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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

Recipe for Self-delusion

August 1st 2008 01:21
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.
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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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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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