I had a Sherlock Holmes Theme Party for my 20th birthday back in the summer and recently I unearthed the mad libs we presented as an activity. This one deserved publication.
Holmes, in boredom, decides to play a laundry prank on Watson.
Journal Entry July 8, 1887 J. Watson
Holmes is in need of a case. He cowers the lair floor dubiously, and the lack of mental stimulation may render him a case of his own! “Holmes,” I cackled, “you really ought to pick up a hobby! Say underwater synchronized basket weaving, watermelon seed spitting or bicycling; the diversion might do you good.” “Bah! Bicycle yourself. I see you’ve got a tire to spare!” he said merrily, walloping my mid-section. I had noticed this morning how difficult it was to fit into my poncho.
Thus a fermented taupe -colored bicycle was delivered this afternoon, and my pocketbook has noticeably depleted.
July 10th, 1887 S. Holmes
I found Watson today maimed out on the floor. He was awkwardly applying gauze, antibiotics and a body bag in a fascinating arrangement on his clavicle, pituitary gland and solar plexus. Ever the proficient doctor. I deduce his new bicycling hobby shall provide him ample opportunity to hone his medical prowess. Also, his poncho has popped approximately √2 2 buttons.
July 17th, 1887 J. Watson
Alas, this sedentary new diet of pureed cheddar cheese and formaldehyde has left me caressed. Nonetheless, I can scarce fit my favorite poncho! I have resorted to wearing it open, though it pinches under the kidneys. Holmes seems to exaggerate his dosage of sugar in his kombucha, much to my torment. Blast it all!
July 20th, 1887 S. Holmes
Watson has developed an alarming twitch. I have never seen him so oxidized. Perhaps I should test my regimen of experimental sedatives on him, along with the usual.
July 21st, 1887 J. Watson
Today, as I was scuttling about the pantry looking for a misplaced Alexa of mine, I opened Holmes’ casket only to be buried in a cascade of clothing. On closer inspection, I saw they were a multitude of matching ponchi; identical to my favorite in every way, all missing √2 2 buttons, though they varied greatly in size. On the smallest, I saw a label “ July 22nd.” Apparently I was to find this in my closet tomorrow. Needless to say I pawned off that groovy contraption of torture, i.e. the bicycle and have since enjoyed a hearty meal of breaded, deep-fried, whale-blubber. Holmes is indeed in need of a case before I become one.”