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!
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.
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!
The fallen angel, suspected terrorist, keeper of souls, habitual masturbator, pro-Chaucer and Democrat has aggrieved to appear on the ballot with long-time friend, business associate and fellow mister of deceit Barack Obama.
"A vote for Obama is a vote for me" Satan himself said wearing a grin from oar to oar.
The two Satanists, in the same boat, believe that killing children is the American way and running with scissors on wet tails.
God, strangely silent for the last few centuries, is a vocal campaigner for the innocent.
"I'll do everything in my power to save the lives of children," the all mighty one told scribes who had smoked the burning bush as Japanese Vealers remembered Hiroshima.
The two camps, Good and Evil, are, for the first time, to go head to horny head in a vote that will at last bring Armageddon.
"We can't wait," a cured foetus told the pus-driveller on the way to school.
God, tired, is on the record as vowing to send his son, conceived through unconsentual sex and out of wedlock to another man's wiff, to sort out the white from the wrong.
"Jesus, that's me!" he said, wanking up late one day.
We're all adults here.
Body-hoarding gimp, ruglord, mister of disguise and indecent until proven quilty man Tony Mokbel has pointed the thinger squarely at the woman he described as "bossy-britches" in stunning revelations to be aired soon.
"She looks like a regular person," Fat Tony told Jenny Craig as he sat down to a calorie contorted regime.
"But inside beats the heart of person with clogged arteries," the overwrought Mokbel snorted while slipping on a Diet Coke.
Mokbel claims that he was merely a poppet for Corby, who he also describes as "about 75kgs".
"That puts her street value off the graph!" he muttered to inquiring soap-makers.
The claims are refuted strangely by Corby's mother, who has reason to believe that Corby, on the run in leotards, has lost weight recently.
"I'm sending a convoy of obese Australians over to see Mokbel," she confessed to her father, for she had sunned, herself.
"The whole thing is going to blow up in his face!" she exclimbed, downering a hymnburger with the lit.
Salt and sugar are not drugs.
Lord, no!
The bland, leading the bland, have met with their one true mister - a one-eyed wizard with one hand down his pants and the other down yours.
"I mean you no harm," he said stroking a severed head of letters.
It is understood the King, an objective observer and ghastly superior, sees everything and in great depth.
"I hate it when issues get personal," the intellectual giant beseeched his hairdresser, who primly blabbed to the Medea.
The bland, unable to read between the lines, appointed their king in a lavish ceremony that pleased their lord and masturbator.
"My kingdom for an accolade!" the King told his optometrist as he tried on another set of spectacles.
The King will be trying to write his weight out of a wet paper bag to show off his mate.
"I am the Queen of the world!" he shouted, straddling his sinking shit.
His ship don't stink.
A convention of leading scientists has descended into a lascivious and quite unnatural gay orgy when an irate homosexual denied his very existence.
"The facts are that I find other men very arousing," the fridge-picker told his closet before the affair turned heated and avuncular.
Nothing cod be further from homosexuality than a love of hard facts.
"I love a hard fact as much as the next man, or the man next to me," the delicate creature told his floppy.
It was indeed this display that set the scientific fruiternity into a frenzy of budgie-snuggling that only ended with severe camping.
"Homosexuals are so gay!" he said with the proof of his very nature in his hands.
Homosexuality, with its roots in homo meaning arse and sexuality meaning penchant, is the latest phenomenon to threaten our very back doors.
"I'm not letting anyone near my back door," the homodenier said stroking his telescope as he peered into a black hole after the affair was over, his hunger quenched.
"Except him!" he said pointing out something very bright in the distance.
Homosexuals have quite rightly earned the froth of the new zealous with their fragrant disregard for the rights of others.
I can smell one from a smile off.
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.
Political leaders, our blessed and blightest, have embraced the new paucity seeping Western Emocracy: bum-snuffing.
"Bums, who are not a symptom of some underlying problem, should all be whipped out," said bum-sniffers for the Liberal potty.
Laws, made by the wretch to protect their interests, will soon be pissed that will see all bums snuffed on sight.
Bums, closer to dearth than laugh itself, have responded to the measures by hiding under a bridge.
Liberal potty policy advisors are believed to be aware of the bums' tactics.
"Make no mistake, we will be sniffing out these bums where they live," said a senior analcyst.
Aristotle, a knotted bum snatcher, said man is a political animal, which makes him distinct from all the others; for innocence, dogs.
Bum.
Norm, the wanking headline behind so many outrageous sandals worn with socks, has revealed his wedgie to a Medea throng in retaliation to the hounding he has sniffelled at their hinds.
"I'm sick of reading about my life," the media magnet told refigerators.
"I'm getting a talking book," the clearly cerebrally challenging creator of numerous hints furnished wit.
The Medea, a scored nuffer and waif, has eaten our laughs away with its constraint hope.
Headlines for Norm told us that they had no hind in the bardy of the piece.
It remains to be seen if Norm can keep his gnome out of the head.
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.
Transmen across Mother Earth are falling pregnant thanks to the latest craze that is weeping the floor: tears.
"Women have been stealing our jobs for years," one heavily fertile transman told his hairdresser.
Transmanians say they feel incredible to be able to finally deliver something that isn't a crying sham out their passages.
"Babies grow faster in the bowel," one screamed in pains that proved to be a false Islam.
"I was only shitting," the Transman wrote on the bowl.
The trend that has made women obsolete is helping men get in touch with their feminine asides.
"I always wanted a Ute," one transman said as he drove off to a day of labour.
Serial Killers Union of Australia (SKUA) boss Ivan Milat has met with officials from the meat industry to discuss a possible amalgamation of the two industries that Milat describes as "very, very, very, very, violent."
"Most people, the great majority, think that acts of wretched violence, brutality and inhumanity are somehow utterly repugnant to them," the multilpe mutilator told his gun collection.
"That they think this as they tuck into their mutton-chops, in their leather shoes is what I would call having your head in the bloody sand-pit," he chuffed chewing his rump.
A meat-worker, who wished to remain in a blood-stained suit and accustomed to the wholesale slaughter of the innocent, has asked vegetarians protesting the stringing-up and throat-slitting of beasts to "eat me".
"Clearly killing is every communities bread and butter," he called from his carcass.
That ordinary people think they are not directly responsible for taking lives is just more evidence of the world in which we live.
That we live in fear of it coming back to bite us at the hands of a more brutal (human)animal is not a fair price to pay.
That not enough of us here in a free-country aren't taken by murderers has me scratching my only mutton-chops.
SKUA boss Milat told his victims that his victims tolled more than the humans he tied up and tortured.
"I started out with animals," the skewerer said, "then I really took to people."
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