of my big think to developing a better strategy in the whole "hurry up and wait" fiasco that seems complicit to any job search. I thought that I might use the spare time and my impetus for working to write some research papers. I even thought of a couple of semi-feasible research topics, including the civic role of Czechoslovakian theaters during the Velvet Revolution. Yes, I am that much of a geek.

I returned home not feeling much better. But I took solace in a couple of words of wisdom plucked from, of all places, The Rocky Horror Picture Show:

"Don't get hot and flustered...use a bit of mustard."

Doctoring up food with condiments can make a bad thing taste a bit better. Somehow my mind wandered to another way that a ho hum situation can be made to be a little more saucy.

Mad Libs.

I have not so secretly delighted in Mad Libs for a long while. So, I immediately knew that I would have to please all 2 1/2 quasi-regular readers of this blog with an interactive Mad Lib entry. In the spirit of the day, this mad lib is titled Rejection Letter. Post your answers in the comments. I will post the completed Mad Libs here in a post on Thursday afternoon.

To fill in the blanks, I need:

1. Name
2. Job title
3. Company Name
4. Verb ending in -ed
5. Plural Noun
6. Adjective
7. Adjective
8. Adjective
9. An Amount
10. Adverb
11. Adjective
12. Plural Noun
13. Adjective
14. Noun
15. Verb ending in -ed
16. Verb
17. Noun
18. Plural Noun
19. Noun
20. Verb ending in -ing
21. Noun
22. Adjective
23. Noun
24. Salutation
25. Noun