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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

delicious spread made from lard-arse
I can't believe it's not a butterball

The "fat sucker", as she's known on the streets, claims she's made herself the toast(spread) of the town by losing all her pounds on the track.

"I've lost track of my arsehole," the deaf vegetable spread told toasters, so many times has she had it penetrated.

Toasters raised their glasses to a running bath, before being pushed in by waiters.

The butterball's husband, Becks, told cooking toasters: "When I need someone to spread, I'll call my wife."

The posh spread, spicy, doesn't have a great rack.




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The debilitating stroke that has left Hollywood a dribbling vegetable has left Australia a shrivelled carrot.

The dehydrated vegetable was found by watching television.

Neighbours who found the floppy produce have called for calm in the wake of calls for greater critical dramatic skills on behalf of the audience.

"This carrot is a symbol for all that is good and wholesome" said one, as he made a bechamel sauce.

The vegetable couldn't be reached today.

It won't be reached tomorrow.

Donkeys for carrying packs have refused to demand more from themselves than striving for flacid phalluses.

"I'm hard-up for for hard-earned," said one whaler aboard his faithful ass, "but I won't chase carrots for a few measly fistfulls."

I've got my hands full with my own.



















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Delta Goodrem, who believes in life but not wife, is what locals call "jerky"

Fresh from the release of her latest hit album "Bigger Than A River System", humble pianola grinder and vocal torture-artist Delta "Spit-roast" Goodrem has landed herself at the table of the whacky Bali bombadiers.

"It's another massive honour for me to have this honour" Miss Goodrem beseached as she combed her locks with another woman's hubby.

"The locals keep telling me that I'm really cooking. It's not unusual for audiences to say that to me." she said before the emaciated villlagers.

Vanessa Amorosi's second cousin, simply known as Amoroso, said that he couldn't wait to tuck into Goodrem's latest offering of ivory and tonsil-tickling.

"She's the bomb, that bitch" he mumbled as he fiddled with his mobile phone while fertilizing his tulips.

Goodrem, who is painfully aware that the local custom of singing live is as foreign to her as a Sudanese to Sunshine, said she's willing to steal anyone's husband and move her lips when she's supposed to be.

"I was born to try" she said, before the impatient bombers.

Medical experts can't help thinking that chemotherapy has set music back ten years.



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