Instructions: Fill out this form, submit it and get your story. It will hopfully make little-to-no sense. Afterward, you can save the madlib and send it to your friends.
But, soft! what light through yonder a house part breaks?
It is the a compass direction, and Juliet is the a celestial body.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is an adjective;
Her vestal livery is but a negative adjective and a color
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she a verb she were!
She a verb yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their a geometric shape till they return.
What if her a body part were there, they in her a body part?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so an adjective
That an animal would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!