Recently we were treated to the Glib version of a Choose Your Own Adventure Story, the type the proliferated in the 1980’s. Well, since the 80’s were a stupid decade, I thought about that vastly superior decade, the 1970’s, which brought to mind those delightfully delightful Mad Libs books which were all the rage in that better time. You know, the ones that gave you a brief story, but left you to fill in certain words yourself, resulting in hilarious and often mildly embarrassing results when played with friends. Well, I thought I’d create a version for the fine people here at the Glibertarium. And when both of them are done, the rest of you can join in also.

I figured the best way to do this was to have you come up with the funny words first, without knowing how they’re going to fit into the story afterward, so let’s get that part out of the way now. You can write your answers on a piece of scrap paper, or, like I did, just write them on your computer screen with a permanent marker. Ready? Let’s go!

1 – part of the male anatomy
2 – the make and model of the ugliest car you’ve ever owned
3 – a small furry animal
4 – part of the female anatomy, plural
5 – a toy from your childhood
6 – any Japanese word
7 – another female bodypart, plural
8 – yet another part of the female anatomy
9 – yet another female body part
10 – a condiment
11 – a dumb sitcom
12 – a brand of snack food
13 – a particular make and model of firearm
14 – the first name of someone who bullied you in grade school
15 – a German last name
16 – a type of deli meat
17 – an action involving the mouth
18 – another part of the male anatomy

OK, rooty-tooters, now that we’ve got our word list, we’ll hop right into our story! Remember, when the corresponding word from the list pops up in the story, be sure to substitute your own answer, or it won’t make any fuckin’ sense.

Now, let’s go with the suspenseful espionage tale called –

 

The Ipcress Sandwich

My name is Johnny Poopfister, American secret agent. London, 1965 – I found myself in the office of Sergeant-Major Wheeler-Dumphreyshire; I was being punished for insubordination and sent on a dangerous assignment in Old Blighty. I had been with the OSS for over 6 months, but had been stuck filing papers and such. I wanted action. “And action you shall have,” said Wheeler-Dumphreyshire, as if reading my mind.

“Sir, it sure was mighty white of you to take me on despite my freakishly large [1 – part of the male anatomy].”

“Mmyes, yes. Now, Poopfister, this assignment requires the utmost discretion and professionalism. Get those lights, will you?” He stepped over to a film projector and turned it on. Various images flashed on the screen, including a terribly ugly man who looked like his face had been run over by a [2 – the make and model of the ugliest car you’ve ever owned]. Wheeler-Dumphreyshire continued. “This is Sir Hagan Hagan Hagan. We suspect him to be a double agent, giving our secrets to the other side. We’ve been tracking his movements for some time, but we can’t seem to…. What the devil is that?!”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry, sir, I was just making some shadow puppets because I was already bored by your stupid speech. Look, sir – I can make a [3 – a small furry animal]!”

“Dammit, man, this is important!” He shut off the projector and turned on the lights.

“Sorry, sir. I just thought I’d brighten the mood a bit.”

“This is 1960’s Britain, Poopfister. It will be unbelievably dreary for at least another decade.” A knock came at the door. “Come in!”

In walked the purtiest piece of pulchritude I’d ever plopped my palpitatin’ peepers ‘pon. She was stacked like the Giza pyramid. Her [4 – part of the female anatomy, plural] reached all the way up to her chin, or so it seemed to me. I would have paid a billion dollars just to drink her recently-used bathwater.

“Ah, Agent Simms-Plynth,” said the Sergeant-Major. Do come in. Poopfister, this is your partner in your new assignment, Lady Samantha Biggendish Simms-Plynth.”

“Pleased to meet you – “ But before I could finish my introduction, I found myself in a heap on the floor. She had tossed me around like a kid with a [5 – a toy from your childhood]. “Wow-ee!” I snorted. What in tarnation was that?!”

The young lady coolly replied, “A demonstration of [6 – any Japanese word], of which I am a master. A simple application of force at the right moment.”

“Agent Simms-Plynth is to be your partner and your bodyguard,” explained the Sergeant-Major, and leaned in to finish his sentence, “as well as your superior. You will do exactly as she says, and only what she says, is that clear?”

“Yessir,” I said, dusting myself off, “as clear as the [7 – another female bodypart, plural] on her [8 – yet another part of the female anatomy].”

“Hmphh. Yes, well. Agent Simms-Plynth, you may go.”

“Gawd Almighty!” I said after she had gone. “I’d love to grab her [9 – yet another female body part] and suck on it all night long.”

“Yes, yes. That’s quite enough. Now, here is the file I wanted you to memorize….” He handed me a plain manila folder with some documents inside. I opened it up, glanced at the first one, and screamed. He jumped. “What?! What is it?!”

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I just do that sometimes. Wait a second, is this… is this talking about a… a sandwich???”

“Yes. The… Ipcress Sandwich. You see, every agent who has ever eaten this type of sandwich has perished within 24 hours. We want you to find out why, and how Hagan Hagan Hagan might be involved.”

I glanced at the ingredients. “Looks pretty normal to me, except for the [10 – a condiment], which I would never eat, ’cause that shit is nasty.”

“Nevertheless, Poopfister, you have your assignment. We need to get moving, we’re already at over a thousand words and you haven’t even left the bloody office yet. SP is not made of patience, I dare say. Memorize the file tonight, and Agent Simms-Plynth will pick you up in her stylish roadster at 10-hundred hours tomorrow. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Poopfister?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let the file be seen by anyone. It is of the utmost concern to the safety of this nation. As soon as you are finished reading it – destroy it.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” In my head I was already at home, watching [11 – a dumb sitcom] and scarfing [12 – a brand of snack food]. Blah, blah, something about a file? Ehh, I’d figure it out later.

After purchasing some items at the corner shoppe, I took a ride with a lorry that dropped me at my council estate where I took a lift up to my flat. (See? England!) I started to turn the key in the door, when suddenly, I noticed the door was ajar. I mean, not literally a jar, it was slightly open. And there was a light on inside. I pulled my trusty [13 – a particular make and model of firearm] and ran in.

I could hardly believe my eyes. There in my comfy chair sat my worst nemesis; the man I thought I had killed; the man who had murdered an even dozen of my fellow OSS agents: [14 – the first name of someone who bullied you in grade school] [15 – a German last name]. “You!” I squeaked.

“Before you fire that weapon,” he said coolly, “hear me out. I propose we join forces. We aren’t so different, you and I, are we?”

“And why would I do that, you fiend!”

“Because I know all about the Ipcress Sandwich… and I even know where to find the [16 – a type of deli meat].”

I was gobsmacked. “Well, [17 – an action involving the mouth] my [18 – another part of the male anatomy],” I whistled under my breath.

TO BE CONTINUED…??!!!!