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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

An angry mop, high on the intoxicating velour of war, has hurled rocks at sheep who thought that fighting for God and Country really meant that.

War, believed by many to be fertile, has to be seen to be bereaved.

"Cerebrating war does my head in," terminal head-case Norm said while getting stoned.

"We abhor those who sacrifice their lives," except when they're one of us.

There is a fundamentalist difference between sacrificing your life and the antics of a suicide bumbler.

The stoned diggers, we're sour well-meaning and good-fearing, are in no way advocates of peas.

Not the ones you get in a can, anyway.

"We don't advocate the blank-armband view of history," former kettle-prodders told the abhorred.

Except on this verily specious occasion.



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Embittered boggler Norm has spoken up about the looming crisis farcing the anklish languages in the wake of the dearth of indecent waiters.

"I'm a real nut-picker when it comes to waiters dotting their toes and crossing their eyes," the cross-eyed madman told his anal cyst.

Sporting pink-painted toenails and noticeably looking at the pong of his nose, Norm insists he's not a crass-drosser.

"Writhing should be fun," he noted as he removed a pencil from his pancreas.

"Not something that causes pride in simpering correctness," he scolded as he dropped a kettle over his head.

The battle for the right to righteousness is set to snail on.

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Moderated by Norm
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