(Print) Use this randomly generated list as your call list when playing the game. There is no need to say the BINGO column name. Place some kind of mark (like an X, a checkmark, a dot, tally mark, etc) on each cell as you announce it, to keep track. You can also cut out each item, place them in a bag and pull words from the bag.
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I’m full of holes but can still hold water.
I begin and end with the letter “e,” and usually only contain one letter.
I’m tall when I’m young and short when I’m old.
I get filled up but never eat. When I’m too full, you take me to the street.
The place where today comes before yesterday.
When you see my beauty, you’re likely to gasp. To put me on, just fasten the clasp.
I wash your clothes, but I’m not a machine. Pour a cup full of me if you want your duds clean!
Every day you step on me, all that is required is a bend of the knee.
The more I dry, the wetter I become.
I’m made of water but will die if you put me in water.
What has two hands and also a face, but does not have arms and legs?
I have keys but open no locks. I make a sound when your fingers rock.
I don’t mind a little weight.
I stay in the corner but travel the world.
A band that doesn’t play instruments, but has plenty of style.
I have a spine but I’m not alive. Turn my pages and let your imagination thrive.
Put your phone in me after dropping it in water. I also make a cheap and easy dinner, on nights you just don’t want to bother.
In my reflection, you can see your complexion.
My name means “sightless,” but if you want to see, all you have to do is open me.
Bread goes inside of me but never comes out. If I start smoking, you’re bound to shout!
You can turn me up high, keep warm, or on low, but no matter the setting, the cooking will be slow.
I can skip but can’t walk. I’d rather sing than talk.
If you find me in a road, you’ll have a decision to make. If you find me in a drawer, you’ll be ready to eat cake.
I have lots of stars, but I’m not the sky. I’ll be sitting here quietly until you need me.
You cut me on a table, but I’m never eaten.
You sat without looking, and now feel like a rube, because the holder has no paper, only a tube.
I have a head and a tail but no arms and legs. What am I?
I have a neck but no head, yet can still wear a cap.
I go up high and help you see. Change a bulb and think of me.
I greet every guest, but never say a word.
I have pages but I’m not a book. I get flipped but never cooked.
I have four legs, but I don’t run. You pull me out when dinner’s done.
