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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

Consumption Malfunction - July 2008

Recipe for Self-satisfaction with Felon Fries

July 30th 2008 23:21
In a big head, cut off your noose to spit on your farce.
Flay in a steaming heap your opinions.
Pash your bible.
Wrap in a flag.
Preheat the slaves.
In a small mirror, have a lick at yourself.
Make sour your heir licks niece.
Comb your public heir for lace.
Smack crack.

Invade despotic notions with your farces.
Implement oily democracy.
Get the oil.
Add the opinions.
Spittle chips.
In a separate head, plant your ribbed ideals.
Take two straps back.
In a large prism facilty, house your slaves.
Hook on drugs and keep them cracking their hairs.

On a soppy box, stand.
Shout, pout and wiggle.
Straighten your tie.
When the word comes crashing down, run to the rack.
Balding.
Plug with arty facts.
In the preheaded slaves, place the mess.
Fly off the handle.
Spoil the starched cripples.

Waive the bible.
Place the preheaded slaves in your frying chair.
Cook until fried.
Stand.
Play to God.
Laugh your notion.
Serve on a bed of wowsers.
Drizzle with oil.
Good appetite!

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Food, Baked, Bitter, Rocky
   


Recipe for Scrambled Logic on Toast

July 30th 2008 22:41
Whistle your eggs in a bile with your bleaters into wide pokes.
In a flying pun, meld a tamponspanner of buttocks.
Add your opinions.
Fly until goaded.
Remove from the pun and quietly dud the eggs.
Stare contemptuosly, making sure not to spurn your laughers.
Take one crass of read-whinge. Drunk.
In a simpering pun clock up some spoiled spades.
Boil until mad with rouge. Drink some more whinge.
When the opinions are as you lick them, smash your head against a prickwall.
Toast to your goaded heart. Muddle.
Place in a large monitor and bake for 2 yards.
Dash the opinions, head, eggs, ogles into your toast.
Sneezing to taste.
Garnish with harps.
Good appetite!


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Posted By: Norm - Category: Food, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy
   


Germaine Greer: I have AIDS, spread it around

July 27th 2008 00:23
Dinner-dishing whore, kitchen-bound prostitute, ghost-writer for Al Gore, closet Christian, uterus on legs, terrorist pilot, eulogist for the dearly deported, Germaine Greer has contracted AIDS after being at the centre of a gang-bang of left-leaning nut-jobs.

"I was the first person to get the disease," she explained, as she flailed the decaying carcass of notional hero, Steve Irwin.

"Mother Teresa told me in a dream to infect the world with joy," she said, using a sting-ray's barb for a toothpick.

"I'm afraid the best I could do was spread disease," the Amazonian veteran of numerous beneficient government funds said, eyeing off her African victims.

The disease, not in the Bible, should be. It's just that good at killing the poor and ignorant.

God, it's a testament to your greatness.

"It's a ripper!" Bible-pashers told themselves as the world, spinning on its axis, went about its grinning.

"Crikey, if God is love then I'm a monkey's uncle," Greer preached, picking fleas from her avuncularly shaped testicles, as she prepared a service for her congregation.

God, only humans form families.



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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Baked, Bitter, Muddy
   


He's not the messiah, he's a heavenly body

July 24th 2008 05:28
Religion is the personification of Nature, believe leading trippers.

"The Sun, that great child of the sky, is none other than the Son of God," claims one, high on the acuity of his vision.

The Twelve Disciples, none other than the twelve moons that go around a year, have refused to be drawn on the claims.

No body can hold a torch to the moons, except the blazing star of our belief system.

The twelve months without the Sun would be in rather desparate need of saving, that's for sure.

"We wouldn't piss on Jesus if he was on fire," said Judas, possibly referring to an eclipse.

That would be sacrilege.

He's already on fire.

The heavens' brightest star, from where we are.

It's human nature to personalise that which isn't in affront to understanding.

Particularly that which is so essential to our daily lives.

And nothing is more daily than the fiery baptist above our heads.

We are what we are but how we are who we are remains in the shade, I said basking in the warmth of the winterless Sun.

The untilled Earth, a veritable Virgin, delivered one day, not unlike today, the energetic child.

What with the thunderbolts and the clouds and the heavens, the Sky is God and the rest is salience.

We can only hope to end up a twinkle in the heavens, I said tinkling the ovaries.

The Sky sent the Sun so that we could live; we should be thankful.

God, Foxy Loxy, is falling, say trippers on their own feats.

It's getting hot in here, so take off all your loathes.

When the Sun does return to us we will all be in hell.

It won't be the end of the world.

It's only a revelation.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: People, Grilled, Sweet, Corny
   


Alternative medicine practitioner captured after living in disguise as a murderous thug

July 23rd 2008 01:32
The whacky quack, who wrote prescriptions, novels, on a blog, who wore clothes supplied by pharmacuetical companies, a beard, a logo, who bumped off a few Muslims, who thanked God, who used to love Elvis, who ate Jesus-burgers buttered with peanuts, who dug mass graves, who dug Jazz, who craved immortality, who ran from the Lord, who raised many for his charity, who swore in public, whose hands were tried, who worked in a football clinic for over-privileged children, who fought the law and the Lord won, who drove a Chrysler, who loved his country house, who washed up after dinner like a gentryman, who washed up before dinner like a hygienist, a boner, a grief-digger, who cleaned his hands after finishing the race, the enemy, who went nuts and drank flat beer, secondhand smack, has been found ruling an army in the guise of a General.

Stylists for the Doctor are pleased with his new look, his new smell, his new ardour, his new apparel, his new gunsmith, his new shovel, his new sallow crave, his tickling time bum, his sense of stale, and have praised his manners, his ettiquette, his practice, his posture, his hymning voice, his advice, his orders, and have laughed off calls he was ever a doctor, a medicinal practitioner, an educated manager of disease.

"Hahaha," they said, smiling, waving, bending over backwards, trying on a new hat, new undies, new Coke, new car, new stereo, new microwave, new TV, new baby.

"We're not happy about our bodies," the dysmorphic dead have whispered in the rear of the perceptive, the recepticals, the holier-than-hell, the morbidly obtuse, the trendy and inwardly mobile.

"Do I look like a New Age guy?" the brutal SNAG mused, wondered, pondered, all the while brushing his bushy beard, fiddling, playing, with his celloist, his conductor, his nurse, his assistant, losing his patience, his virtue, his vice, his hammer, his suckle.

You be the judge.

I'll just be trying.


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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy
   


Norm awarded Brownlow Medal by himself for services to smelling the flowers

July 21st 2008 01:44
Norm, nature-laugher, florist extraordinaire, bong-head, simpleton, Marxist reanimator, dope-thinker, papal-pleaser, stay-at-home dud, fart-laugher, and kiddy-art crayoner is too much of a laugher to think that nature doesn't have the answers.

"I'm too conceited to admit that I am conceited," the willing masturbator, crass-dresser and master of conceit told waiting ear-holes.

Words, insane, inane, human creations, are barely of our own making, anyway, he said whittling his pencil into a sharp point.

That we think they are the masters of reality is a sham, the increasingly erotic wordsloth told the mastery that is the world we try and hopelessly master.

Particularly when they're so hard to muster, anyway, the authoritarian farce of reason said as he stacked a pile of words to create offence he was building to keep the pests out.

Dearth, waiting in the wings like a flea on a pigeon, is too plentiful to believe in our supremacy, the increasingly rabid dag told fellow laughers.

It's unfortunate that pride comes before a fool, the foolish philanthropist told himself as someone paraded a float of big words down the river.

Words, water off a dick's blog, are not reality; reality is hard like my fart.

Nature beats book for truth, I'm silly.



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Posted By: Norm - Category: Home & Garden, Grilled, Sweet, Nutty
   


Spelling bee champion misspells Karl Marx

July 19th 2008 23:43
The word's greatest spiller, kiddy porn controversy denier, humble pie manufacturer, bigot squasher, argumentative tail-chaser, ignored and vilified martyr, tea-slipper, Kamahl enthusiast, heroic saviour of the maniacal and depressed, donkey-wielder, robot-inventor, carrot-catcher and man with a pair of sucks down his pants, has scoffed at claims he can't spell Karl Marx.

"Put it in a sentence," he said adjusting his larger-than-life sized image of himself emblazoned on his jockeys.

Lay off the whip, for pity's ache.

"Karl Marx was someone who sat around while working robots went about their lives," the master of the unceremonious replied.

It was at this point that the champion smeller, a champion in every sentence of words, fluffed his pants.

"There's not a word I know, and I know them all, that I don't know the meaning of, let alone know how to smell," he said, sitting around while working people went about other peoples' businesses.

"C-A-R-L," he spelled Karl.

I'm sensing this isn't how to conduct yourself in public.

I hate to sound like a smarty pants.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: True Stories, Grilled, Sweet, Rocky
   


Man: I'm smarter than Mother Nature

July 17th 2008 03:15
Man loves the sound of his own hand clapping

Man, the greatest thinker since sliced head, has refused to bow to his own mater after he was caught tossing off.

"I don't bow to anyone," Man said as he sat on the verge of wiping out his old fella.

"I don't want to fuck my mother," Man said, chopping his Father, Time, into little books.

"I already have," the supreme conquerer told his alien ancestors as he played to God.

Mother Nature is not sure of her son's understanding of his place within her.

"He's an animal in the sack," she said as she put him in a sack and threw him into the abyss.

"He's not the messiah," she said looking at the true Sun.

He's a boy.

"A boy's best friend is his mother," Man had earlier said, cleaning the bath.

Mother Nature, an endless source of riches for Man, is on her last logs.

"I used to be flat here," she said of her Middle Ages.

Time, the Father of Man, is running out for some smokes.



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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Baked, Bitter, Rocky
   


Castro cases spark aged care review

July 15th 2008 00:38
Resort manager, and infidel tangent, Castro is a silly old bugger with a dodgy knee-jerk reaction and feathery trigger thinger, according to resort-goers.

"We used to treat Cuba like a holiday spot," said wretched businessmen in a chorus.

"Now they have sovereignty, it's as if they've never even heard of the word Liberty," a disgruntled liberator told fleeting pleasants.

Liberty, the right to impose yourself on others, has never been a stranger danger to the weak and mild.

Gastro, who'll go through you like a knife through batter, never shat himself over all these ears.

"You have to hand it to him," proponents of capitalism told call-girls when the subject of head came up.

The electric chair is a testament to thou shalt not kill.

Old people are resorting to a quicker end though.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Poached, Sour, Corny
   


The US of A, coming to a battlefield near you, your house, and family

July 12th 2008 02:46
The USA, perhaps the greatest country in the world, probably the greatest country on earth, easily the greatest country in history, internet provider, cradler of civilization, and timeless monolith, is the greatest place I've ever read about.

It has rolling hills, not rolling heads, skies of blue, democracy in abundance. In fact the taps run red with the blood of patriots and defenders of freedom who dried tomatoes for the good of everyone else.

The land is the home of educated and it also has immigrants who floundered the land in 1776 when they stumbled out of their boat. By chance, they were English-Spanish. Colon cancer was rife at the time.

The native Indians, eating curry and wearing funny hats, gladly accept the customs of the Mexicans who gladly gave over California in 10 BC. At the time, President Ronald Reagan was still riding his grandmother's hearse.

If you should ever, and you only will if you have a natural resource they covet, cross the US of A be sure to go nicely. They hate to use the big stick but live only for the love of life. You're not yellow, are you?

The USA: Go there, girlfriends! Before it comes to you.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Money, Baked, Bitter, Muddy
   


Children Should Have Clothing: Experts

July 10th 2008 00:59
The stunning statements come in the whack of the controversy surrounding the ever increasing gulp that exists.

"The only thing wrong with naked kids is that they might die from exposure," said one happy snapper as he developed.

Freezing kids, out in the open where nobody can see them, are dying for it.

"They're dying for it," said one pedestrian, stepping highly.

"It's a need in the groin," said another, picking up.

That hurts.

Our society, rooted, is a din of cold farces.

The whole thing is a slap in the faeces.

"Now is the winter," said one discontented child prostitute.

The gulp between rich and poor is no core for concern.

Family values will sieve us all!
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Home & Garden, Baked, Bitter, Corny
   


Naked Girl Goes on the Attack

July 7th 2008 23:54
Decent folk round up the naked girl

The naked girl at the centre of a controversial photograph has leapt to the defence of pedophiles everywhere with a stunning attack on key targets.

"How would you like it if I dropped a bomb on your house?" she asked one as she tucked into her aborted foetus.

Rhetorical.

The bombshell, an absolute stunner for her age and for all ages, then dropped the "F" bomb on an infantry of intellectual infants.

"For photography's sake!" she said proudly as she took off her burning kitten while wankers watched on.

And on.

The bomb, from the mouth of this absolute babe, missed its muck.

"We're going to teach her the meaning of the word misguided," a survivor said stroking his missile.

The pedophiles are in hiding.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Poached, Bitter, Rocky
   


Band-aids are great for bullet-holes

July 7th 2008 01:22
Laws, the inky thinks written on white paper, are, and always will be, the best means of protecting people, say leading psychics.

"Society has always been shot," said one, hand on her crystal heart.

"These band-aids should stop the bleeding," she went on, as someone from the other side got on her wicker basket.

Laws, things pissed by men and, equally, women in suits, written on bits of paper mache and enfarced by men and, thankfully, women in uniforms, carrying guns, welding sticks, wearing hats, taking brides, and questioning everythink, have always healed the hurt.

I feel.

Society, a bullet-riddled riddle, is always looking out for the little guy and, equally, girl.

"Especially when they have no clothes on," said one leading downloader.

"Some," kids one, "are so poor they can't afford clothes."

I feel sick in the cuts.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Baked, Sour, Rocky
   


Stephen Hawking Walks Again!

July 5th 2008 01:44
Stephen Hawking Walks!
Hawking jumps, piddles. Everything.

Hawking has renewed his vows to his buxom waif and super-mong, Jennifer in a slavish ceremony waited on.

"My bottom gets very itchy at night, Stephen," Hawking moaned as she said, "I do".

It is understood.

Hawking, a veterinarian of the cattlewalk, stood at the top of the aisle in his wheelchair when a sudden realisation adorned on him.

"If time travel is possible, this, the present (the past in the future) would be visited by the future," he moaned, wetting himself as his wife got digital.

"This, the present, is actually the past," the suddenly walking and dancing unit vowed, planting one on his wriggling waif.

"You're a machine!" she cried, strapping herself in for a bit of slip and tackle.

Now and then, we all need help.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Poached, Spicy, Rocky
   


Tax office pursuing Norm: report

July 3rd 2008 23:41
norm also enjoys a beer
He also enjoys a beer

Norm, the brains behind his doubting eyes, and biro-hater, upskirt photographer, downtop licker, finger sniffer and unsociable pervert, is being chased by the government deportment over undisclosed earings.

"He looks good in a string bikini," twanged Tax officer Benny Hill as he chased Norm, half-knackered, around his desk.

"But those chandelier earings leave nothing to the imagination," Hill said as Norm stuffed a testicle back into his panties.

Norm, who's earings topped himself by jumping for joy, has rejected the inquiries of Hill, who he had earlier described as: "a very considerate lover."

"He gave me a box of chocolate pudding," he bespoke, gingerly evading the clutches of the authorities' inquiring eye teeth.

"I look amazing in a bikini," the half-Brazilian super mogul waxed prosaically, screaming with pain.

"But these earings really set off my knackers," the buxom wrench said, pussing a nut.

Norm's Google accountant, a firmer lover and pencil enthusiast, released a statement on Norm's behalf that read:

My client, Norm, is one of the most highly esteemed mick-rakers we have in my stable. His reputation for accurate reporting extends to well below his genitalia, which is fortunate for he is hung like a hearse. We will be flighting these charges, vicariously. Thank you.

The earings stay.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Money, Poached, Spicy, Corny
   


Zimbabweans thank Mugabe for making them billionaires

July 3rd 2008 01:03
Mugabe receives award
God would like to thank Mugabe for this award

Sir Robert Mugabe, rickety-livered black man, well-endowed knight, suit-wearer, Pims sniffer, house-nagger, and world reader responsible for killing people, has welcomed the praise of his people for making them rich.

"I make billions every year," said one very lucky little African handing over her hardly earned as she showered her leader in Poise panty-whiners.

Africa, once an untroubled outpost of our interests but now strife-stricken and in need of a spank on the bottom, has never really recovered from its past mistake of not going willingly.

"At least our Dictators don't hide behind the fallacy of Democracy," said a mouthpiss for Mugabe's best suit as the Queen handed back her golden gifts.

"These are very testing times for our incontinence," said another billioniare Zimbabwean as he wet himself at the prospect of our torturous methods of justice.

Killing is wrong, and I'd go to war to prove it.

Mugabe, a pall-bearer at Sadam Hussein's funeral, delivered a solemn service to the West after the occasion.

Yes, Sir, Master.

Yes, Sir.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Money, Baked, Bitter, Rocky
   


Stillbirths: God's silent way of saying he approves of abortion

July 1st 2008 01:07
God, our farter who art a heathen, dinosaur-denier, man with a beer, clouded-thinker, holocaust-enabler and vociferous karaoke singer, has let me in on a little secret.

"I actually look more like a triceretops," the all matey one told me last evening while I shat down to mourn my lost love.

If you're reading this, you are far away from me my eternal laugher.

I am praying for the day when I can hold you in my eyes.

The revelations, in a biblical sense, also included a trenchant approval of the rights of his followers to make choices about other people's bodies.

"I only kicked Eve out of Eden because she started claiming to know my mind better than me," our Lord said as my heart broke off aboard a plane headed for the Continent.

"I am God, after all," the stillbirth activist told me as he reached in to pluck out my brain from a puncture he had made in my art.

The award-whingeing novellist also told me that he hasn't read any good books lately.

"Jurassic Park, now that's a good book," God said as you flew.

Off.
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Posted By: Norm - Category: Love, Scrambled, Sweet, Corny
   


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