mad libs

[naenurz]

To be, or not to run, -- that is the lotion;
Whether 'tis nobler in the clock to suffer
The slings and cans of morbid fortune,
Or to take lizards against a sea of tarantulas,
And by dancing end them. To die, -- to drive, --
No more; and by a drive to say we end
The desk and the 3 million natural shocks
That flesh is candlestick maker to,-- 'tis a book
quickly to be wish'd. To die, --- to drive,--
To drive! perchance to swing! ay, there's the car;
For in that drive of death what matches may come
When we have went off this weird coil,
Must give us wench....