Scientists have discovered what I already knew. Picking your nose and eating it, not only tastes good, it is also good for you.
Kleenex has, thanks to an idea they stole from me, now released a range of edible tissues and pre-picked boogers.
Kids all over the place are getting into the delicious taste of nature's goodness. Don't wipe it on your pants. Put it in your mouth!
New Kleenex Edible Tissues
Comes in two flavours: crunchy and smooth!
www.pickyournoseandeatit.com
New Kleenex Bushman's Hanky
Blow your brains out in the street.
www.blowyourbrainsout.com
Kids, Eat Somebody's Face!
We pick out the freshest and best boogers from the runniest noses on the face of the earth and bring them into this new handy pack.
www.eatwhatyoublow.com
Pick your nose and eat it is the catchprase of a whole new generation of nose-pickers and scab-eaters. All the kids are doing it!
Picking your nose and eating it, critics are saying, is a prelude to a more serious childhood problem. Scratch your bum and sniff.
Chroming, as the intoxicating new phenomenon is called, is the fragrant abuse of kids' bums being pushed by digital-age icon Calvin Klein.
Get your hands on the smell of little bottoms for less than what you'd expect to pay in Thailand, or Church. Save on tissues.
Calvin Klein's Smelly Crap
The new range of abuses by paedophiles.
www.digitallypenetratekids.net
Want the intoxicating allure of a predator?
Catholic Priest by Lynx
www.somethingstinks.org
Revisionist historian David Irving has scoffed at claims that Adolf Hitler was a real pig and he says he has the evidence to prove it.
"I've been able to salvage some rare footage of a soiree hosted by Hitler in his villa in the last months of his life," the imminent historian said.
"In the dinner scene, Hitler can be seen delighting guests with anecdotes about his time in the trenches of the Great War," Irving boasts.
"He captivates his companions with his stories about his encounters with homosexuals and his lapses of judgement," the historian recounts.
"Hitler handles the awkward silences with intelligent questions of his guests that lead them to reveal their bottoms to the entire table," the neo-Historian whines.
"Hitler's guests retire to the spacious living room for an apperitif and a glass of whatever is on hand. This night it is fortified rat's urine," Irving explains.
"It is here, in the living room, that Hitler shines. He unfurls his semi-flacid penis and massages himself erect. With a saliva lubricant he ejaculates on some biscuits," the intellectual said.
"Everyone seems to be having the most delightful evening. The manner in which Hitler conducts himelf is urbane and considerate. I'd almost go as far as to say that he's not the man people would have you believe," he told his children.
"It's then there's a knock on the door and Hitler, hearing the news that the souffles haven't risen, pulls his gun (from his pocket) and shoots everyone." he said.
"And everyone says that he had other people do his dirty work. He takes everyone's plate and then, not surprisingly, does the washing up," he said, revising his notes.
Faced with their favourite writer, women are less able than the royal family to suppress men, saying the punishment was "quite extraordinary obesity," according to new research.
US researchers trying to understand a Melbourne writer were surprised at the Melbourne writer's mechanisms, controlling the plight of the brain.
The royal family and colleagues were jailed for three years for trying to figure out why some people gain weight while others overeat.
13 women had been in contact with 10 men to determine how their brains responded to the sight of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT).
“I like many people,'' the Wang said today, "This particular female is so much different."
In the person, participants were convicted and jailed over their favourite book, which ranged from no more than fictional to "quite extraordinary'', and then were asked to stay overnight.
The next day his pleaded guilty to criminal charges while being underwent with their favourite sentence.
The royal family plans to suppress thoughts of a cognitive Australia so he can be freed to return to hunger and eating, which they had been taught.
While both women said my activity is decreased, that technique may be able to give men the part of women's brains that understand.
Even though the women said they have spoken of their drive to eat Thai, their brains was the regions that control the drive to eat Thai, Wang said.
BEAUTIFUL, content, female women may be more likely to have fast food chains because of their flirtatiousness and obesity, research shows.
A study published in restaurant menus yesterday found women with the chairman of the Federal Government's Preventative Health Taskforce, Professor Rob Moodie considered themselves more men, and were found to be.
They were also more likely to have affairs with a team of scientists from the University of Texas in the US, but we need to work out what the best form of labelling is.
The taskforce wants regular saliva tests on aged women satisfied with brief sexual encounters or "one-night stands" by advertising unhealthy, fat, content children as available lovers for Health Minister Nicola Roxon and restricting Professor Moodie by 2020.
Dr Kristina Durante, a female with 15 facial features and large appealing breasts, said men with chains consider psychologists more than attractive outlets.
The nutrition director of the New York City Health Department, Cathy Nonas, is also more likely to accept sexual advances when customer levels are high.
She said Dr Durante had physically adopted attractive women in relationships when mate poaching targets in California, Seattle, Philadelphia and parts of Oregon.
"Short-term sexual partners have often been having a long-term mate, and women with obesity would be more useful in another 20 cities, counties or states. There are proposals everywhere because it's difficult to physically obtain a partner."
She added: "Difficult women may not only have a "traffic light" system but also are unhealthy to satisfy."
NSW research has showed that people preferred that system to help explain away Marilyn Monroe's life which is labelling and already found in Queensland.
"She was a "traffic light" and her high levels of fat, saturated fat, sugar and sodium is consistent with her relationship history ," she said.
Women who fit Kate Carnell, chief executive of the Australian Food and Grocery Council often gravitated towards fast food retailers, she added.
"Women are also women so they might be working towards more labelling."
Associate Professor Quirk said more vulnerable men could help controlling male partners understand their mandatory feelings but would prefer labelling.
A court has been told a man with his penis in a pasta sauce jar was caught by police, while resisting arrest, still pleasuring himself.
The Newcastle Herald reports: after New South Wales man Keith Roy Weatherley, 46, led them on a brief, slow-speed car chase, Police drew their weapons.
Newcastle Local Court was told yesterday that, while he was parked in a no-stopping zone near Nobby's Beach on October 26 Weatherley caught the eyes of police.
The Herald said, because they saw him doing something with his hands in his lap and making funny faces, Police thought he might have a weapon.
They found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar and a cross hanging off the mirror, a police statement said.
The court was told, time and time again, that's when the pursuit began.
Four officers used batons and capsicum spray to take him out for "a nice meal" when Weatherley refused to leave his car after he was stopped.
He attempted to continue "pleasuring himself in between bouts of wrestling and grating the cheese" and they found a 750mm jar around his weapon.
A search of Weatherly's car uncovered pornography, a homemade sex aid, women's stockings and a Jack Russell terrier but, no other small domesticated animals, except a budgie.
Weatherley pleaded not guilty to offensive behaviour, resisting police, enjoying being sprayed with capsicum and disobeying his mother.
He was convicted, ordered to eat only from cans and fined $600 before being put in handcuffs, which his lawyer Jose said was "just a fine with him".
Media heavyweight, fit porker and baby-sitter for Nicole, Oprah has been detained for further questions after it was revealed she had Nicole's aborted kids frozen.
"I'll ask the questions here," Oprah, an arse-queen, told officers who were only just doing their job after Ms. Winfrey, sightly insane, was seen paying with gash, I'll choke.
The fridge, a freezer, was seen to be emoting a strange and pungentlemanly order when Nicole, the aborted mutterer of three or more frozen snacks, came to pick them up.
"She said, everything was cool, sister, which immediately set off alarms in my heavily fortified wine," Nicole, a harmless baglady freezing to death, told her trolley of possesions as she froze for the cameras.
The aborted children, placated from an orphanage, had been placed in the freezer, a refrigerator, because they were going off, according to Oprah on her high rooting show.
"The little maggots were everywhere," she said as she talked into a chop, well-done, and stuffed her fuss while asking the question: Can you believe I hate the whole thing?
September 28th 2008 00:02
Kraft Cheese, the tyrannical manufacturers of vegetableless Vegemite and cheese Coon, is in trouble with the Jews after the release of its new line of sliced ham called Kosher.
"A pig is a dirty animal," Muslims facing Maccas, who are distributing the new and delicious product, prayed as Jews, working behind the scenes, as always, conspired to rob me.
The delicious pig-based ham, nearly 5% pure ham, has hit rivals for sex with a complete stranger with muscles in their thighs like you wouldn't believe and breasts made of milk.
"You don't say SPAM, you say shit," better rivals told their accountant, probably a Jew, as they rolled around in their filth while cutting off the lips and anus of a crucified porker.
The delicious lips and anus, 5% lips and anus, from the lips and anus of a pig have many groups up in arms, but it's the Kosher name that has Jews calling for all babies to be killed.
"It's not Kosher," a gentile told his terrible infant's kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Goldberg, as she took the suckling morsel off to the laughterhouse for a spot of sentenceless murder.
Kraft Cheese spokespeople, slippery customers, have told their customers, slippery, to slip their hands, slippery, into their pockets to feel around for their own lips and anuses, in response.
"We're asking people not to look at the label," they said in a statement, as they processed some food the way God intended, when he sent his first born down to the shops.
September 10th 2008 01:33
Vegemite, a dark paste which is really nice in smelly doses, is fighting out a viscose war of nutrition with its nemesis: that other dork spread, Marmite, in a frighteningly hurtful and serious and real and dire and important and painful bottle for the ages.
"It's on, Vegemite!" Marmite said, welding a butter-knife lauded with cow-product, as Vegemite, offering the alive brunch of friendship, was rather taken aback to the Boer War and the Crimean and the Balkans in a deliciously pelletable capsule.
"It looks like me," Vegemite, a delightfully irrelevant spread choked, panting at the tiny capsule, "except, I can't stomach it," it said, putting itself about the place as Marmite, omni-impotent, got all gooey as it braised a toast to itself in topical fashion.
The bitter feud, no big deal and actually mouldy amusing, is as bitter as a yeast-injection can pissably get, and that's an extract from the movie to be shat in high-deafening pitch written by crappywriters who know their Kraft, inside and art.
"I must have the last word," Marmite, a waving mildman, said as Vegemite, flightfully laconic, peeled back its sticker to reveal its true contents, "Inside we're both just as thick as one another," it said, as Marmite, on toast, was used as a lubricant.
Man, a perpendicular character like a column, has, since as long as I can dismember, endeared himself to the slow-witted animuses it has domesticated.
"A cow, a calf and a lamb walk in to an abattoir," one such animus sheepishly jerked as it boarded a road-train bound for its fitful destiny.
"It's not the destination but the journey," another butted in rowdily, urinating with trepidation as motorists scented the slight perfume of a bit of veal.
"Anyway they walk into the abattoir," the farmer continued, as he felt a few rooted trees to make way for greener pastures, like the oiled country.
"Then what happened?" a ferocious reader muelsed, sucking the marrow from a laughing creature as the truck arrived at the abbatoir.
It was then that the animuses, as lowly as men but not afforded the sane spiritual laugh, were quietly uttered into the killing floor.
"Why do they call it a killing floor?" one calf, a pitiful creature in anyone's boots, asked its maternal leather udderpants, who was then lewdly taken awry.
"I'll tell you when I get back," she said comforting her infant, who was shaking in its writerproof boots, and wishing it had never been boring.
A cow, a calf and a lamb walk into an abattoir, are strung up by the leg with a chain, have their throat slit, until they slowly plead to death.
So the choke goes.
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.
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!
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!
Australia, a ticking time bomb planted by the British cistern of justice, and full of the moribundly obtuse, is ready to explode, say starving Africans.
The striving Africans, also planted by the British sister of justice: prudence, have been dying to say something on this issue.
Their spokesman, Chilean duct-taper Robert Mugabe - responsible for the deaths of people, says that he's a machete for any man.
Westerly windy duck-tappers are Emocryptically elocuted.
"I'm more than a match for you fews," Mugabe said as he got a Brazilian under his nostril and waved his staffer in the hair.
Africans, no longer Slavs, their hands on the snips, are set to cut the cord with their colonial mothers, winch and four walls.
Colonialism is a mother of a thing at the beast of tames.
Yours says hi.
Those unwilling victims who unfortunately succumbed to the irresistible charms of kiddie-pornographer, terrorist sympathiser and drug boss, Bill "Mad Dog" Henson now tell of their years of torment in front of his vaselined apparatus.
"He used to really smear it on," said one recently formed adolescent with a fanny gate.
The victims were assembled by harmless community leaders who were licking for some action of their own.
"Unfortunately these kids are no longer kids at all," one federal policeman said as his download finished.
"It's thanks to these disgusting images of the human body that we should all fear the human body," a crusader for the righteousness of their own egocentric altruism stated.
Bill Henson, himself now undead, probably wishes he was.
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.
Australians are fed up with baby formula, an exclusive surveyor reveals.
The surveyor, a man with a funny shaped implement, has told us that massive new homes should go everywhere.
"If I had my way, I'd keep a couple of abo butlers." he said looking through his glass.
He believes that the legal age for drinking should be lowered to open up new markets in all communities not just those of our "lucky monkey bastards".
Many are asking the question, "Who was here before the aboriginal?".
It is a quest that has a nation of drunkards falling over themselves to answer.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I should say sorry." the surveyor's little women said while washing up.
Apart from apartheid this system is the best we've got.
In private, the surveyor also told us that.
Things last night turned nippy at a wild party organised by a blubbering teenager with Greek fans being sprayed with garlic sauce.
Fans grasped for hair as the Greeks raised their arms above their heads.
"The air turned foul when the cops asked them to stick their hands up." one Chilean dictator on a respirator said.
Japanese whalers, who have undertaken scientific research on the teenager they claim is part of their quota, have held up signs to the media to the effect that, "He looks and sounds like a normal teenager".
The normal teenager, who many believe to be the fashion victim in all this, has told the media that the rowdy Greeks were protesting the new surface of the courts.
"Mate, these courts are a disgrace, mate." one said, "They should be concrete. Concrete, mate. Concrete."
Police who rushed on the scene to impress this really hot girl in the front row are pleased with the teenager's abduction by alien vessels but slightly miffed that the girl was watching herself on the big screen.
The Government has said that it's sorry it can't steal this generation.
Rug-heads from around the shit-hole of Central Asia and those manning taxis from inside Australian borders are a bunch of monkey throwers, according to leading walkers.
The curry-munchers, nothing more than peculiar smelling and incomprehensible, will have to eat humble curry-pie when they feel the might of a nation of beaters.
"My fellow Australians love nothing more than whipping curries", said gourmet chef and Channel Nine wicketkeeper Ian Healy.
It's the reason curries over here never rise.
"They want curry, then that's what we'll give them", said a waiter in an Indian Restaurant.
It is believed the champ at the center of the curry-controversy has slipped while grinding his organs.
"Mate, I've had to ape Australians in order to become one. That's why I'm more Aussie than bonza, you beaut, cobber", the coconut-clapper claims.
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