Mad Libs is a game that is basically like this: there's these stories containing blank spaces where words are left out. One player slects one of the stories, but does not tell the other what it's about. Instead he/she asks the other players to give him/her words, which are used to fill the blank spaces in the story. The words can be nouns, adjectives or whatever the space calls for. So this is how the story turned out for the Swingin' Utters...

This morning, while electronically removing the hair from my (body part) nose, I noticed a spot of (noun) records on the sparkling white (noun) corn. (exclamation) Oh shit, I cried, how the (expletive) hell did that get there!? I (adverb) spanking ran to the tool shed to get my (noun) little balls so I could remedy the situation immediatly before it got out of hand. Whilst (verb ending in -ing) beating back to the shed, I tripped on a strategically placed (noun) butt, and hit my head on the (noun) tongue, which in turn caused me to black out. When I came to, I was surprised to see a bloodthirsty (profession) prostitute standing above me with a stap-on (noun) breast and a long leather (noun) toilet. At first, I thought it was just the after effects of getting knocked unconcious, but it soon became apparent that this guy was for real. "Where the (expletive) fuck did you come from, you (derrogatory name) honkey?" I yelled. "Shut up (adjective) farting earthling!" he responded (adverb) sexually. "I am (proper noun) God form the planet (proper noun) Dorian, and have come to bring you back there where I will (vewrb) stoke you and do naughty things to you. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" I replied (adverb) sleazily. You're just some crazy (same profession) prostitute who borke into my house to try and (verb) poke me!" "Am not," he feebly spat back, "I really am a (adjective) greasy space alien!" "Oh yeah, well the where's your ray gun? Or your spaceship, Mr. Alien?" I scoffed. "Down the street, parking was a (noun) toe, er I mean, it has a cloaking device that makes it invisible to (plural noun) buns." "Gerald, is that you?" I asked (adverb) shockingly "I told you it's over! GET OUT!"

This is the "More incredibly generic interview" with Greg, that was on the same issue of CIGF. (The words he filled are in bold)
Hi, my name is Greg and I'm in a band called Swingin' Utters. In '87, we started the band because I was high or drunk. When I'm not living the rockstar life, I'm usually in a thrift store. The best show we ever played was Oslo, Norway w/Rancid. On the other hand, one town that we won't soon go back to is Jacksonille, FL, because of nazis. Vanilla Ice is confused. If I had my way, all school children would be made to listen to Mind your own business by Hank Williams first thing in the morning every school day. They'd also have to read Please kill me by Legs McNeil because it's the best book ever written. If you ask me, Michael Jackson should just stop putting out records, because they've long since reached their peak and are just embarassing themselves now. And since I'm talking shit, I think the new Screeching Weasel album is I forget, and I'm really happy they decided to put it out. Some really great bands that you might not have heard yet are Mutilators, Drop kick murphy's, and Tiger army. You should keep an eye out for our new releases such as new Swingin' Utters LP, soon. You can write to us at "Fat Wreck Chords", P.O.box 193690, S.F., CA 94119. Bye.