I loved Mad Libs as a kid. Not familiar with Mad Libs? Well, they ask you to come up with nouns, verbs, adjectives, etc. Then they plug those words into a story, like this:
mad-lib-scan

It would read something like this:

Dear Fozzy Bear,

I am in love with your tyrannical daughter, Goldfish and I would like to ask her for her embarrassment in marriage. She is my idea of a perfect hooligan. She is the only entropy I have ever loved and I want her to be the mother of my fisticuffs. At present, I am employed as an assistant military and I make a delicious salary of one dollars a week. I have a split-level piglet picked out in France that we can live in. If you give permission I promise to make her filthy and to be a nebular flower.

Signed: Lord Arthur of Sasquatch.

So, when I saw that Curmudgeon At Large had the brilliant idea to do the same using search terms, I had to play along:

Using only search terms from your own blog, fill in the blanks in the story below. You must use only the unaltered search terms.

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Our scene is set in London in the times of Victorian England.  A licentious and bawdy earl returns to his home for an afternoon of entertainment with his lovely maid.

Lord Farthblank, Eighth Earl of Disturbia, strode boldly into his bed chambers where he found his young and alluring maid anxiously waiting his return.  “Quickly, Maria, disrobe.  I have been told of an entirely new sexual technique called what is the name of the wassily kandinsky’s with a fish on it and my loins ache to try it out forthwith.”

“My lord” said the maid breathlessly “what does it involve?”

“Well,” said the earl slyly “I won’t divulge all the particulars but I will tell you that it calls for riding whips, two bananas, several garters and a letter to baby jesus.”

As the young maid obediently began to disrobe, she turned back towards the earl as he finished removing his trousers.  The maid began to giggle uncontrollably.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” cried the earl.

“Oh” said the maid, “it is your member.  It is shaped just like a christmas unicorn.”

The earl, blushing, said defiantly “It most certainly is not.  If you must be so impertinent, young Maria, your breasts look like two german shepherd puppies.”

“Oh, sire” exclaimed the maid.  “I am most distressed and can only say to you dear santa on christmas morning when i go to see the tree please have my daddy waiting for me.”

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Well, that was fun! Way to go, Curmudgeon.

Who’s next?