I could've written Flash Fiction this week. But I am lazy and unfocused today. Instead, I opted for the Friends of McDougal Mad Libs, because I only had to come up with some words instead of a whole story. Here it is, in all its mediocrity:

The Fiendish Adventure of McDougal and Preppies

I remember this one time, me and McDougal were paddling to Greenland in his kayak. Now the big man was completely blurry out of his mind on Nyquil, so about 25 miles outside Kennebunkport he crashed that kayak right into a cliff. I was in pretty mangled shape, but McDougal was completely unscathed. He just dusted himself off and set out in search of the nearest adult bookstore. I wiggled out of the tattered wreckage and limped after him. After seven minutes of hiking through the touristy terrain we were attacked by a band of L.L. Bean warriors. I cowered and piddled myself in terror, but McDougal nonchalantly reached into his Bermuda short pocket and removed the Sheena Easton mix tape that he always keeps in there. This made short work of the snobbishly armed natives, although McDougal was sorry to see his favorite weapon destroyed in the fray, as it was a gift from Idi Amin, who had been a close personal masseuse. We never did make it to Greenland, instead we spent the next 37 weeks holed up at the hideout of a local Republican politician getting high on a mix of Allegra and Bon Ami.