Norm awarded Brownlow Medal by himself for services to smelling the flowers
July 21st 2008 01:44
Norm, nature-laugher, florist extraordinaire, bong-head, simpleton, Marxist reanimator, dope-thinker, papal-pleaser, stay-at-home dud, fart-laugher, and kiddy-art crayoner is too much of a laugher to think that nature doesn't have the answers.
"I'm too conceited to admit that I am conceited," the willing masturbator, crass-dresser and master of conceit told waiting ear-holes.
Words, insane, inane, human creations, are barely of our own making, anyway, he said whittling his pencil into a sharp point.
That we think they are the masters of reality is a sham, the increasingly erotic wordsloth told the mastery that is the world we try and hopelessly master.
Particularly when they're so hard to muster, anyway, the authoritarian farce of reason said as he stacked a pile of words to create offence he was building to keep the pests out.
Dearth, waiting in the wings like a flea on a pigeon, is too plentiful to believe in our supremacy, the increasingly rabid dag told fellow laughers.
It's unfortunate that pride comes before a fool, the foolish philanthropist told himself as someone paraded a float of big words down the river.
Words, water off a dick's blog, are not reality; reality is hard like my fart.
Nature beats book for truth, I'm silly.
"I'm too conceited to admit that I am conceited," the willing masturbator, crass-dresser and master of conceit told waiting ear-holes.
Words, insane, inane, human creations, are barely of our own making, anyway, he said whittling his pencil into a sharp point.
That we think they are the masters of reality is a sham, the increasingly erotic wordsloth told the mastery that is the world we try and hopelessly master.
Particularly when they're so hard to muster, anyway, the authoritarian farce of reason said as he stacked a pile of words to create offence he was building to keep the pests out.
Dearth, waiting in the wings like a flea on a pigeon, is too plentiful to believe in our supremacy, the increasingly rabid dag told fellow laughers.
It's unfortunate that pride comes before a fool, the foolish philanthropist told himself as someone paraded a float of big words down the river.
Words, water off a dick's blog, are not reality; reality is hard like my fart.
Nature beats book for truth, I'm silly.
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