Dead Libs
By Arizona/Peter Greene/Day
least favorite day of the week
adjective
go-to Durfee’s swipe goods
past tense verb
some kind of vehicle
favorite color
your favorite Mitski song
favorite song from Konvicted by Akon
third grade teacher’s name
your name
eternal resting place of choice
favorite sin (-ing)
religious group to which you do not belong
place of eternal damnation
flora or fauna of choice
filthy rich family surname
second least favorite vegetable
juiciest conspiracy theory
YES or NO
It was (least favorite day of the week) when you died. It was a (adjective) death. Distracted by the (go-to Durfee’s swipe goods) in your hands, you (past tense verb) a little too gingerly across Elm St, paying no heed to the oncoming (some kind of vehicle). You really aren’t too surprised—this was bound to happen eventually.
As your vision fades to (favorite color) you hear the distant sounds of (your favorite Mitski song). The soft indie rock becomes contorted, like you’ve been slowly submerged underwater and you’re sinking and is that (favorite song from Konvicted by Akon) you’re hearing?
Suddenly you find yourself in a classroom, in one of those miniature chairs that the assistant teacher sat in. (Your third grade teacher) approaches you and says, “Welcome (your name).”
“Where am I?” you ask. “Is this (eternal resting place of choice)?”
The teacher laughs. “Unfortunately, no. You partook in too much (favorite sin) for that. And it turns out the (religious group to which you do not belong) had it right all along.”
“Are you telling me this is (place of eternal damnation)?!” you exclaim.
“Well, not quite. We’ve decided to give you one last chance. You’re going back to Earth, but this time as a (flora or fauna of choice).”
“That sounds great and all, but do you think maybe I could go back as a (filthy rich family surname)?”
“Well, the very fact that you’re here means you have a soul so… no.”
You take one last look around the classroom, which smells faintly of (second least favorite vegetable). Your teacher leads you across the room and sits you down on one of those four wheel scooter things—in front of you a slide, descending through the clouds below.
“Wait! Teacher! Before I go, I have to know: is it true that (juiciest conspiracy theory)?”
“...(YES or NO)”
And with a gentle kick from your beloved teacher, you scoot, scoot, scoot away.