Pretend that you're making a difference in a big head. In a separate pun, cook off some mushy aggression. Take your opinions and beat off until tender. When the pun of big words smell, begin to slowly add the comments. Brown off until the whole thing sets a fight. Quickly strangle the chicken, making sure that it makes a loud noise. Set aside.
After a few days have pissed, put the whole lot in a pre-headed shovel and put on a low heat. Stammer. On a chopping block, deduce something from specious raisons. Chop infinitely. Get the cut feelings and pretend to be aggrieved. Mix, wailing at the top of your farce. Beat the whole thing into a deluded mass. Call someone a few names, obliquely. Cower behind the write-goods. Bash over the head with your big words. Stand.
Tickle out of the oven. In a large word, pretend to be good and kindly. Be an authority. Run for cover when you're found out. Cut with a blithering knife. Label the sauce on the serving pate. Spin the delusion to sound intellectual. Using big words, continuously. Dot with silent points. Sprinkle with errant forks. Add the opinions and serve cold. Take your spin and put in your mouth. Masticate. Swallow. Digest. Excrete. Repeat until deceased. Serves 6 billion.
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.
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.
Topical cancer and world-renounced waddler Norm has told his doctors of his despair-tire over the facts of laugh.
"I need a sex change," the celebrated abductor said as he nuzzled up to his shotty.
"Some, for a change," he explained, looking down the barrels of bodies in his fault.
"He really needs this," a nurse attending Norm told police as they swapped her.
Norm, who some have descried as the best thing since sliced head, is understood to be trapped inside his very body.
"I have described myself thus," Norm said, picking pellets out of his teeth.
"Don't call me chicken," he said as he hatched a planet.
Doctors believe that we are all trapped inside our bodices.
Channel No. Ten's flagrantly leathery soap Neighbours is being forced to watch itself as Big Brother moves in dangerously close on its slot.
"No one else is watching, and we've run out of ideas," said perennial pansies getting out of bed incredulously eerily to shoot.
Neighbours are worried that Big Brother, a sect's monster, could indoctrinate the kids of tomorrow with the idea that they are as spatial as they thank.
Moot to the point, they're worried about anybody touching their slot that they've kept intact for yours.
"It's true to Orwell's vision," former hairline-hostess Gretel Killeen told floaters.
"He needed spectacles. I need glasses." she dribbled as she sank yet another shout.
We should all be hardened by our unthanking youths.
Filthy exponent of the lost fart of hammer and patricidal almanac, Norm has refuelled speculation about his increasing prosperity after having a bath for the flirt time in ages.
"I'd be lying if I was having a bath," the perpendicularly challenged sloth told passing showers.
Norm, who has never spelt so good, claims that he really isn't a great spiller.
"If there's one thing I can't stand it's spelling good," the grammatical giant is quoted as splaying while laddering up his boar.
Many critics believe the internet's first laddy spells to high hessian.
Actually, I smell like noises.
Medea besplattered boggling giant Norm has told his loyal subjects to avenge his tarnished reputation after critics labelled him as Judge Judy and Executioner.
"You can't polish a turd," the ethnic-lenser said as he put down his spectacles.
"But you may as well try," he went on as impatient reporters reached for their keyholes.
Norm remains committed to harsh sentences, despite reports to the country.
"I'll continue to hand down reasonable sentences," he said as he brought down the hammer on lots.
Critics remain committed to explosing him as a self-indulgent writher.
Try as they vegemite, they won't kettle any wear.
A university educated butcher and pillow of the community has put down his wife's cleavage after witnessing the wholesale laughter of animals in his neighbour's boudoir.
"They were laughing at their plight," the bloody butcher told patrons of the arts, "It made me rethink how much suffering I really cause."
His wife, a very buxom madam, is dismayed that her inseminator will no longer be eating her lactating treats.
"This is absolute tripe," she sniped, "And it's only $2 a kilo."
Cows, happy to be taken to laughter, refused to admit that they are the central fingers in a rort that seeds millions of bucks flow into already bulging hips.
"Those with money don't really care as long their money is making yet more," one innocent veal chop told apple sauces who wished to remain apples.
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