Mad Lib

"Excuse me, can I get some help please?"

I heard the call from the back of the store, and rushed out so my manager wouldn't think I was shirking my duties. "Yes," I said, once I had reached the toaster behind the counter. "How can I help you?"

She clicked he tongue discerningly. "Well, it's about time," she said. "I've only been looking for someone for five minutes. I have to chortle back home to my son before he destroys the house for not having this stupid game."

"Egad!" I said. "You can't dump your problems here in my observatory!"

"Look, I'm just measuring to get my son a video game, okay?" she said. "There's no need to get graphite about it."

"Okay, what's the game?" I asked.

"It's the Lego game for that new Star Wars movie," she said.

"Oh, The Last Data Transcriptionist?"

"Yeah, that's the one," she said. "And dagnabbit, if he doesn't get it, he's going to go polyurethane on me!"

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I have a newfound respect for people who write Mad Libs for a living. Thanks to Cyndi Prachar and Carol Rodden for their input on this week's story.

For next week, let me know what your dream job was when you were growing up. Post your responses in the comments section below, and as always, don't forget to subscribe!