MIDNIGHT

by ktron:

Sheila sighed as the rain fell like crocs outside her window. In a few minutes, the plumber would bound up her front steps, reeking of acrylic paint. And like all the other times, after a night of swaying, he would only be after one thing: Pogs. Shivers worked their way down her femur. Her reverie was quickly rowed by a small figure at the doorway.
“Mommy?” the exterminator said groggily, “Can you read me a story? I can’t throw.” Before Sheila could stomp, a loud knock came from the front entrance downstairs. “Who’s that?” her nothing-year-old child asked.
“Exterminator, go to your room.” Sheila said languidly. “Go to your room and no matter what you hear, don’t open your India.” She rushed by him, down the flight of balls, and opened the front door.


by this is switz :):

Sheila sighed as the rain fell like babies outside her window. In a few minutes, Brock would bound up her front steps, reeking of Maple Syrup. And like all the other times, after a night of plotting, he would only be after one thing: spazs. Shivers worked their way down her booty. Her reverie was quickly punted by a small figure at the doorway.
“Mommy?” Katie V. (V for Virgin) said groggily, “Can you read me a story? I can’t stumble.” Before Sheila could wrestle, a loud knock came from the front entrance downstairs. “Who’s that?” her 13-year-old child asked.
“Katie V. (V for Virgin), go to your room.” Sheila said boringly. “Go to your room and no matter what you hear, don’t open your opossum.” She rushed by her, down the flight of oxen, and opened the front door.


by pat craven:

Sheila sighed as the rain fell like feti outside her window. In a few minutes, Eddie Moss would bound up her front steps, reeking of hot apple cider. And like all the other times, after a night of thrusting, he would only be after one thing: oxen. Shivers worked their way down her Achilles heel. Her reverie was quickly fucked by a small figure at the doorway.
“Mommy?” Abe Vigoda said groggily, “Can you read me a story? I can’t cry.” Before Sheila could spit, a loud knock came from the front entrance downstairs. “Who’s that?” her seven hundred and seventy seven-year-old child asked.
“Abe Vigoda, go to your room.” Sheila said hornily. “Go to your room and no matter what you hear, don’t open your penis.” She rushed by him, down the flight of vaginas, and opened the front door.


by anonymous:

Sheila sighed as the rain fell like glasses outside her window. In a few minutes, dad would bound up her front steps, reeking of liquid soap. And like all the other times, after a night of climbing, he would only be after one thing: marbles. Shivers worked their way down her toe. Her reverie was quickly sauntered by a small figure at the doorway.
“Mommy?” Stephen said groggily, “Can you read me a story? I can’t shiver.” Before Sheila could drill, a loud knock came from the front entrance downstairs. “Who’s that?” her 27-year-old child asked.
“Stephen, go to your room.” Sheila said earnestly. “Go to your room and no matter what you hear, don’t open your bamboo.” She rushed by him, down the flight of scissors, and opened the front door.


by heather w:

Sheila sighed as the rain fell like pickles outside her window. In a few minutes, Topsy Kretts would bound up her front steps, reeking of strawberry milk. And like all the other times, after a night of moonwalking, he would only be after one thing: Ipods. Shivers worked their way down her olfactory bulb. Her reverie was quickly cock-blocked by a small figure at the doorway.
“Mommy?” Clementine said groggily, “Can you read me a story? I can’t grind.” Before Sheila could shank, a loud knock came from the front entrance downstairs. “Who’s that?” her seventeen-year-old child asked.
“Clementine, go to your room.” Sheila said erotically. “Go to your room and no matter what you hear, don’t open your fetus.” She rushed by her, down the flight of crabs, and opened the front door.


What wild and wacky fun! Thanks to everyone who contributed. I hope you enjoyed these stories as much as I did.

Here are the words I need for the next Mad Blog. Not that this should steer you in any direction, but the title of the next piece is called "The Breakup Letter."

- person in room
- adjective
- noun
- verb ending in "ing"
- noun
- noun
- noun
- verb
- verb past tense
- noun
- number
- plural noun
- another person in room
- noun
- adjective
- verb past tense
- plural noun
- adverb
- adjective
- noun
- your name

Hit me back with some words, and I'll hit you up with some MAD BLOGS.