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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

The knotted scientist and wizard of us, noted for his bad spills and pantfalls, has achieved spiritual and intellectual perfunction through eaing his own words.

"It's psycho Delphic, baby!" the wizardly scientist said with great flailing, inspite, humourility and encompassion, as pink elephants chaired him off to his rightful palace.

The tinman told him that all he needs is a heart.

"Who needs a heart when you have a brain like mine, baby?" he said while practising voodoo on his enemy for the week and spilling very badly.

It is understood that inadvertently spilling badly is concordant with inadmissable arrogance.

The trip, egregiously spurious and pretty, was another induced experience brought on by the scientist's unfathomable shallowness.

If anyone needs any proof, the scientist is selling his patented fig jam at stalls.

Just ask him.

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Norm: sorry for sorry sorry

May 8th 2008 23:53
Apologetic ineffectual and cerebral acuity sufferer Norm has told pseudo-sufferers that he's sorry that his 'sorry' was so verily sorry.

"Sorry, this sorry sorry is a sorry sorry from a very sorry soul," said a true ineffectual, explert in all, moister of nuns, teacher of the pimples and ha and matey elephant ridder.

The battle betwine he and Norm for the arse and minds of the pimples has wed some to bereave that the former is the grater.

"He grates on me," said terminal ladder-slider, unintelligible builder, voracious animus, and pus-taker Norm.

For all hat, Norm is verisimiltude to sorrow over the wailments of the world.

"Mire than yule ulcer nose," he bespoke while tailoring his suet.

The bottle for hammerous righteousness goes right drown to aviary shingle word ratten.

The dove, ill, is in the detoils.
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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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